response.
‘I think that Sir Frederick is suggesting that the offending paragraph of the speech may be, shall we say, a bargaining counter.’
‘A move in the game,’ said Jumbo.
‘The first shot in a battle,’ said Humphrey.
‘An opening gambit,’ said Bernard.
These civil servants are truly masters of the cliche. They can go on all night. They do, unless stopped. I stopped them.
‘You mean, he wants something,’ I said incisively. It’s lucky someone was on the ball.
‘If he doesn’t,’ enquired Jumbo Stewart, ‘why give us a copy in advance?’ This seems unarguable. ‘But unfortunately the usual channels are blocked because the Embassy staff are all new and we’ve only just seen the speech. And no one knows anything about this new President.’
I could see Humphrey giving me meaningful looks.
‘I do,’ I volunteered, slightly reluctantly.
Martin looked amazed. So did Jumbo.
‘They were at University together.’ Humphrey turned to me. ‘The old-boy network?’ It seemed to be a question.
I wasn’t awfully keen on this turn of events. After all, it’s twenty-five years since I saw Charlie, he might not remember me, I don’t know what I can achieve. ‘I think you ought to see him, Sir Frederick,’ I replied.
‘Minister, I think you carry more weight,’ said Jumbo. He seemed unaware of the irony.
There was a pause, during which Bill Pritchard tried unsuccessfully to disguise a snigger by turning it into a cough.
‘So we’re all agreed,’ enquired Sir Humphrey, ‘that the mountain should go to Mohammed?’
‘No,
I realised that I had no choice. ‘All right,’ I agreed, and turned to Sir Humphrey, ‘but you’re coming with me.’
‘Of course, said Sir Humphrey, ‘I’d hardly let you do it on your own.’
Is this
Charlie Umtali – perhaps I’d better call him President Selim from now on – welcomed us to his suite at the Caledonian Hotel at 10 a.m.
‘Ah Jim.’ He rose to greet us courteously. I had forgotten what beautiful English he spoke. ‘Come in, how nice to see you.’
I was actually rather, well, gratified by this warm reception.
‘Charlie,’ I said. We shook hands. ‘Long time no see.’
‘You don’t have to speak pidgin English to me,’ he said, turned to his aide, and asked for coffee for us all.
I introduced Humphrey, and we all sat down.
‘I’ve always thought that Permanent Under-Secretary is such a demeaning title,’ he said. Humphrey’s eyebrows shot up.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘It sounds like an assistant typist or something,’ said Charlie pleasantly, and Humphrey’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. ‘Whereas,’ he continued in the same tone, ‘you’re really in charge of everything, aren’t you?’ Charlie hasn’t changed a bit.
Humphrey regained his composure and preened. ‘Not quite everything.’
I then congratulated Charlie on becoming Head of State. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘though it wasn’t difficult. I didn’t have to do any of the boring things like fighting elections.’ He paused, and then added casually, ‘Or by-elections,’ and smiled amiably at us.
Was this a hint? I decided to say nothing. So after a moment he went on. ‘Jim, of course I’m delighted to see you, but is this purely a social visit or is there anything you particularly wanted to talk about? Because I do have to put the finishing touches to my speech.’
Another hint?
I told him we’d seen the advance copy. He asked if we liked it. I asked him if, as we were old friends, I could speak frankly. He nodded.
I tried to make him realise that the bit about colonialist oppression was slightly – well, really,
Charlie responded by saying, ‘This is something that I feel very deeply to be true. Surely the British don’t believe in suppressing the truth?’
A neat move.
Sir Humphrey then tried to help. ‘I wonder if there is anything that might persuade the President to consider
