‘1964. Same time that they started the Department of Economic Affairs . . .’ he stopped dead, and stared at me, wide-eyed. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Now I think I’m thinking what you’re thinking.’
‘Well?’ I asked.
He wanted to be cautious too. ‘You’re thinking: where was he before 1964?’
I nodded slowly.
‘It’ll be in
He ran his forefinger down a page, and said in one sentence: ‘Ah here we are oh my God!’
I waited.
Bernard turned to me. ‘From 1950 to 1956 he was an Assistant Principal at the Scottish Office. Not only that. He was on secondment from the War Office. His job was Regional Contracts Officer. Thirty years ago.’
There could be no doubt who the culprit was. The official who had chucked away that forty million pounds of the taxpayers’ money was the current Permanent Under-Secretary of the Department of Administrative Affairs, Sir Humphrey Appleby, KCB, MVO, MA (Oxon).
Bernard said, ‘This is awful,’ but his eyes were twinkling.
‘Terrible,’ I agreed, and found myself equally unable to prevent a smile creeping across my face. ‘And the papers are all due for release in a few weeks’ time.’
I suddenly felt awfully happy. And I told Bernard to get Humphrey back into my office at once.
He picked up the phone and dialled. ‘Hello Graham, it’s Bernard. The Minister wondered if Sir Humphrey could spare some time for a meeting some time in the next couple of days.’
‘At once,’ I said.
‘In fact, some time during the course of today is really what the Minister has in mind.’
‘At once,’ I repeated.
‘Or to be precise, any time within the next sixty seconds really.’
He listened for a moment, then replaced the receiver. ‘He’s coming round now.’
‘Why?’ I was feeling malicious. ‘Did he faint?’
We looked at each other in silence. And we both tried very hard not to laugh.
Bernard’s mouth was twitching from the strain.
‘This is very serious, Bernard.’
‘Yes Minister,’ he squeaked.
I was, by now, crying from the effort not to laugh. I covered my eyes and my face with my handkerchief.
‘No laughing matter,’ I said, in a strangled muffled gasp, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
‘Absolutely not,’ he wheezed.
We recovered as best we could, shaking silently, but didn’t dare look at each other for a little while. I sat back in my chair and gazed reflectively at the ceiling.
‘The point is,’ I said, ‘how do I best handle this?’
‘Well, in my opinion . . .’
‘The question was purely rhetorical, Bernard.’
Then the door opened, and a desperately worried little face peeped around it.
It was Sir Humphrey Appleby. But not the Humphrey Appleby I knew. This was not a God bestriding the Department of Administrative Affairs like a colossus, this was a guilty ferret with shifty beady eyes.
‘You wanted a word, Minister?’ he said, still half-hidden behind the door.
I greeted him jovially. I invited him in, asked him to sit down and – rather regretfully – dismissed Bernard. Bernard made a hurried and undignified exit, his handkerchief to his mouth, and curious choking noises emanating from it.
Humphrey sat in front of me. I told him that I’d been thinking about this Scottish island scandal, which I found very worrying.
He made some dismissive remark, but I persisted. ‘You see, it probably hasn’t occurred to you but that official could still be in the Civil Service.’
‘Most unlikely,’ said Sir Humphrey, presumably in the hope that this would discourage me from trying to find out.
‘Why? He could have been in his mid-twenties then. He’d be in his mid-fifties now,’ I was enjoying myself thoroughly. ‘Might even be a Permanent Secretary.’
He didn’t know how to reply to that. ‘I, er, I hardly think so,’ he said, damning himself further.
I agreed, and said that I sincerely hoped that anyone who made a howler like that could
