‘Actually six, but it’ll take them a while to figure out who they all are,’ said Black. ‘After all, none of them were supposed to be there and wouldn’t have told anyone where they were going. As to what they were doing there… that will remain anyone’s guess.’
‘Please God,’ murmured Soames.
‘French was meticulous about security. We’re safe.’
‘It’s all a bit of a shame really,’ said Constance Carradine. ‘I mean, they were the ones who set the whole thing up all those years ago.’
‘And they did a good job in their day,’ said Black. ‘But their day was over. They had their chance before the New Labour nightmare began and they blew it. One prying journalist got nosy and they had to shut the whole thing down before the party twigged what was going on. They had no option but to lie low until the dust had settled, and by that time scandal had destroyed the party and an election was lost. So were the subsequent two. They wanted to go down that same old route again. Can you believe it? They turned our plan down. We’ve spent ten years putting it together and getting everything in place and they turned it down. They had to go.’
‘So here we are,’ said Langton. ‘The new executive of the Schiller Group, the guardians of all we hold precious.’
‘I take it we all saw the Telegraph this morning, and the Carlisle story?’ said Coutts.
‘What an arse,’ said Soames.
‘He is a worry,’ said Black. ‘It was never very clear how much he actually knew at the time. He was such a posturing idiot that no one told him anything if they could avoid it.’
‘But he was such a pretty boy,’ said Constance. ‘Shame he had the intellect of a cabbage. Now he’s starting to look like one.’
‘Well, he served his purpose as the charming front man of his day. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if French and co. had taken him all the way to the top.’
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘There’s a story going around that he’s been trying to telephone people high up in the party,’ said Black. ‘No one’s talking to him, of course. He’s about as popular as bubonic plague, but he seems to think he has something to bargain with… something to stop the leader pulling the rug out from under him. We’re by no means past the post in this election. We don’t need strange stories doing the rounds, even if they come from a discredited clown like Carlisle. We could be back in the wilderness.’
‘He’s a loose cannon,’ said Langton. The others turned to face him. ‘If he did know more than we think he did, he might well see this as the time to use it.’
‘Blackmail, you mean?’
‘It was more a revelation to the press I was thinking of. If the leader shows him the door, what’s he got to lose?’
‘Maybe we should… help matters along?’ suggested Coutts.
There was a long silence in the room until Constance Carradine said, ‘I think that might be a very good idea. There will be lots of very angry constituents out there; no telling what they might do. It would also give me the chance to test out the new chain of command.’
‘Very well,’ said Black. ‘It’s agreed, unless anyone has objections?’ Thinking there were none, he was about to continue when Langton spoke again.
‘I really don’t think it a good idea to go down the angry constituents route,’ he drawled. ‘It would only amplify the nature of the crime in the eyes of the public — he made them so angry they felt they had to take matters into their own hands, et cetera — that would do the party no good at all.’
‘Good point,’ said Black.
‘What would you suggest?’ asked Constance, irked at having her idea shot down.
‘Something that would elicit public sympathy for Carlisle would be preferable.’
‘Like?’
‘I’ll leave that in your capable hands, Connie,’ said Langton with a smile.
Black decided to move things along. ‘Connie’s already mentioned putting the new regime to the test,’ he said. ‘How about the rest of you? Have you used the information from the disks? Elliot, what’s happening with our finances?’
‘Absolutely no problems there,’ replied Soames. ‘I used the contact number and gave the password. I told them I had taken over as trustee of the Wellington Foundation from Lady Antonia Freeman. It was accepted without question. I requested statements and they arrived the following day. Things are looking good, very good indeed.’
‘Excellent. Always nice to have money in the bank.’
The others reported similar success in touching base with people designated as operational contacts.
‘We have to hand it to Charles French,’ said Black. ‘He did an outstanding job in setting up the network. But the old guard has gone. We are now the only people who know just how many members we have, how many people there are out there who share our views and care enough to change things, organised as cells within cells within cells… people all prepared to do their bit for their country.’
There was a knock on the door and the waiter entered.
‘So we’re all agreed about the changes to the fourteenth hole and the ladies’ tee on the fifteenth?’ said Black.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Would you like some menus now, Mr Black?’ asked the waiter.
‘You know, I think we would.’
THREE
Melissa Carlisle arrived back at Markham House, the wedding present from her father where she and John had lived all the years of their marriage, the last ten of them in complete misery as far as Melissa was concerned. She watched the taxi crunch off down the gravel drive to be let out by the two policemen on the gates — there to keep the small posse of cold, miserable press photographers at bay. If they were expecting tea, they could swivel.
She felt very low. She had spent the last few days being lectured by her father, who insisted that women like her did not leave their husbands at times like this. It mattered not one jot that John was a useless waste of space. She hadn’t taken his advice at the time, and now it was far too late. It was her duty to stand beside her husband in his hour of need. That’s what people of her sort did. Argument had proved useless. Times might have changed but core values hadn’t, her father had pronounced before packing her off back home as if she were a rebellious teenager not wanting to return to school after the holidays. Her mother had kept quiet throughout.
Melissa unlocked the front door, thought about announcing that she was back, then changed her mind and flung her keys down on the hall table. The noise echoed upwards. She walked through to the kitchen where she switched on the kettle and stood looking out of the window at the grounds while she waited for the expected Is that you? to come. It didn’t.
Melissa wondered whether he was out but his car was there, a grey Range Rover sitting in front of the garage. She made her tea and took it through to the drawing room where she picked up the morning paper and sat down to read it. She found she couldn’t concentrate: she certainly didn’t want to but she kept wondering where he was. In the end she threw down the paper and walked out into the hall. ‘John,’ she called, trying to make it sound as flat and uncaring as possible. God, it was awful what so much loathing did to you, she thought. ‘John?’ There was no reply.
She went upstairs and checked his study before knocking on the door of his bedroom — they’d had separate rooms since the business involving his secretary some years before. There was no response but she looked in anyway, considering he might have climbed into the bottle and passed out as he often did when problems came to call. The room was empty. The bed was made… but it was made properly, the way Mrs Allan, their cleaner, did it. But this wasn’t her day… and neither was yesterday.
Melissa walked slowly up to it and smoothed the top cover unnecessarily. The bed hadn’t been slept in for the
