House of Cards (10 page)

If you don't mind me saying, old chum, I think your leader is going to have to put an end to all the bickering very quickly, or else hell go into the Summer Recess with the family looking more like a pack of Westminster alley cats. No Prime Minister can afford to let those sort of rumours run away from him, otherwise they begin to gain a life of their own. They become reality. Still, that's where you and your vast publicity budgets come to the rescue, like the Seventh Cavalry over the hill.'

'More like Custer's last bloody stand
’
O'Neill said with some bitterness.

'What's the matter, Rog, Uncle Teddy run off with all your toy soldiers or something?' Kendrick asked with genuine curiosity.

O'Neill emptied his glass and Kendrick ordered another round.

'Between you and me, just as old chums, Steve, he's run off with almost all of them. Hell, we need to find new friends more than ever, but instead of going onto the offensive the Chairman seems content to retreat behind the barricades
’

'Ah, do I detect the cries of a frustrated Publicity Director who has been told to shut up shop for a while?'

O'Neill banged the bar in exasperation. 'I shouldn't tell you this, I suppose, but as it's not going to happen there's no harm. The new hospital expansion programme which we promised at the election giving matching Government funds for any money raised locally. We had a wonderful promotional campaign, all ready to go throughout the summer while all you bastards were off on the Costa del Cuba or wherever it is you go
’

Kendrick held his silence, not responding to the jibe.

'By the time you all came back in October, we would have won the hearts and minds of voters in every marginal seat in the country. We had the campaign all set! Advertising, a party political broadcast, ten million leaflets, direct mail. "Nursing Hospitals Back To Health." It would have made a wonderful build-up to the party conference as "The Party Which Delivers". But
...
he's pulled the plug. Just like that
’

'Why?' asked Kendrick consolingly. 'Money problems after the election?'

That's the damnable thing about it, Steve. The money's in the budget and the leaflets have already been printed, but he won't even let us deliver them. He just came back from Number Ten this morning and said the thing was off. Then he had the nerve to ask whether the leaflets would be out of date by next year. It's so bloody amateurish!'

He tried to sound morose as he took another large mouthful of spirits, and hoped that he had followed Urquhart's instructions properly, not showing too much disloyalty or too much frankness, just professional pique. He had no idea why Urquhart had told him to concoct an entirely spurious story about a non-existent publicity campaign to pass on in the Strangers Bar. But it seemed a small thing to do for a man on whom he knew he depended.

As he gazed into the bottom of his glass, he saw Kendrick give him a long and deliberate glance. With the air of camaraderie squeezed from his voice, the MP asked 'Why, Rog, why?'

If only I knew, old chum. Complete bloody mystery to me.'

THURSDAY 1
st
JULY

The Chamber of the House of Commons is of relatively modem construction, rebuilt following the war after one of the Luftwaffe's bombs had missed the docks and carelessly scored a direct hit on the Mother of Parliaments instead. Yet in spite of its relative youth the Chamber has an atmosphere centuries old. If you sit quietly in the comer of the empty Chamber, the freshness of the leather on the narrow green benches fades and the ghosts of Chatham, Walpole, Fox and Disraeli pace the gangways once again.

It is a place of character rather than convenience. There are seats for only around 400 of the 650 Members, w
ho cannot listen to the ru
dimentary loudspeakers built into the back of the benches without slumping to one side and giving the appearance of being sound asleep. Which sometimes they are.

The Chamber places Members in face to face confrontation with their antagonists in opposition parties, separated only by the distance of one sword's length, lulling the unwary into complacency and into forgetting that the greatest danger is always but a dagger's length away, on the benches behind.

Least of all can a Prime Minister forget that well over half the members of his own Parliamentary Party usually believe they can do his job far better, with a firmer grip of detail, or diplomacy, or both. Prime Ministers are called to account twice a week when Parliament is sitting through the time honoured institution of Prime Minister's Question Time. In principle it gives Members of Parliament the opportunity to seek information from the leader of Her Majesty's Government; in practice it is an exercise in survival which owes more to the Roman arena of Nero and Claudius than to the ideals of the constitutionalists who developed the system.

The questions from Opposition Members usually do not seek information, they seek to criticise and to inflict damage. The answers rarely seek to give information, but to retaliate. Prime Ministers always have the last word, and it is that which gives them the advantage in combat, like the gladiator allowed the final thrust.

But Prime Ministers also know that they are expected to win, and it is the manner rather than the fact of their victory which will decide the level of vocal support and encouragement from the troops behind. Woe betide the Prime Minister who does not dispatch the Opposition's questions quickly but who allows them to return once again to the attack. The noisy enthusiasm of the Government backbenches can soon turn to sullen resentment and silent condemnation, for a Prime Minister who cannot dominate the floor of the House of Commons soon finds that he can count on the support of few of his colleagues. Then the Prime Minister must watch not only the opposition in front, but also the competition behind.

It was this constant challenge which made Macmillan sometimes sick with tension before Question Time, which caused Wilson to lose sleep and Thatcher to lose her temper. And Henry Collingridge was not quite up to any of their standards.

The day following O'Neill's evening foray into the Strangers Bar had not been going smoothly for the Prime Minister. The Downing Street press secretary had been laid low by his children's chicken pox, so the normal daily press briefing was of inferior quality and, even worse to the impatient Collingridge, was late. So was Cabinet, which had gathered at its accustomed time of 10 a.m. on Thursday to resolve Government policy. It had dragged on, embarrassed and confused by the explanation from the Chancellor of the Exchequer of how the Government's reduced majority had taken the edge off the financial markets, making it impossible in this financial year to implement the hospital expansion programme which they had promised so enthusiastically during the election campaign. The Prime Minister should have kept a grip on the discussion, but it rambled on and ended amidst acrimony.

'A great pity the Chancellor wasn't a little more cautious before allowing us to run off and make rash commitments,' the Education Secretary commented, dripping acid.

The Chancellor muttered defiantly that it wasn't his fault the election results were worse than even the cynical Stock Market had expected, a comment he had instantly regretted making although he knew it was precisely what all his colleagues were thinking. Collingridge had knocked their heads together and instructed the Secretary of State for Health to prepare a suitable explanation for the change of plans, which would be announced in a fortnight's time during the last week before the August recess.

'Let us hope,' said the septuagenarian Lord Chancellor, 'that everybody's minds will by then be on the lighter follies of summer rather than the more depressing follies of their political masters.'

Cabinet overran by twenty-five minutes, which meant that in turn the Prime Minister's briefing meeting with officials for Question Time was also late, and his ill-temper ensured that he took in very little of what they were saying. When he strode into a packed Chamber just before the appointed time of 3.15 p.m., he was not as well armed or as alert as usual.

This did not seem to matter for the first thirteen minutes fifty seconds of combat, as he batted back questions from the Opposition and accepted plaudits from his own party with adequate if not inspired ease. The Speaker of the House, in charge of parliamentary proceedings, decided that with just over a minute left there would be time for just one more quick question to round off the session.

'Stephen Kendrick,' he called across the Chamber to summon the Member whose question was next on the Order Paper. It was the first occasion on which the new Member had been involved at Question Time, and many older Members were nudging their colleagues to find out who this new man was.

'Number Six, sir
’
Kendrick rose briefly to his feet to indicate the question from the Order Paper he wished the Prime Minister to answer: To ask the Prime Minister if he will list his official engagements for the day'. It was a hollow question, identical in form to Questions One, Two and Four which had already preceded it, and designed not to elicit information but to hide from the Prime Minister the nature of the following supplementary thrust. Such is the nature of the combat

The Prime Minister rose ponderously to his feet and glanced at the red briefing folder already open on the Despatch Box in front of him. He read in a monotone.

‘I
refer the Honourable Member to the reply I gave some moments ago to Questions One, Two and Four
’
Since his earlier reply had said no more than that he would spend the day holding meetings with ministerial colleagues and hosting a dinner for the visiting Belgian Prime Minister, no one had yet learned anything of interest about the Prime Minister's activities - which was precisely his intention.

Collingridge resumed his seat, and the Speaker summoned Kendrick once more to place his supplementary question. The gladiatorial courtesies were now over, and battle was about to commence. Kendrick rose to his feet from the rear row of the Opposition benches.

Kendrick was a gambler, a man who had found professional success in an industry which emphasised ostentatious reward, yet who had decided to risk his expense account and sports car by fighting a
marginal
parliamentary seat. Not that he had really expected or indeed wanted to win; after all, the Government had been sitting on a pretty reasonable majority. Fighting the seat, he reasoned, would give him a platform and a prominence which would help him both socially and professionally, and would certainly give him a higher profile in the public relations trade magazines. The man with the social conscience' always made good copy in an aggressively commercial industry, and the ability to be able to drop a name or two usually helped.

His majority of 76, after three recounts, at first had come as an unpleasant shock as suddenly he was forced to contemplate the reduced income and additional hours of a parliamentary career. It would not be much of a career at that, either, since he knew the odds were that after the next election he would probably be looking for a new seat or a new job. In either case he knew that the plodding progress of a loyal and patient backbencher was not for him. He would have to make his mark, and make it quickly.

Kendrick had spent all of the previous evening and much of that morning turning over O'Neill's remarks in his mind. Why cancel a publicity campaign promoting a vote-winning policy which had been sold heavily during the election, when the campaign was all set to go? Whichever way he looked at it, the pieces would only fit together into a pattern suggesting that it was the policy rather than the publicity campaign which was in trouble. But should he enquire or accuse? To question or condemn? Or simply take the course expected of new Members and be completely anodyne? He knew that if he got it wrong, the first and lasting impression he made would be that of the House fool.

His momentary uncertainty caused the general commotion of the House to die away as MPs sensed indecision and surprise. Had the new Member frozen? But Kendrick felt calm and at ease. He remembered his small majority, and he knew he must gamble. What had he got to lose, except his dignity, which in any event was a commodity of little practical value in the modem House of Commons? He took a deep breath.

'Will the Prime Minister explain to the House why he is not implementing the promised hospital expansion programme?'

No criticism. No elaboration. No added phrase or rambling comment which would allow the Prime Minister to dodge or divert the question. Kendrick had thrown his grenade and he knew that if his gamble were wrong the grenade would be picked up by a grateful Prime Minister and thrown directly back to explode in his own lap.

A murmur went up as he resumed his seat. The sport had taken an interesting new turn, and the 300-odd spectators turned as one to look towards Collingridge. He rose aware that there was nothing in his red briefing folder from which to draw inspiration. The whole House could see the broad smile with which Collingridge accepted the challenge; only those sitting very close to him could see the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the Despatch Box.

‘I
hope that the Honourable Gentleman will be careful to avoid being carried away by the summer silly season, at least before August arrives. As he is a new Member, may I remind him that in the last four years under this Government the health service has enjoyed a substantial real increase in spending of some 6 to 8 per cent?' Collingridge knew he was being inexcusably patronising, but he could not find the right words. '
The
health service has gained more than any Government service from our success and continuing determination in defeating inflation, which compares
...'