Party Games (23 page)

“If I’m going to trust you, then it needs to be mutual.”  Colin said.  A seagull landed next to him squawking and he shooed it away.  “What else is coming out tomorrow, about Richmond?”

A shroud of suspicion fell across the editor’s creviced face as he tugged his gloves over frozen fingers.  He smiled slyly.  “Alright, but it goes no further, or it’s all off. Your whiter-than-white leader has a bit of a past and if I were Jenny I’d be bloody annoyed too.  You and Rodney have terrible taste in women.  Her daughter I can understand him going for, but her mother?  She must’ve been a bit of a looker back in the days when you and she were together.  How long has it been now?”

Colin shook his head, ignoring the question.    “Sorry?  I don’t understand.” 

Dickenson rolled his eyes, now bloodshot from the grit in the breeze. “Richmond -he’s only been bonking Rosie Lambert!” 

*****

“So you had an
affair
with Rosie Lambert?”

“It wasn’t an affair, more of a...”

“Spare me the sordid details, Rodney.”  Anthea waved away his confession dismissively.  “I really don’t care for them.”

            Rodney couldn’t hide his confusion.  “I thought you might....have an opinion.  Advice, even, about what I should do.”

            “It’s your love life, up to you who you sleep around with.”  Anthea said tersely.  “You’ve shagged one bitch, why not two?”

            “Anthea, what the hell?”  Rodney’s hands flew up in shock as Anthea’s steely gaze cutting through him.

            “Well, it’s true!”  She snatched up
Cornish Weekly. 
“You’ve made your bed and all that!  It you wish to go from mother to daughter then that’s your look-out.”

            “Is that your comment for the media, then?  Going to put it in a bloody press release?  Thanks for your support!” Rodney found himself frustrated with Anthea’s anger but stopped short of a formal reprimand as she continued to shout.

            “Support goes both ways!”  She waved the magazine and headed for the door.

            “So that’s it, then?  You’re just going to walk out?”        

            “Give me a reason not to, Rodney!”  Her voice cracked, the magazine scrunched in her fist.  He stepped close to her, looking her in the eye, fixing his gaze so she couldn’t look away without it seeming a snub.  Her green eyes held such a depth of beauty it simply took his breath away. The natural thing for him to do might have been to show a physical sign of affection - a simple caress of her cheek, perhaps - but then their relationship often felt to him far from natural.  It was built on a strange chemistry whereby she kept him guessing, while encouraging him with no more than innocent flirting.  It was this coquettishness, often in public, which was the trigger for so much of the gossip.  Perhaps he was too easily receptive to it, and behind closed doors Rodney’s heart and soul were tortured by her. 

“I’m sorry.”  Rodney said in a small voice.  He could smell her light perfume, see the softness of her skin under her delicately made-up face. “I’ve said sorry so many times today, to Steven, to Barty...but my apology to you is from the bottom of my heart.”

“As I’ve said, Rosie’s none of my business.”  Anthea replied unconvincingly. 

Rodney couldn’t help a small smile.  “I didn’t actually mean Rosie, I meant Cornish devolution.”

Anthea suddenly looked sheepish.  “I can’t do this right now, I can’t. And neither can you.  Deborah’s about to burst a blood vessel and no doubt half your office have their ears pressed up against the door as we speak.  And as for you and me, I think I can contain my curiosity until tomorrow, but if Jenny’s been pedalling the usual lies I’m sure the papers will be predictable; how I’ll be comforting you for the second time over Jenny, how you’ll expect me to pick up the pieces even though we’ve – shock, horror – never actually slept together.”

“I don’t know the full extent yet, but whatever it is, please don’t listen.”  Rodney pleaded.  He knew she would pour over every word.

Anthea hurriedly changed the subject.  “I think Colin is a more pressing matter.  You need to fight fire with fire.  Perhaps you should sack him now, before he’s ready.  He’s still gathering numbers and it would be a blow to him if you were to force him to challenge you before he was ready.”

Rodney took a step back, the tender moment gone.  He shrugged, glancing over at the speech which still needed attention.  Deborah would want him. 

“There’s not enough ‘evidence’, as it were.  The thing with Colin is that he doesn’t leave much of a paper trail, and I won’t let him overshadow the vote next week, it’d be walking into his trap.  But we need to be ready. Robert’s going to do an unofficial straw poll of colleagues, get some feedback.”

“Colin will hate you even more, now he knows you slept with his ex.”  Anthea said, raising a smile.  “I’ll leave you to your speech, I’m sure we’ll be having far too many conversations about Colin over coming days.  Do you promise to leave Cornish devolution to me now?”

“I promise.”  Rodney nodded as Anthea turned the door handle.  “That’s if I survive longer than the next 24 hours.”   

*****

“That silly cow’s finally getting what she’s due!  It’ll cause chaos at the
Engager
offices!” 

The words instantly built up a fury in Colin so forceful could barely breathe.  He stared at the old man, aghast.  “What?”  He asked disbelievingly. 
He must have got it wrong.
 

“Like I said, Richmond has a past. Well, quite a recent one, as it turns out.”  Dickenson sniffed out a laugh, but Colin now felt numb. Physically and mentally.  “They had a one-nighter five years ago.  Then we got a tip-off from someone who saw Richmond and dear Rosie all over each other at an
Engager
reception a little over two years ago while Jenny sipped her Bollinger, obliviously, in the next room.  That woman’s got more notches on her bedpost than I’ve had libel cases.  No disrespect to your relationship with her, of course.”

The urge to punch the old man in the face overwhelmed Colin.  He frowned sourly.

“Now Jenny’s found out, she blames Richmond for her father’s untimely death.  No wonder the guy felt suicidal – financial irregularities, to put it mildly, and a wife who shags young Tory men in hotel broom cupboards.” 

Colin didn’t feel like being in Dickenson’s company any longer.  It suddenly all felt a mess.

“Time to stop dithering, Colin, and grow a pair.  You screw up, I screw you over.  It’s as simple as that. I’ll wait to hear from you.” 

Dickenson took his leave as the rain began to fall from a grey, miserable sky of seamless cloud, the London skyline shrouded in an impenetrable mist.  Colin was boxed into a corner, held to ransom.  His BlackBerry vibrated in his pocket; a reminder about the blasted tennis game with Cheeser.  The Chairman hadn’t cancelled, and to do so might be counterproductive to the cause, so he thought he’d better make nice and go.

He hung his head and thought of Rosie.  Fifteen years ago, nine after the biggest loss of his life, Colin had met the formidable Rosie Spencer at a charity dinner party thrown by her future husband, publishing entrepreneur and Labour donor Stanley Lambert.  She had been an ambitious journalist - she had had no wish to face Colin Scott across the green benches. 

He had made no bones about his desire for power, lamenting his talent was not being recognised enough by Number 10, but although she had laughed and touched his arm, there had been no mocking.  An instant connection between the two began, and although normally Colin would have found the idea of any sort of relationship with a socialist highly undesirable, in many ways he and Rosie had been alike and he felt no harm in trying it out, just to see where it might go.

It was a good few months of sporadic dating and intimacies before Rosie decided Colin should meet her 15 year old daughter Jenny, the girl who was to eventually gain a very rich step-father who would treat her like his own flesh and blood until the day he died.  Jenny had been suspicious of this man who had entered his mother’s life and Colin wondered if Jenny’s negativity towards him had anything to do with Rosie’s sudden decision to dump him.  He would never know for sure.

Colin thought he was falling in love, but after a year his political career was beginning to take off while Rosie was climbing the journalistic ladder. They grew apart naturally until Rosie told him it was over with no hope of it ever being rekindled.  He had hid the hurt and disappointment; instead returning to wallowing in his guilt and flashbacks as if Rosie had been merely a distracting interlude in his life.  Maybe they were far too similar, too selfish and desperate for the limelight. 

Now he knew the truth about Richmond, he felt quietly impressed.  He could consider that Richmond would play so dirty as to sleep with his former girlfriend simply to demonstrate that anything Colin once wanted he could take for himself, but in reality Colin was more pragmatic.  He knew he would have been the better lover – he was, of course, better than Richmond at most things.  Every tabloid under the sun would want to keep it rumbling on, possibly bringing himself into it, digging away in the dirt. Richmond wasn’t about to sleep with a married woman then date her daughter and get away with it lightly.  Somehow the Martin Arnold affair already felt a very long time ago.

*****

“Out!” Jeremy yelled as Colin dived for the ball, grinding to a halt on the indoor tennis court and pointing beyond the white line.  “Game!”

Obviously exhausted, Colin leant his hands on his knees and panted.  “Fine, you win – although I dispute it was out.”  He waved his racket at the line.

Jeremy smiled wryly.  He had hardly built up a sweat, but saw Colin’s need for a break.

“Shall we stop?”  He said, jogging to the net and tossing his colleague an energy drink.  “Catch a breather?”

“No, let’s keep going.”  Colin gulped the liquid.  “We’re only two games in and I’ve got to head off fairly soon.” 

“Oh?”  Jeremy tried his best to sound casual.  He grabbed a ball from his shorts pocket and bounced it.  “My serve. Busy night ahead?” 

Colin had positioned himself at the other end of the court, racket at the ready, now composed.  Jeremy served and Colin countered accurately and smoothly, and a good rally ensued, but Jeremy’s worry grew at a lack of verbal response to his question.

“Look, this has gone on long enough.”  Jeremy suddenly said, smacking the ball in Colin’s direction.

“Long enough?  I thought we were just getting started.”  Colin said in nonchalant tone as he returned the hit.

“You know what I mean.”  Jeremy served again and Colin responded forcefully.  “Time to back off.”

            The ball volleyed back and forth between the two men as they spoke. 

“Back off?  I wondered why you didn’t cancel our match.”

            “Really, Colin, you’re doing a lot of damage to the party.”  Jeremy slammed the ball harder than he intended, but to his surprise Colin moved swiftly and sent it straight back. The ball ricocheted off the top of the net and collided with the side of Jeremy’s head, knocking him backwards, the throb in his temple instant and disorientating.  He dropped his racket and blinked.

            “I believe that was out! Love, fifteen!”  Colin announced triumphantly.  “Who are you to tell me to back off, this concerns Rodney and me, not you, and by hell it’s personal!  And don’t give me that righteous look, I’ve seen it from you a million times!” 

            Momentarily speechless, Jeremy brought himself to his senses, his jaw setting.  “But that’s just it, it concerns all of us, when all the time it’s about one thing and one thing only – your bloody ego!”

            For the briefest moment, Colin stood dumbstruck, his racket hanging limply at his side, gaping at Jeremy’s sudden temper.  Jeremy couldn’t prevent the fury inside his chest, years of trying to understand collapsing around him.

            “I remember that look on your face at Alice’s funeral, but not one of sadness, one of determination and – I don’t know – pure hate, I suppose!”  Jeremy continued as Colin simply stared.  “And you asked me, while we stood at her freshly dug grave, whether I would run for President of the Union.  On the day of her funeral, Colin, who the hell does that?  I remember what you said, that if I ran, consider our friendship over.  I can only commend you for being true to your word.  Linda said it was your way of grieving.  Colin, you’ve been grieving for twenty-six years!”

            “I don’t need your psychoanalysis, thank you!  Save it for the voters!”  Colin snapped. 

            The tennis match forgotten, Jeremy faced Colin across the net.  “How do you exist?  How do you sleep, how do you function, with all this...rage inside you? I’m sorry Alice died, I’m sorry you feel you hate everyone...”

            “Oh, spare me the Godforsaken lecture!”  Colin said dismissively.  “You and your perfect fucking marriage, all your fucking friends, ‘cos everyone loves Jeremy fucking Cheeser and his endless positivity!”

            “What would Alice say if she were here?  She’d say enough is enough!  She would hate to see what you’ve become!”  Jeremy loathed playing the Alice card, but Colin’s expression told him he was getting nowhere.

            “Do you want me to be sorry?  Is that it?”

            “Yes, but sorry for what?”  Jeremy said, exasperated.  “Sorry for undermining everything Rodney has been working towards, sorry for all the leaks, sorry for all your selfishness and your bloody games?  And here’s me, good old dependable Jeremy, trying to hold it all together, the voice of reason, piggy in the bloody middle once again between you and Rodney! You’ve got to let it all go, Alice wasn’t your fault!”

            “But I can’t!  I would never, ever expect you to understand!”

            “Then get some help, professional help!” 

            “I can’t do that either!  I can kiss my career goodbye if it gets out I’ve seen a shrink!”

            “Just a counsellor then, nobody would need to know, perhaps if they could get you to open up a bit...”