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New faces were still pouring into the room as word spread that the Chief Whip was entertaining. Urquhart's secretary was pouring a large whisky for Stephen Dunway, the most ambitious of the new intake of MPs who had already that evening made brief but prominent appearances at both Samuel's and Woolton's receptions on the basis that you can never be too sure. The secretary excused herself to answer the telephone, which had been ringing all evening with calls of congratulations and press enquiries.
It's for you' she whispered gently into Urquhart's ear. 'Roger O'Neill.'
Tell him I'm busy and that I will call him later' he instructed.
He called earlier and sounds very anxious. Asked me to tell you it was "very bloody hot", to quote his exact words,' she said primly.
With an impatient curse he withdrew from his guests and sought shelter in the comer of the bay window from the noise of celebration.
'Roger' he spoke sharply into the phone. Is this really necessary? I've got a room full of people.'
'She's on to us, Francis. That bloody bitch - she knows, I'm sure. She knows it's me and shell be on to you next, the cow. I haven't told her a thing but she's got hold of it and God knows how but...'
'Roger! Pull yourself together!' snapped Urquhart. O'Neill was gabbling and the conversation was running away like a driverless express. It was clear he had been unable to stick to Urquhart's orders, and was not fully in control.
There was a moment of silence and Urquhart tried to re-establish his authority. Tell me slowly and clearly what all this is about.'
Immediately the gabbling began again, and Urquhart was forced to listen, trying to make some sort of sense of the garbled mixture of words, splutters and sneezes.
'She came over to see me, the cow from the press lobby. I don't know how, Francis, it's not me and I told her nothing. I fobbed her off- think she went away happy. But somehow she had got onto it. Everything, Francis. The Paddington address; the computer,- she even suspects that someone from headquarters leaked the opinion poll I put under her door. And that bastard Kendrick must have told her about the hospital campaign you told me to concoct. Jesus,
Francis. I mean, what if she doesn't believe me and decides to print something?'
'Hold your tongue for a second' he seethed down the phone, anxious that none of his guests should overhear him. just tell me this. Who came to see you from the lobby?'
'Storin. Mattie Storin. And she said...'
'Did she have any firm evidence?' Urquhart interrupted. 'Or is she just guessing?'
O'Neill paused for the briefest of moments to consider the question.
'Nothing firm, I think. Just guesswork. Except...'
'Except what?'
'She's been told I opened the Paddington address.'
'How on earth did she find that out?' Urquhart's fury poured like molten lava down the phone.
'My secretary told her, but there is no need to worry because she thinks I did it for Collingridge.'
'Your secretary knew?'
'I... took her with me. I thought she would be more inconspicuous and she's utterly trustworthy. You know that.'
'Roger I could happily...'
'Look, it's me who's done all your dirty jobs for you, taken all the risks. You've got nothing to worry about while I'm in it up to my neck if this breaks. I need help, Francis. I'm scared! I've done too many things for you which I shouldn't have touched, but I didn't ask questions and just did what you said. You've got to get me out of this, I can't take much more and I won't take much more. You've got to protect me, Francis. Do you hear? You've got to help me!' O'Neill broke down into uncontrollable sobbing.
'Roger, calm yourself,' he said quietly into the receiver. , 'She has absolutely no proof and you have nothing to fear. We are in this together,you understand? And we shall get through it together, to Downing Street. I shan't let you down. Look, I want you to do two things. I want you to keep remembering that knighthood. It's just a few days away now, Roger.'
A stumbling expression of gratitude came spluttering down the phone.
'And in the meantime, Roger - for God's sake keep well away from Mattie Storin!'
After he had put the phone down Urquhart sat there for a moment, letting his emotions wash over him. From behind him came the hubbub of the powerful men who would project him into 10 Downing Street, fulfilling the dream which had burned inside him all these years. To the front he gazed across the centuries old view of the river which had inspired generations of great national leaders whose ranks he was now surely to join. And he had just put the phone down on the only man who could ruin it all for him.
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