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Her bottom lip quivered in surprise and horror. He released her arm, and his head sank slowly onto the steering wheel.
'Yesterday a cassette tape arrived at my home address. The tape was of us in bed at the party conference.'
'And you thought that I had sent it and was trying to blackmail you? Why, you miserable bastard!'
'I... I didn't know what to think. I hoped it was you, Penny.'
'Why? Why me?' she shouted in disgust.
He took his head off the wheel to look once more at her. He had suddenly aged, his skin stretched like old parchment across his cheeks, his eyes red and tired.
'I hoped it was you, Penny, because if it's not you then I haven't the faintest idea who did manage to record us. And it can be no coincidence that it has arrived now, so many weeks after it was made. It means they're not trying to blackmail me for money, but over the leadership race.'
His voice faded to a whisper. 'As far as next Tuesday goes, I'm dead.'
Woolton spent the rest of the morning trying to think constructively. He had no doubt it was the leadership race which had caused the sudden appearance of the tape; a blackmailer simply wanting money would have had no reason to wait so long before striking. It was the leadership and its power, not money, they were interested in, and he knew their price would be too high. He suspected it was the Russians, who would not be as understanding as the New Orleans police. No, he could not stand.
Faced with such a problem, some might have decided to fade gently from the scene and pray that their quiet retirement would not be disturbed. That was not Woolton's style. He would rather go down fighting, and try to salvage whatever he could from the wreckage of his dreams.
He was in a determined mood by the time the press conference he had called gathered shortly after lunch. With no time to make more formal arrangements he had summoned the media to meet him on the other side of the river directly opposite the Houses of Parliament and under the shade of St Thomas's Hospital, where the Thames and the tower of Big Ben would provide a suitably dramatic backdrop. As soon as the cameramen were ready, he began.
'Good afternoon. I've got a short statement to make, and I'm sorry that I will not have time afterwards for questions. But I hope you will not be disappointed.
'Following the ballot on Tuesday, it seems as if only three candidates have any realistic chance of success. Indeed, I understand that all the other candidates have already announced that they do not intend to stand in the second round next week. So, as you gentlemen have put it, this is a three-horse race.
'Of course, I'm delighted and honoured to be one of those three, but three can be an unlucky number. There are not three real alternatives in this election, only two. Either the Party can stick to the practical approach to politics which has proved so successful and kept us in power for over a decade. Or it can develop a new raft of policies, sometimes called conscience politics, which will get Government much more deeply involved - some would say entrapped -in trying to sort out the everyday problems of individual people and families.'
There was a stir amongst the reporters at this sharp public acknowledgement of the division between the two wings of the Party which politicians habitually denied existed.
'I don't believe that a new emphasis on conscience politics would be appropriate - indeed, I think that however well intentioned that emphasis may be, it would in reality be a disaster for the Party and the country. I think that is also the view of the clear majority within the Party.
Yet paradoxically that is just the way we could end up drifting if that majority support for a pragmatic approach to politics is divided between two candidates, Mr Urquhart and myself. I am a practical man. I don't deal in personalities but in hard-nosed politics. Because of that I believe it would be wrong for my personal ambitions to stand in the way of achieving those policies in which I believe.'
The cold air was condensing his breath and setting fire to his words.
'So I have decided to ensure that the support for those general policies is not divided. I am withdrawing from the race. I shall be casting my own personal vote for Francis Urquhart, who I sincerely hope will be our nextPrime Minister. I have nothing more to say'
His last words were almost lost in the clatter of a hundred camera shutters, which continued to click as they captured the sight of Woolton striding so fast up the riverside steps towards his waiting car that he was almost running. A few gave chase, but were unable to catch him before he reached the car and was driven off across Westminster Bridge in the direction of the Foreign Office. The rest simply stood in a state of considerable bewilderment, trying to ensure that they had not only accurately recorded but also understood what Woolton had said. He had given them no time for questions, no opportunity to develop theories or surmise any hidden meaning behind his words. They had only what he had given them, and they would have to report it straight-which is precisely what Woolton intended.
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