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His wife was no less confused when he returned home later that evening and they watched his dramatic announcement lead off the Nine O'clock News.
'I understand why you had to back out, Patrick, and I suppose that ought to be punishment enough. I shall go on supporting you, as I always have. But why did you decide to support Urquhart, for Heaven's sake? I never knew you were that close'
That superior bugger? I'm not close to him. Don't even like him!'
Then why?'
'Because I'm fifty-five and Michael Samuel is forty-eight, which means that he could be in Downing Street for twenty years until I'm dead and buried as a politician. Francis Urquhart is sixty-two, and is likely to be in office for no more than five years. So with Urquhart, there's a chance that there will be another leadership race before I retire. In the meantime, if I can find out who is behind that tape, or they fall under a bus or get driven over by a Ministerial limousine, then I'm in with a second chance'
His pipe was hurling thick blue smoke into the air as he worked on his logic.
'In any event, I had nothing to gain from remaining neutral. Samuel would never have tolerated me in his Cabinet. So instead I've handed the election to Urquhart on a plate, and he will have to show some public gratitude for that'
He smiled at his wife for the first time since they had heard the tape. 'How do you fancy being the Chancellor of the Exchequer's wife for the next couple of years?'
FRIDAY 26th NOVEMBER
The following morning's weather was still well below freezing, but a new front had passed over London bringing with it crystal blue skies to replace the leaden cloud cover of the previous day. As Urquhart looked out from his Commons office across the Thames, the riverscape glowed brightly in the clear winter sunshine like a brilliant symbol of what lay ahead for him. As he gazed at the press reports of Woolton's endorsement, he felt invulnerable, almost home.
Then the door burst open. It was O'Neill. Even before Urquhart could demand to know what on earth he thought he was doing, the babbling commenced. The words were fired like bullets in a battle, being hurled at Urquhart as if to overwhelm and force his submission.
They know, Francis. They've discovered that the file is missing. The locks were bent and one of the secretaries noticed and the Chairman's called us all in. I'm sure he suspects me. What are we going to do? What are we going to do?'
Urquhart was shaking him to stop the incomprehensible gabble, and he was surprised at how much physical force was needed before the man was brought under some sort of control.
'Roger, for God's sake shut up!' He pushed him bodily into a chair and the shock caused O'Neill to pause for breath. 'Now slowly, Roger. What are you trying to say?'
The files. The confidential party files on Samuel you asked me to send to the Sunday newspapers.' He was panting for breath from physical and nervous exhaustion. 'Well, I was able to use my pass key to get into the basement storage room without any trouble, but the files are all in locked cabinets. I had to force the lock, Francis. I'm sorry but I had no choice. Not very much but it bent a little. There's so much dust and cobwebs around that it looked as if no one had been in there since the Boer War, but yesterday some bitch of a secretary decided to go in there and noticed the bent lock. Now they've gone through the whole lot and discovered that Samuel's file is missing.'
You sent them the original file? You didn't just copy the interesting bits as I told you?'
'Francis, the file was very thick, it would have taken hours to copy. I didn't know which bits they would be most interested in, so I sent them the lot. It could have been years before anyone noticed the file was missing, and then they would have thought it was simply misplaced.'
'You bloody fool, you...'
'Francis, don't shout at me!' O'Neill screamed. It's me who's taken all the risks, not you. The Chairman's personally interrogating everyone with a pass key and there are only nine of us. He's asked to see me this afternoon. I'm sure he suspects me. And I'm not going to take the blame all on my own. Why should I? I only did what you told me... Francis, I can't go on lying. I simply can't stand it any more. I'll go to pieces!'
Urquhart froze as he realised the truth behind O'Neill's desperate words. This quivering man in front of him had no resistance or judgement left; he was beginning to crumble and flake like some old, brittle newspaper. The eyes were flickering furiously once more as the words tumbled out, and Urquhart realised that not even for a week, not even for this week, could O'Neill control himself. He was on the very edge. The slightest wind could send him hurtling down towards destruction. And he would take Urquhart with him.
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