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'Roger, you are over-anxious. You have nothing to fear, no one can prove anything and you must remember that I'm on your side. You are not alone in this. Look, don't go back to the office, call in sick and go home. The Chairman can wait till Monday. And tomorrow I would like you to come and be my house guest in Hampshire. Come for lunch and stay overnight while we talk the whole thing through - together, just the two of us'
O'Neill gripped Urquhart's hand in delight and relief, like a cripple flingingto his crutch.
'But don't tell anyone that you are corning to visit me. It would be very embarrassing if the press were to find out that a senior party official is my house guest just before the final leadership ballot - it wouldn't look right for either of us - so this must be strictly between the two of us. Not even your secretary must know'
O'Neill tried to mutter a word of thanks but was cut short by three enormous sneezes which had Urquhart reeling in disgust. O'Neill didn't seem to notice as he wiped his face and smiled with the new found eagerness of a spaniel.
I'll be there, Francis. I'll be there.'
SATURDAY 27th NOVEMBER
Urquhart got up before dawn. He hadn't slept, but was not in the least tired. He knew this was to be a very special day. Well before the early light of morning was breaking above the New Forest moors, he dressed in his favourite hunting jacket, pulled on his boots and strode out into the freezing morning air along the bridle path which led across Emery Down towards Lyndhurst. The ground mist clung closely to the hedgerows, discouraging the birds and damping down all sound. It pressed around him like a cocoon and he was utterly alone, a man on an empty planet who must make his own decisions and decide his own fate.
He had walked nearly three miles before he began a long, slow climb up the southern face of a hill, and slowly the fog began to clear as the rising sun cut through the damp air. He had just emerged from a bank of swirling mist when he saw the stag across the patch of sun-cleared hillside, browsing amongst the damp gorse. He slipped gently behind a low bush, waiting, like a hunter for his prey. But he was not a complete hunter. He had never hunted a man. He had been too young for Hitler, too busy at university for Korea, too late for Suez. He had never known what it was like to exchange another man's life for his own, to condemn someone before they had the chance to do the same to you.
He wondered how his brother had died. He imagined him in a shallow dugout underneath a Dunkirk hedgerow, waiting for the barrel of the first German tank to appear over the brow of the hill. As he lay there ready to kill, to destroy as many other lives as possible, had he felt exhilarated like some savage animal by the chance to shed blood? Had he been immobilised by terror, a man turned rabbit by panic in spite of his training and sense of duty? Or had he felt a calming certainty about the need for. self-preservation which had overcome all apprehension and a lifetime of Sunday School morality - just as Urquhart felt now?
The stag edged closer towards him as it continued to browse, oblivious of his presence. Suddenly, Urquhart stood bolt upright, not twenty yards in front of the deer which froze in confusion. Neither breathed as they stood in confrontation, until Urquhart let forth a peal of almighty laughter, racking his body with the sound which bounced off the surrounding banks of mist. The stag, sensing that it should already have been dead, leapt to one side and in an instant was gone.
Urquhart spent all morning walking through the woodlands and across the downs, not returning home until almost noon. When he did so, he walked straight into his study without changing, and picked up the phone.
He first called the editors of the four leading Sunday newspapers. He discovered that two of them were writing editorials supporting him, one was supporting Samuel and the other was noncommittal. However, all four were confident in varying degrees that he had a clear advantage, a conclusion confirmed by the Observer's pollsters who by now had succeeded in contacting a substantial majority of the Parliamentary Party. The survey predicted that Urquhart would win comfortably with 60 per cent of the vote.
It seems it would take an earthquake to stop you winning now, Francis'the editor had said.
He then called a Kent number, and asked to be put through to Dr Christian.
'Good afternoon, Chief Whip. Nice of you to take time out of your weekend to enquire about Charles. He is progressing very well indeed, I'm delighted to say. His brother the Prime Minister is down here almost every other day to see him, and it's been like a tonic to both of them'
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