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There's something else I wanted to ask you, doctor. I need your advice. We have a Member of Parliament who has a real problem. He's a cocaine addict, and recently his behaviour has deteriorated rapidly. His physical mannerisms - the nasal problems, exaggerated eye movements - have become much worse. His speech varies between a chaotic cavalry charge and a slow, incomprehensible drool. He has become very agitated and disturbed and has caused several public scenes. He has grown utterly paranoid, making wild accusations and threats. The man is clearly very ill, and I am trying to persuade him to take treatment but, as you keep telling me, addicts are often the last people to face up to their problems.
In the meantime, he occupies a very sensitive position of considerable trust. It could inflict untold damage if he were to break that trust and be indiscreet. The question I have for you, doctor, is to what extent a man in that situation is able to keep his word and any sense of perspective. Is there any chance we can trust him?'
'You sound as if you have a very sick man on your hands, Mr Urquhart. By the time he is unable to keep his behaviour private but makes a public exhibition of himself on a regular basis, showing those sort of physical symptoms, then he is in the final stages of collapse. He is probably taking the drug several times every day, which means he's not only unable to do his work but—much more seriously from your point of view — has lost all self restraint. The habit is very expensive and he will do anything to continue his supply of drugs. lie, steal, cheat, sometimes kill. He will sell anything he can lay his hands on in exchange for drugs, which includes any information he may have. He will also be getting very paranoid, and if you try to persuade him too hard to seek treatment against his will, he may turn on you as a vicious enemy and do anything to destroy you. I have seen it tear husbands from their wives and mothers from their children. They are driven by a need which stretches far beyond all others'
'He's already threatened to break the deepest confidences. Are you saying he might be serious about that?'
'Deadly serious'
'Then we have a problem'
'A very considerable one, by the sounds of it. I'm sorry. Please let me know if I can help'
'You already have, doctor. Thank you.'
Urquhart was still sitting in his study when he heard O'Neill's car draw up in the driveway outside.
As the Irishman stepped into the hallway, Urquhart could not help but note that the man who now stood in front of him was almost unrecognisable as the man he had taken to dinner in his club less than six months before. The casual elegance which O'Neill used to effect had now turned into outright scruffiness. His hair was unkempt, the clothes were badly creased as if he had found them at the bottom of a laundry bag, the tie hung loosely round the unbuttoned and crumpled collar. Trying to look at O'Neill as if meeting him for the first time, Urquhart was shocked. The gradual decline over several months had become part of O'Neill's pattern for those colleagues who saw him frequently, and had largely hidden the true extent to which he had deteriorated. The once suave and fashionable communicator now looked like a common tramp. And those deep, twinkling eyes, the features which women had found so captivating and clients so enthusing, had sunk without trace, to be replaced by two wild, staring orbs which flashed around the room in constant pursuit of something they could never find. This was a man possessed.
Urquhart led O'Neill to one of the second floor guest rooms, saying little as they wound their way through the mansion's long corridors while O'Neill babbled away about whatever came into his mind. Increasingly in recent days his conversation had turned to others and their opinion of him; in O'Neill's mind the whole world seemed slowly and unjustly to be turning on him, betraying him. His Chairman, his Prime Minister, his secretary now. Even his local policeman seemingly patrolled the street for no other purpose than to spy on O'Neill, waiting to pounce on him.
O'Neill threw his overnight bag carelessly on the bed, showing little interest in the room and its fine views across the New Forest scenery.They returned the way they had come down two flights of stairs until Urquhart led him through the heavy oak doors into his book-lined study. He suggested O'Neill help himself to a drink, and watched with clinical concentration as O'Neill filled the entire tumbler with whisky and began draining it Soon the alcohol had begun to do battle with the cocaine, and the raging in O'Neill's eyes became just a touch less frenetic even as his tongue became thicker and his conversation began increasingly to lose its coherence. Depressant fought stimulant inside him, never achieving peace or balance, always leaving him on the point of toppling backwards or forwards into the abyss.
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