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'I have to say that I... was rather looking for a change myself. A bit of new experience... a new challenge'
'Francis' the Prime Minister said in his most reassuring manner, 'if I move you, I have to move others. The whole pile of dominoes begins to fall over. And I need you where you are. You are an excellent Chief Whip. You have devoted yourself to burrowing right into the heart and soul of the Parliamentary Party. You know them so well, and we have to face it that with such a small majority there might be one or two sticky patches over the next few years. I need to have a Chief Whip who is strong enough to handle them. I need you, Francis. You are so good behind the scenes. We can leave it to others to do the job out front'
You appear to have made up your mind' Urquhart said, hoping that it sounded like a statement of fact rather than the accusation which he felt.
'I have' replied the Prime Minister. 'And I am deeply grateful that I can rely on your understanding and support.'
Urquhart felt the cell door slam shut. He thanked them, cast a dark eye at the Party Chairman, and took his farewell. Williams hadn't uttered a single word.
He left through the basement of Number Ten which led him past the ruins of the old Tudor tennis court to the Cabinet Office, which faces onto Whitehall. He was well out of sight of die waiting press. He couldn't face them. He had been with the Prime Minister less than half an hour, and he did not trust his face to back up the lies he would have to tell them. He got a security guard at the Cabinet Office to telephone for his car to be brought round.
The battered BMW had been standing outside the house in Cambridge Street, Pimlico for almost a quarter of an hour. Amidst the chaos of discarded newspapers and granary bar wrappers which covered the vacant seats, Mattie Storin sat biting her lip. Ever since the reshuffle announcement from Downing Street late that afternoon, fevered discussions had been undertaken in editorial offices trying to decide whether the Prime Minister had been brilliant and audacious or simply lost his nerve,- they needed the views of the men who had helped shape the decisions. Williams had been persuasive and supportive as usual, but Urquhart's phone had only rung and rung.
Without knowing quite why, after work Mattie had decided to drive past Urquhart's London home, just ten minutes away from the House of Commons. She expected to find it dark and empty but instead she discovered that the lights were burning and there were signs of movement around the house, yet still the telephone rang unanswered.
She knew it was not the done thing in Westminster circles for political correspondents to pursue their quarry back to their homes; indeed, it was a practice which was darkly frowned upon not only by politicians but also by other correspondents. The world of Westminster is a club which has many unwritten rules, and those rules are guarded jealously by both politicians and press - particularly the press, the so-called Westminster 'lobby' of correspondents which quietly and privately regulates all media activity in the Palace of Westminster. The lobby system sets the rules of conduct which permit briefings and interviews to take place without their ever being reported, which encourage politicians to be indiscreet and to break confidences without ever being quoted, which allow the press to get round the Official Secrets Act and the oaths of collective Ministerial responsibility without ever giving their sources away. It was the lobby correspondent's passport, without which he - or she - would find all doors closed and all mouths firmly shut.
Mattie gave the inside of her cheek another bite. She was nervous. She did not lightly bend the rules, but why was the bloody man not answering his phone? What on earth was he up to?
A thick Northern voice whispered in her ear, the voice she had so often missed since leaving the Yorkshire Post and its old, wise editor. What had he said? 'Rules, my girl, are meant for the guidance of the wise and the emasculation of the foolish. Don't ever tell me you haven't got a good story because of somebody else's sodding rules.'
'OK, OK, you miserable bugger,' Mattie said out loud. She didn't feel good about breaking lobby rules, but she knew she would feel even worse missing a valuable opportunity. She checked her hair in the mirror, running a hand through it to restore some life, and opened the car door wishing that she were somewhere else. Twenty seconds later the house echoed with the heavy thumping of the ornate brass knocker on the front door.
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