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TUESDAY 22nd JUNE
Roger O'Neill sat back comfortably in the arms of one of the large leather armchairs which surround the snooker tables in the back room at White's Club. When the tables are not in use, the seats which are spread around the games room offer a quiet and confidential spot for members to take their guests. He had been delighted, and not a little astonished, to receive the invitation from the Chief Whip to dine at his prestigious club in St James's. Urquhart had never shown much warmth towards O'Neill in the past, and O'Neill had been more used to a cold and condescending gaze down Urquhart's aquiline nose, rather like a well-fed bird eyeing future prey, than an invitation 'to celebrate the splendid work which you have done for us all throughout the campaign'.
O'Neill, hypertense as always, had tried to calm his nerves with a couple of mighty vodka-tonics before he arrived, but they had not been necessary. Urquhart's cosy manner, two bottles of Chateau Talbot '78 and the large cognacs which Urquhart was even now ordering from the bar suggested that O'Neill had at last been able to break through the barriers which some traditionalists within the party leadership still erected against the likes of O'Neill and his 'marketing johnnies with their vulgar cars'. Even as O'Neill derided the traditionalists and their narrow jealousies, he desperately wanted their acceptance, and now he felt guilty for having misjudged Urquhart so badly. He beamed broadly as his host returned from the bar with two crystal glasses on a silver tray. O'Neill stubbed out his cigarette in preparation for the Havana which he hoped would be following.
'Tell me, Roger, what are your plans now the election is over? Are you going to stay on with the Party? We can't afford to lose good men like you.'
O'Neill flashed yet another winning smile and assured his host that he would stay on as long as the Prime Minister wanted him.
'But how can you afford to, Roger? May I be brutally honest with you? I know just how little the Party pays its employees, and money is always so short after an election. It's going to be tough for the next couple of years. Your salary will probably get frozen and your budget cut. Aren't you tempted by some of the more handsome offers you must be getting from outside?'
'Well, it's not always easy, Francis, as you've already guessed. It's not so much the salary, you understand. I work in politics because I'm fascinated by it and love to play a part. But it would be a tragedy if the budget gets cut.'
His smile faded as he contemplated the prospect and began to fidget nervously with his glass. 'We should start working for the next election now, not in three years' time when it may be too late. Particularly with all these rumours flooding around about splits within the Party and who is to blame for the loss of seats. We need some strong and positive publicity, and I need a budget to create it.'
'The Chairman receptive to all this?' Urquhart raised an enquiring eyebrow.
'Are Chairmen ever?'
'Perhaps, Roger, there is something I can do about that. I would like to be able to help you very much, because I think you've done such excellent work. Ill go in to bat with the Chairman about your budget, if you want. But there is something I must ask you first. And I must be blunt.'
The older man's blue eyes looked directly into O'Neill's, taking in their habitual flicker. He paused while O'Neill blew his nose loudly. Another habit, Urquhart knew. He examined O'Neill closely. It was as if there were another life going on within O'Neill which was quite separate from the rest of the world, and which communicated itself only through O'Neill's hyperactive mannerisms and twitching eyes.
'I had a visit the other day from an old colleague I used to know from the days when I held directorships in the City,' Urquhart continued, lie's one of the financial people at the Party's advertising agency. And he was very troubled. Very discreet, but very troubled. He said you were in the habit of asking them for considerable sums of cash to cover your expenses.'
The twitching stopped for a moment, and Urquhart noticed just how rarely he had ever seen O'Neill stop moving.
'Roger, let me assure you I am riot trying to trap you or trick you. This is strictly between us. But if I am to help you, I must be sure of the facts.'
The face and the eyes started up again, and O'Neill's ready laugh made a nervous reappearance. 'Francis, let me assure you that there's nothing wrong at all. It's silly, of course, but I am grateful that you raised it with me. It's simply that there are times when I incur expenses on the publicity side which are easier and more convenient for the agency to meet rather than putting them through the Party machine. Like buying a drink for a journalist or taking a Party contributor out for a meal.'
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