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He had run up the white flag, and he didn't know whether to feel sick or relieved.
The cries of victory and relief reached far outside the Chamber as the parliamentary correspondents drank in an emotional scene and recorded it in their notebooks. Amidst the hubbub and confusion on all sides, the lonely figure of Henry Collingridge sat small and shrunken, staring straight ahead.
Some minutes later, a breathless Mattie Storin had pushed her way through the crowd of politicians and correspondents who were jostling in the lobby outside the entrance to the Chamber, as Opposition Members claimed victory for themselves while Government supporters with considerably less conviction tried to claim victory for common sense. Few were in any doubt that they had witnessed a Prime Minister on the rack. Above the mel?e Mattie saw the tall figure of Urquhart edging his way around the outside of the crowd, avoiding the questions of several agitated backbenchers. He disappeared through a convenient door, and Mattie pursued him. By the time she had almost caught up with her quarry, Urquhart was striding two at a time up the stairs which led to the upper galleries surrounding the Chamber.
'Mr Urquhart,' she shouted breathlessly after the fleeing Minister, promising herself once again that she would give up late nights and resume jogging. 'I need your view.'
I'm not sure I have one today, Miss Storin.' Urquhart did not stop.
'Surely we're not back on the "Chief Whip refuses to endorse Prime Minister" game again?' Urquhart stopped and turned to face the still panting Mattie. He smiled in amusement at the young correspondent's cheek. Tea, Mattie, I suppose you have a right to expect something. Well, what do you think?'
If the PM had trouble in controlling his Cabinet before this, his task now is going to be - what, a nightmare? Impossible?'
'It is not unusual for Prime Ministers to change their minds. But to be forced to change your mind publicly, simply because you are unable to defend your own decision, is...'
Mattie waited in vain for Urquhart to finish, but realised he would not do so. He would not condemn his Prime Minister, not openly on the stairs, but it was clear there would be no justification either. She prompted the Chief Whip yet again. Isn't the Government getting accident prone - the second major leak in a matter of weeks? Where are these leaks coming from?'
'As Chief Whip I am responsible only for discipline on the Government backbenches. You can scarcely expect me to play headmaster to my own Cabinet colleagues as well.'
'But if it's coming from Cabinet - who, and why?'
'I simply don't know, Mattie. But doubtless the Prime Minister will instruct me to find out who and why.'
'Formally or informally?'
'I can't comment on that,' muttered Urquhart, and continued up the stairs pursued by Mattie.
'So we have got to the point where the Prime Minister is about to launch an inquiry into which of his own Cabinet colleagues is leaking sensitive information. Is that what you are saying?'
'Oh, Mattie. It seems I have already said too much. You're a damn sight quicker on the uptake than most of your colleagues. It seems to me that your logic rather than my words has led you to your conclusions, eh? And I trust that you will be keeping my name out of this.'
'Usual lobby terms, Mr Urquhart,' she assured him. 'Just let me get this perfectly clear. You are not denying, indeed you are confirming that the Prime Minister will order an investigation into his Cabinet members' conduct?'
'If you keep my name out of it - yes.'
'Jesus, this will set them all flapping,' Mattie gasped. She could already see her front page lead taking shape.
'June 10th does seem a long time ago, doesn't it, Mattie?'
Urquhart continued up the stairs which led to the Strangers Gallery, where members of the public perched on rows of cramped, narrow benches to view the proceedings of the House, usually with a considerable degree of discomfort and a still larger degree of astonishment. He caught the eye of a small and impeccably dressed Indian for whom he had previously obtained a seat in the Gallery, and signalled to him. The man struggled past the outstretched knees of other visitors packed into the benches, and emerged with obvious embarrassment past two extremely buxom middle-aged ladies. Before he had any opportunity to speak Urquhart motioned to him for silence and led him towards the small hallway behind the gallery.
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