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Urquhart now knew that he had read his man well. While Woolton had never expressed any open dissatisfaction after the waves of the leadership election had settled, public loyalty is rarely more than a necessary cover for private ambition, and the Foreign Secretary had never done more than was strictly necessary to maintain that cover.
Woolton was now refilling their glasses while continuing his analysis. 'Margaret managed an extraordinary balance of personal toughness and sense of direction. She was ruthless when she had to be - and often when she didn't have to be as well. She always seemed to be in such a hurry to get where she was going that she had no time to take prisoners and .didn't mind trampling on a few friends either. It didn't matter so much because she led from in front. Yet Henry doesn't have any sense of direction, only a love of office. And without that sense of direction, when he tries to be tough it simply comes across as arrogance and harshness. He tries to mimic Margaret but he hasn't got the balls.
'So these we have it. If we try to get rid of him we're in deep trouble. If we keep him, to use an old Lancashire expression, we're stuffed.'
He returned to his pipe, puffing furiously to rekindle its embers until he disappeared once more behind the haze.
Urquhart hadn't spoken for nearly ten minutes, but now moved to the edge of his chair once again. 'Yes, I see. But I don't see. What is it you are saying, Patrick?'
Woolton roared with laughter. I'm sorry, Francis. Too much bloody diplomatic claptrap. I can't even ask the wife to pass the cornflakes nowadays without confusing her. You want a direct answer? OK. A majority of 24 simply isn't enough, and at the rate we are going we shall get wiped out next time around. We cannot go on as we are.'
'So what is the solution? We have to find one.'
'We wait. We need time, a few months, to prepare the public perception and pressure for the PM to stand down, so that when he does we shall be seen to be responding to a positive public demand rather than indulging in private squabbles. Perceptions are crucial, Francis, and we shall need a little time to get them right.'
And you need a little time to prepare your own pitch for the job, thought Urquhart. You old fraud. You want the job just as badly as ever.
He knew Woolton would need the time to spend as many evenings as possible in the corridors and bars of the House of Commons strengthening relationships with his colleagues, increasing the number of his speaking engagements in the constituencies of influential MPs, broadening his reputation with newspaper editors and columnists, building up his credentials. His official diary would get cleared very rapidly. He would spend less time travelling abroad and much, much more time travelling around Britain making speeches about the challenges facing the country in the year 2000.
You have a particularly difficult and delicate task, Francis. You are in a central position for judging whether there is any chance of Henry staging some sort of recovery or, failing that, when the time is right to move. Too early and we shall all look like assassins. Too late and the Party will be in pieces. You will have to keep your ear very close to the ground, and decide if and when the time has come to move. I assume you are taking soundings elsewhere?'
Urquhart nodded carefully in silent assent. He's nominated me as Cassius, he thought, put the dagger in my hand and left it to me to nominate the Ides of March. Urquhart was exhilarated to discover that he did not mind the sensation at all.
'Patrick, I'm very grateful that you feel able to be so frank with me. The next few months are going to be difficult for all of us, and if I may I will continue to take your counsel. And you may be sure that not a word of this will pass outside this room.' He rose to finish the meeting.
'My Special Branch team are all going on at me about how walls have ears. I'm damned glad you have the next door bungalow!' Woolton exclaimed, thumping Urquhart playfully between the shoulder blades as his visitor strode over to retrieve his red box.
'I hope you will be joining me there for my reception this evening, Patrick. You won't forget, will you?'
'Course not. Always enjoy your parties. Be rude of me to refuse your champagne!'
I'll see you in a few hours then,' replied Urquhart, picking up a red box.
As Woolton closed the door behind his visitor, he poured himself another drink. He would skip the afternoon's conference debates and have a bath and a short sleep to prepare himself for the evening's heavy schedule. As he reflected on the conversation he had just had, he began to wonder whether the whisky had dulled his senses. He was trying to remember how Urquhart had voiced his own opposition to Collingridge, but couldn't. 'Crafty sod. Let me do all the talking.'
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