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'Francis! Chequers on the phone!' He picked up the extension on the garage wall, wiping his hands carefully on a greasy rag.
'Urquhart here.'
'Chief Whip, please hold on. I have the Prime Minister for you,' a female voice instructed.
The voice which now came on the end of the phone was almost unrecognisable. It had no more vitality than a voice from the grave.
'Francis, I am afraid I have some bad news. The Observer have just called up the Downing Street press office to let us know of a story they will be running tomorrow. I can't explain it all, but apparently my brother Charles has been buying shares in companies just before they benefit from Government decisions, and making a killing on them. They say they've got documentary evidence - bank statements, brokers' receipts, the lot. He bought nearly ?50,000 worth of Renox, they say, a couple of days before we are supposed to have approved a new drug of theirs for general use, and sold them a day later for a substantial profit They say he used a false address in Paddington. It's going to be the lead story.'
There was an exhausted pause, as if he no longer had the energy to continue. 'Francis, everyone's going to assume I'm involved with this. What on earth do I do?'
Urquhart settled himself comfortably in the front seat of the car before replying. It was a seat from which he was used to taking risks and making split-second decisions.
Have you said anything to the Observer''
'No. I don't think they were expecting a comment from me. They were really trying to find Charlie.'
'Where is he?'
'Gone to ground, I hope. I managed to get hold of him. He... was drunk. I just told him to take the phone off the hook and not to answer the door.'
Urquhart gripped the steering wheel, staring ahead. He felt strangely detached. He realised for the first time that he had set in motion a machine which was far more powerful than his ability to control it. He had manipulated, analysed and considered, but in spite of weeks of planning he knew that events were no longer under his command. He imagined that he was speeding down a country lane, the Rover ready to respond to his every command as he slammed it through its four gears and accelerated around the curve of the road, knowing now that he was lost in the exhilaration of its speed. He thrilled to its performance and the scent of danger in his nostrils, pressing ever more firmly down on the accelerator, oblivious of what lay around the next blind corner. It was already too late for second thoughts. It was instinct, not intellect, which would take over now.
'Where is he?'
'At home in London.'
Yes, I know it. You must get someone down there to take care of him. Look, I know it must be painful as he's your brother, but there's a drying-out clime outside Dover which the Whips Office has used for the occasional backbencher. Very confidential, very kind. Dr Christian, the head of the clinic, is excellent. I'll give him a call and get him to Charles immediately. You must arrange for someone else from the family to be there, too, in case your brother proves to be difficult. Your wife, Sarah, perhaps? I will find someone from the Whips Office to get there and keep a careful eye on it all. But we must move fast, because in four hours' time when the Observer hits the streets your brother's home is going to be besieged by journalists. We have to beat them to the punch. With Charles in his present state there is no knowing what he might say or do.'
'But what do we do then? I can't hide Charlie for ever. He's got to face up to it sooner or later, hasn't he?'
'Is he guilty?'
'I simply don't know,' the words said, but the tone conceded doubt and probable defeat 'The office checked after they got the phone call. Apparently we did license a new Renox drug a couple of months ago, and their shares jumped sharply. Anyone holding any of their shares would have made a handsome profit. But Charlie hasn't got any money to splash around on shares. And how would he know about Renox?'
Urquhart came back in a tone which did not imply any argument. 'Let's worry about that when we have taken care of him. He must be put away somewhere quiet, somewhere the press can't get to him. He needs help, whether he wants it or not, and you must get some breathing space. You must be very careful how you decide to respond.'
There was a short pause for the words to sink in. 'You cannot afford to get this one wrong.'
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