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He shook his head, uncertain of what to say, or whether he should walk off the set. He was astonished that Charles was registered with the Sales and Literature Office, because he had only ever shown interest in the social side of politics. But he suspected that this was likely to be the least of his surprises.
'Of course, we took seriously your explanation that it might be a case of mistaken identity, of confusion with another Charles Collingridge.'
Collingridge wanted to shout in protest that it was not 'his' explanation, that it was simply an off-hand and speculative remark made without prejudice by his press secretary. But he knew it would be a waste of time, so he remained silent.
'Do you know how many other Charles Collingridges there are listed in the London telephone directory, Prime Minister?'
Collingridge offered no response, but sat there looking grim and ashen faced.
The presenter came to the assistance of his silent guest. There are no other Charles Collingridges listed in the London telephone directory. Indeed, sources at British Telecom tell us that there is only one Charles Collingridge listed throughout the United Kingdom Your brother, Prime Minister.'
Again a pause, inviting a response, but none was offered.
'Since a Mr Charles Collingridge seems to have acted on inside information concerning the Renox Chemical Company and decisions of the Department of Health relating to it, we asked both organisations if they had any knowledge of a Charles Collingridge. Renox tells us that neither they, nor their subsidiaries, have any Collingridge amongst then-employees. The Department of Health's press office was rather more cagey, promising to get back to us but never did. However, their trade union office was much more cooperative. They, too, corifirmed that there is no Collingridge listed as working at any of the Department's 508 offices throughout the country.'
The presenter shuffled his notes. 'Apparently they did have a Minnie Collingridge who worked at their Coventry office until two years ago, but she went back to Jamaica.'
"They're laughing at me' screamed Collingridge to himself. 'They have convicted, sentenced and now are executing me!' In the background he could see Sarah, and the tears which were running like rivers of blood down her cheeks.
'Prime Minister. We have almost come to the end of our programme. Is there anything you wish to say?'
Collingridge sat there, staring ahead at Sarah, wanting to run to her and embrace her and lie to her that there was no need for tears, everything would be all right. He was still sitting motionless in his chair a full minute later, as the eerie studio silence was broken by the programme's theme music. While the lights dimmed and the credits rolled, the viewers saw him rise from his seat, walk slowly over to v embrace his sobbing wife, and start whispering all those lies.
When they arrived back at Downing Street, Collingridge went straight to the Cabinet Room. He entered almost like a visitor, looking slowly and with a new eye around the room, at its elegant furnishings, fine classical architecture and historic paintings. Yet his gaze kept corning back to the Cabinet table itself, symbol of the uniquely British form of collective Government. He walked slowly around it, trailing his hand on the green baize cloth, stopping at the far end at the seat he had first occupied ten years ago as the Cabinet's most junior member. He raised his eyes to meet those of Robert Walpole, who seemed to be looking directly at him.
'What would you have done, old fellow?' he whispered. 'Fight, I suppose. And if you didn't win that one then fight and fight again. Well, well see.'
He reached his own chair and settled slowly into it, feeling physically lost as he sat alone at the middle of the great table. He reached for the single telephone which stood beside his blotter. There was a duty telephonist on call every hour of the day and night.
'Get me the Chancellor of the Exchequer, please.'
It took less than a minute before the receiver buzzed, with the Chancellor on the line.
'Colin, did you see it? How badly will the markets react tomorrow?'
The Chancellor gave an embarrassed but honest opinion.
'Bloody, eh? We shall have to see what can be done about it. We shall be in touch.'
He then spoke to the Foreign Secretary. 'What damage, Patrick?'
Woolton told him bluntly that with the Government's reputation so weak it would now be impossible to achieve the reforms of the Common Market's budgetary system which the United Kingdom Government had long been demanding and which had been made a clear priority during the election. 'A month ago it was there, within our grasp, after all these years. Now we carry about as much political clout around the negotiating table as O'Reilly's donkey. Sorry, Henry, you asked me to be brutally frank.'
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