Ministers whom he had helped out of trouble, whose weaknesses he knew, whose sins he had covered up and whose wives and electors would never find out.
Williams was staring at him with his old, cunning eyes. Did he know, had he figured it out? The room was silent as the Prime Minister tapped his pencil on the desk, clearly having trouble with the argument Urquhart had put forward.
'We've been in power for longer than any Party since the war, which presents a new challenge. Boredom. We need to ensure we have a fresh image for the Government team,' Urquhart continued. 'We must guard against going stale.'
That's very interesting, Francis, and I agree with you to a large extent. Teddy and I have been discussing just that sort of problem. We must bring on a new generation of talent, find new impetus by putting new men in new places. And I find many of your suggestions for changes at the lower Ministerial levels below Cabinet very persuasive.'
'But they are not the ones that matter,' Urquhart muttered beneath his breath.
The trouble is that too much change at the top can be very disruptive. It takes most Cabinet Ministers a year simply to find their feet in a new Department, and a year is a long time to struggle through without being able to show positive signs of progress. Rather than Cabinet changes helping to implement our new programme, Teddy's view is that on balance it would more likely delay the programme.'
What new programme?, Urquhart screamed inside his skull. We deliberately published the most flaccid and uncontroversial manifesto we could get away with! He calmed himself before responding.
‘D
on't you think by cutting our majority the electorate was telling us of its desire for some degree of change?'
'An interesting point. But as you yourself said, no Government in our lifetimes has been in office as long as we have: Without in any way being complacent, Francis, I don't think we could have rewritten the history books if die voters believed we had run out of steam. On balance, I think it suggests that they are content with what we offer, and there is no great sign of them demanding upheaval or change. There's another vital point
’
he continued, lust because our majority has been cut, we must avoid giving the impression that we are panicking. That would send entirely the wrong signal to the Party and the country, and could bring about just that demand for change which you are so nervous of. Remember that Macmillan destroyed his own Government by panicking and sacking a third of his Cabinet. "The Night of the Long Knives" they called it, and he was out of office the following year. That was a mistake I am not anxious to repeat. So I'm thinking of a much more controlled approach myself.'
Collingridge slipped a piece of paper across the desk towards Urquhart, who picked it up. On it was printed a list of Cabinet positions, twenty-two in all, with names alongside them.
'As you see, Francis, I am suggesting no Cabinet changes at all. I hope it will be seen as a sign of great determination and strength. We have a job to do, and I think we should show we want to get straight on with it'
Urquhart quickly replaced the paper onto the desk, anxious that the tremble in his hand might betray his inner feelings.
If that is what you want, Prime Minister,' he said, slipping into a formal tone.
‘I
have to say that I am not sure how the Parliamentary Party will react. I've not had sufficient chance to take soundings since the election.'
I'm sure they will accept it. After all, we are proposing a substantial number of changes below Cabinet level to keep them happy
’
There was the slightest pause. 'And of course I assume I have your full support?' he asked quizzically.
There was another pause, slightly longer this time, until Urquhart heard himself responding.
'Of course, Prime Minister
’
His own voice sounded strangely distant. He knew he had no choice: it was either support or suicide through instant resignation. The words of acceptance came out automatically, but without conviction. He felt the Whips Office closing around him like the walls of the condemned cell. Once again Urquhart felt uneasy in Collingridge's presence, not knowing how to read him or how to respond to him. But he could not leave it there. His words faltered as he found his mouth suddenly dry.
‘I
have to say that I... was rather looking for a change myself. A bit of new experience
...
a new challenge
’
'Francis
’
the Prime Minister said in his most reassuring manner, 'if I move you, I have to move others. The whole pile of dominoes begins to fall over. And I need you where you are. You are an excellent Chief Whip. You have devoted yourself to burrowing right into the heart and soul of the Parliamentary Party. You know them so well, and we have to face it that with such a small majority there might be one or two sticky patches over the next few years. I need to have a Chief Whip who is strong enough to handle them. I need you, Francis. You are so good behind the scenes. We can leave it to others to do the job out front
’
You appear to have made up your mind
’
Urquhart said, hoping that it sounded like a statement of fact rather than the accusation which he felt.
‘I
have
’
replied the Prime Minister. 'And I am d
eeply
grateful that I can rely on your understanding and support.'
Urquhart felt the cell door slam shut. He thanked them, cast a dark eye at the Party Chairman, and took his farewell. Williams hadn't uttered a single word.
He left through the basement of Number Ten which led him past the ruins of the old Tudor tennis court to the Cabinet Office, which faces onto Whitehall. He was well out of sight of die waiting press. He couldn't face them. He had been with the Prime Minister less than half an hour, and he did not trust his face to back up the lies he would have to tell them. He got a security guard at the Cabinet Office to telephone for his car to be brought round.
The battered BMW had been standing outside the house in Cambridge Street, Pimlico for almost a quarter of an hour. Amidst the chaos of discarded newspapers and granary bar wrappers which covered the vacant seats
, Mattie Storin sat biting her li
p. Ever since the reshuffle announcement from Downing Street late that afternoon, fevered discussions had been undertaken in editorial offices trying to decide whether the Prime Minister had been brilliant and audacious or simply lost his nerve,- they needed the views of the men who had helped shape the decisions. Williams had been persuasive and supportive as usual, but Urquhart's phone had only rung and rung.
Without knowing quite why, after work Mattie had decided to drive past Urquhart's London home, just ten minutes away from the House of Commons. She expected to find it dark and empty but instead she discovered that the lights were burning and there were signs of movement around the house, yet still the telephone rang unanswered.
She knew it was not the done
thing
in Westminster circles for political correspondents to pursue their quarry back to their homes; indeed, it was a pra
ctice which was darkly frowned
upon not only by politicians but also by other correspondents. The world of Westminster is a club which has many unwritten rules, and those rules are guarded jealously by both politicians and press - particularly the press, the so-called Westminster 'lobby' of correspondents which quietly and privately regulates all media activity in the Palace of Westminster. The lobby system sets the rules of conduct which permit briefings and interviews to take place without their ever being reported, which encourage politicians to be indiscreet and to break confidences without ever being quoted, which allow the press to get round the Official Secrets Act and the oaths of collective Ministerial responsibility without ever giving their sources away. It was the lobby correspondent's passport, without which he - or she - would find all doors closed and all mouths firmly shut.
Mattie gave the inside of her cheek another bite. She was nervous. She did not lightly bend the rules, but why was the bloody man not answering his phone? What on earth was he up to?
A thick Northern voice whispered in her ear, the voice she had so often missed since leaving the
Yorkshire Post
and its old, wise editor. What had he said? 'Rules, my girl, are meant for the guidance of the wise and the emasculation of the foolish. Don't ever tell me you haven't got a good story because of somebody else's sodding rules.'
'OK, OK, you miserable bugger,' Mattie said out loud. She didn't feel good about breaking lobby rules, but she knew she would feel even worse missing a valuable opportunity. She checked her hair in the mirror, running a hand through it to restore some life, and opened the car door wishing that she were somewhere else. Twenty seconds later the house echoed with the heavy thumping of the ornate brass knocker on the front door.
Urquhart was alone, and not expecting visitors. His wife had returned to the country, and the maid didn't work weekends. He opened the door impatiently, and he did not immediately recognise the caller.
'Mr Urquhart, I've been trying to contact you all afternoon. I hope it's not inconvenient but I need some help. Downing Street has announced that there will be no Cabinet changes, and I'd appreciate your help in trying to understand the thinking behind it.'
How do these damned journalists always find where you are? thought Urquhart.
I'm sorry but I have nothing to say,' he responded and began to close the door. He saw the journalist throw her hands up in exasperation and take a step forward. Surely the silly girl wasn't going to put her foot in the door, it would be too comic for words. But Mattie spoke calmly and quietly.
'Mr Urquhart. That's a great story. But I don't think you mean it.'
Intrigued, Urquhart paused. What on earth did she mean? Mattie saw the hesitation, and threw a little more bait into the water. The story would read: "There were signs last night of
deep Cabinet divisions over th
e non-shuffle. The Chief Whip, long believed to have harboured ambitions for a move to a new post, refused to comment on or to defend the Prime Minister's decision." How would you care for that?'
Only now did Urquhart recognise the
Telegraph
correspondent away from her usual surroundings. He knew Mattie Storin only slightly as she was relatively new to the Westminster circuit, but Urquhart had seen her in action often enough to suspect she was no fool. He was therefore astonished that she was now on his doorstep trying to intimidate the Chief Whip.
"You cannot be serious,' Urquhart said slowly.
Mattie broke into a broad smile. 'Actually, no, sir. Although you won't answer your telephone or talk face-to-face, even I wouldn't go that far to get a story. But it does raise some very interesting questions in my mind, and frankly I would prefer to get the truth rather than having to concoct something out of thin air. And that's all you are leaving me at the moment, thin air.'
Urquhart was disarmed by the young journalist's candour. He ought to be furious and on the phone to her editor, demanding an apology for such blatant harassment. But Mattie had already sensed there might be a much deeper story behind the formal announcement from Downing Street. Now she stood in a pool of light at his front door, highlights glinting in her short, blonde hair. What had he got to lose?
‘P
erhaps you had better come in after all - Miss Storin, isn't it?'
‘P
lease call me Mattie.'
He led the way upstairs to a tasteful, if very traditional, sitting room, covered in oil paintings of horses and country scenes, and crammed with ancient but comfortable furniture. He poured himself a large Scotch and, without asking her, a glass of white wine for his guest before settling into an overstuffed armchair. Mattie sat opposite, nervously perching on the edge of the sofa. She got out a small notebook, but Urquhart waved it away.
I'm tired, Miss Storin - Mattie. It's been an arduous campaign, and I am not sure I would express myself particularly well. So no notes and no quotations, if you don't mind.' Urquhart knew he had to be careful.
'OK, Mr Urquhart. Let's do this entirely on a lobby basis. I can use what you tell me, but I can't attribute it to you in any way and absolutely no quotations.'
'Precisely.'
He took a cigarette from a silver cigarette box and relaxed back in his chair, inhaling deeply. He did not wait for Mattie's questions before starting his defence.
'So what if I tell you that the Prime Minister sees this as being the best way of getting on with the job? Not letting Ministers get confused with new responsibilities and new civil service teams, but allowing us to continue full steam ahead?'
‘I
would say, Mr Urquhart, that we would scarcely have to go off the record and on to a lobby basis for that!'
Urquhart chuckled at the young journalist's bluntness. Yes, he would have to be very careful.
‘I
would also say that the election result showed the need for some new blood and some new thinking,' she continued. 'You lost a lot of seats, and your endorsement by the voters wasn't exactly gushing, was it?'