‘Jaffrey’s not going to be there to confirm or deny anything, so don’t mention the policy and simply highlight the fact that Bowman’s done time. Anyway. Our man Barrett has film of Bowman visiting a frightfully seedy little place near St Paul’s, a stationer’s shop apparently, though that’s just … Do they call it a “front”? The proprietor is one Reginald Blaine, though he goes by “Dancer”. And this Dancer creature has underworld connections, Barrett says. He’s rumoured to supply guns, and he specialises in creating false IDs.’
‘So how come he’s at large?’
‘Because, my darling, the world is mostly grey areas. If the man is a source of useful information to the authorities, then no doubt he’s given a certain amount of latitude. But none of that is our concern. What matters is, one, that he deals in guns and fake paperwork, and two, that Jaffrey’s man had dealings with him.’
‘But not Jaffrey himself.’
‘Of course not Jaffrey himself. That’s precisely why—’
‘—he has a bagman,’ Dennis finished.
They were a team. This was how they did things.
His wife’s glass was empty, so he refilled it: a rather amusing claret from one of those wine warehouses on the outskirts of town. Never did harm to be seen shopping where ordinary people did, provided they were the right kind of ordinary.
‘And we’re sure a public meeting is the place to air this information? The House might be safer.’
‘Yes, but we’re not hiding behind the Mother of Parliaments’ skirts,’ said Dodie. ‘We’re taking our sword of truth and getting out there and defending the people.’
He raised his glass to her, in appreciation of her pronouns.
‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘it’s verifiable fact. The story will appear in my column the following morning, with accompanying photographic evidence. Jaffrey’s not going to sue. Because if he does, we’ll bury him.’
Dennis switched roles; no longer testing the content of his upcoming speech but rehearsing it, feeling its weight. ‘There are no innocent explanations for wanting fake identities. And the fact that Jaffrey—’
‘Or his bagman.’
‘—or his
‘“Demands explanation” might be better.’
‘Surely demands explanation,’ Dennis amended. ‘Is it expecting too much of the Prime Minister that he require such explanation from his associate forthwith?’
‘Unnecessary,’ Dodie said. ‘Everybody else will join those dots, trust me. And even if they don’t, I’ll do it for them in my column. Meanwhile, the PM will be reeling from your announcement that, after full and careful consideration as to where and how you might best serve your country—’
‘In these difficult times,’ Dennis said.
‘—in these difficult times, you have decided to rejoin the party whose aspirations and ideals have always been closest to your heart, and on whose backbenches you will gladly toil alongside those whom you have always counted your closest friends.’
‘Actually, dreadful little tykes, this current intake,’ he said.
‘Though not as bad as our own shower.’
This was true. The party that Gimball had joined might only have had a single issue at its core, but a single issue was enough to sow division among the uncomplicated minds of its activists, for whom a punch-up in a car park passed for debate. There would doubtless be hysteria at his defection – or redefection – but it would be a three-day whirlwind.
He raised his glass to her again. They were awfully jolly, these strategy sessions. A model of cooperative planning. ‘I wonder how the PM’ll react,’ he said.
‘Oh, he’ll mime slaughtering a fatted calf and try not to show he’s soiling himself. He’s just got through announcing that Jaffrey has his full support, and after my article the other day—’
‘Servicing a cow, ha ha! Very good!’
‘—he had no choice but to wave the flag for the MI5 chief, what’s his name? That common little man.’
‘Claude Whelan.’
‘So the PM’s tame Muslim celebrity turns out to be what we’re not allowed to say is usually found lurking in a woodpile, and the man responsible for establishing said Muslim’s credentials has fallen down on the job. The PM does rather seem to be lacking in judgement, doesn’t he?’
‘Almost as if a replacement were called for.’
‘And who better than the hero of the referendum? Darling, happy endings are so rare in politics. This one will be celebrated for years.’
Like other newspaper columnists, like other politicians, they genuinely thought themselves beloved.
Dennis Gimball finished his wine and stood and stretched. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘That’s all marvellous. And now perhaps I’ll just … take a stroll. Fetch a newspaper.’
‘Darling if you’re seen smoking, it’ll be headline news. You very publicly gave up, remember?’
‘It wasn’t front page of the manifesto, though.’
‘That was funny the first time, dear, but don’t ever say it again. If you’re going to smoke, do it in the garden. And make sure nobody’s watching.’
Sometimes, she thought, it was like having a child.
