He was by the window, apparently absorbed in his phone, but looked up as she entered. ‘Diana.’ He rose, offered an embrace, and seemed amused when she sidestepped. From his phone’s screen Desmond Flint stared out, as if he were trapped there. She wondered if he yet appreciated that that was precisely the case.
‘And that’s why you wanted me to back off the Yellow Vests, isn’t it?’ she said, sitting. ‘It’s not that you didn’t want trouble, you just wanted it happening on your own terms. Which included having Desmond Flint on hand to calm it all down.’ She shook her head. ‘I have to confess, I didn’t see him as your stalking horse. He’s so … unprepossessing. Don’t you think?’
‘Now now. If it was a beauty contest, half the Cabinet would have lost their deposits.’
‘I wasn’t referring to his looks.’
A waiter hovered. Taverner asked for mineral water. Judd, whose balloon-sized glass just barely contained his gin, looked disappointed.
Taverner said, ‘I do hope you haven’t made a misstep. One thing that comes across quite strongly is that it’s his people, his core support, creating havoc in the streets.’
‘Denying that would be a problem. Owning it is not.’ This was Peter Judd in magisterial mode, dispensing hard-earned wisdom to his lessers. It needed a toga, really. ‘For every Radio 4-listening, liberal-voting vegetarian decrying the behaviour of the mob, there are two people in a public house thinking, that’s the way to do it. Desmond understands that.’
‘But if there’s one thing we should have learned by now, it’s that once you’ve incited the mob, you can’t turn it off again. And there’s never been a mob that didn’t end up eating itself.’
‘You have a lively imagination, Diana. You should write a novel. Or pay someone to write one for you.’ He took a sip of his G&T. ‘That’s how it’s usually done, I gather.’
The waiter arrived with her water, saving her the trouble of responding. When they were alone, Judd continued:
‘Besides, it would be a mistake to underestimate our Flinty. He may not know a fish knife from a soup spoon, but he speaks a language these people understand.’
‘You make him sound like Tarzan of the apes.’
‘I have no plans to parade him in a loincloth. But the analogy isn’t unfair.’ He leaned back. ‘Of course, had the crowd not heeded his words, I’d have had to resort to plan B.’
‘Which was?’
‘Throw him to the fucking wolves.’
‘But instead you’re grooming him for higher things. I’ve no doubt you’d enjoy being the power behind the throne, Peter, but you’ll be a long time waiting. It’s not like the last election didn’t return a decisive result.’
Judd swirled his glass. ‘Politics is a long game. And while it’s true the PM enjoys a commanding majority, he’s also a walking non-disclosure agreement who wouldn’t be the first irresistible force to find himself in close proximity to an immovable object. Best to prepare for that eventuality, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Sounds like the green-eyed monster speaking. But as long as we’re on the subject, you should know I’m seeing him this afternoon. The PM.’
‘Which you do at least once a week.’
She nodded.
‘So you wouldn’t be mentioning it if you didn’t have something up your sleeve. Please. I’m not one of those insufferable aesthetes who think women of a certain age shouldn’t bare their arms in public. Do share.’
Diana said, ‘I plan to tell him everything.’
‘I see.’
‘Do you? I mean everything, Peter. Full disclosure.’
‘I said I see. And loath as I am to borrow a line, I do hope you’re not about to make a misstep. You’ve been known to question my sense of loyalty, but next to the PM, I’m Greyfriars Bobby. If there’s any chance you’ll make him look bad, he’ll dump you overboard without a backward glance.’
‘I know. But I also know that he’s as keen on hogging glory as he is on avoiding blame. And as you so eloquently pointed out the other evening, there’s glory to be had here.’ She picked up her glass. ‘Kazan is an unspun story. It might be making ripples on the Dark Web, but there’s been nothing official from the Kremlin, because the Kremlin doesn’t want the world knowing it let its guard down, and nothing official from us, because officially it didn’t happen. But unofficially I can make it the PM’s triumph.’
‘“Prime Minister orders state-sanctioned murder”,’ Judd mused. ‘That would probably be his all-time second-favourite headline, Diana. Right after “Get off my fucking laptop”.’
‘I’m not talking about headlines, I’m talking about legends. It’s no secret the PM sees himself as Churchill reborn. It’s just that he’s had difficulty persuading anyone else. But this is his chance to look like a wartime hero, even if only in Whitehall’s back corridors. If it’s known among COBRA staff that he gave the nod on Kazan, well. Nothing he’d like more than to be thought a warrior leader by a roomful of generals. Who currently, you won’t be shocked to hear, regard him as a cross between a game show host and a cartoon yeti.’
