The Complete Yes Minister полностью

Obviously I was not intending to go out of my way to reveal it. But equally I couldn’t see how I could allow myself to be put in the position of sweeping bribery under the carpet. So if questions were asked, I had every intention of announcing a full independent enquiry chaired by a QC.

I explained this to Humphrey at the start of our meeting this morning. He started going on about the contract being worth £340 million. ‘Get thee behind me, Humphrey,’ I said, and reminded him of the moral dimension of government. The contract may be worth £340 million, but my job’s worth even more to me.

But then Humphrey told me that Bernard had something to tell me. I waited. Bernard was looking very anxious. Finally he coughed and began to speak, rather haltingly.

‘Um… you know that jar the Qumranis gave you?’

I remembered it well. ‘Yes, we’ve got it in the flat. Most attractive.’

I waited. Clearly he was worried about something.

‘I told Mrs Hacker that it was all right to keep it,’ he said, ‘because I had it valued at under fifty pounds. But I’m not sure… the man who valued it was awfully nice… I told him Mrs Hacker liked it a lot… but he might have been er, being helpful.’

I still couldn’t see any problem. So I told him not to worry, and that no one will ever know. In fact, I was rash enough to congratulate him for being jolly enterprising.

Then came the bad news. ‘Yes, but you see, Mrs Hacker told me this morning that a Guardian journalist came round and started asking questions.’

This was horrifying! I asked to see the valuation. It was written on the back of the menu. [The Treasury were never awfully happy about valuations written on the backs of menus — Ed.]

I asked what the jar was really worth. Humphrey had the information at his fingertips. If it’s a copy, then the valuation is roughly correct. But if it’s an original — £5000.

And I had kept it!

If I’d had a day or two to consider the matter there would have been no problem. It would have been pretty easy to dream up some valid explanation of the situation, one that got both me and Bernard off the hook.

But at that moment Bill Pritchard came bursting in from the press office. And he brought even worse news!

The Guardian had been on the phone to him. They’d been on to the Qumrani Embassy, telling them that my wife had said that this extremely valuable seventeenth-century thing presented to me by the Qumrani Government was a copy. The Qumrani Government was incensed at the suggestion that they insulted Britain by giving me a worthless gift. (Though I can’t see the point of giving me a valuable gift if it’s got to be stored in the vault forever.) The FCO then phoned Bill and told him it was building up into the biggest diplomatic incident since Death of a Princess.

I thought I’d heard enough bad news for one day. But no. He added that Jenny Goodwin of The Guardian was in the private office, demanding to see me right away.

I thought Annie had always described Jenny Goodwin as a friend of hers. Some friend! You just can’t trust the media! Despicable, muck-raking nosey parkers, always snooping around trying to get at the truth!

Bernard looked beseechingly at me. But it was clear that I had no choice.

‘My duty is clear,’ I said in my Churchillian voice. ‘I have no choice.’

‘No choice?’ squeaked Bernard, like Piglet confronting the Heffalump.

I made it clear that indeed I had no choice. My wife had not asked him to lie about the value of the gift. He admitted she hadn’t. I explained to Bernard that I fully realised that he had done this with the best of possible motives, but that there could be no excuse for falsifying a document.

He protested that he hadn’t. But of course he was hair-splitting.

But my trouble is, I never know when to stop. I then launched into a tremendously self-righteous tirade. I told him that I cannot have it thought that I asked him to do this. Then I turned on Humphrey, and told him that I cannot have it thought that I will tolerate bribery and corruption in our business dealings. ‘Enough is enough,’ I went on, digging my own grave relentlessly. ‘If this journalist asks me straight questions about either of these matters I must give straight answers. There is a moral dimension.’

I should have realised, since Humphrey was looking so thoroughly unflappable, that he had an ace up his sleeve. I didn’t guess. And he played it.

‘I agree with you, Minister. I see now that there is a moral dimension to everything. Will I tell the press about the communications room or will you?’

Blackmail. Shocking, but true! He was clearly saying that if I laid the blame for (a) the bribery and corruption, or (b) the rosewater jar — neither of which were my fault — at his door or Bernard’s door or anyone’s door (if it comes to that) then he would drop me right in it.