The Image in the Water Read Free

management. Makewell had never served as a minister in either the Treasury or the Home Office. Now these two great departments, both prolific in problems, daily dumped their mysteries on his desk. Neither of the two responsible ministers, Roger Courtauld and Joan Freetown, nor indeed his own staff at No. 10, seemed to realise how ignorant he was, and it was now too late either to confess or to learn. The details of stop-and-search legislation or the modalities of the withholding tax would always lie beyond his grasp. Once upstairs in his study, soon after his arrival, he had ventured to interrupt a long presentation on a forthcoming Bill: ‘Surely these are matters of detail which could be settled elsewhere.’
    â€˜As you wish, Prime Minister,’ the senior Treasury official had replied, and continued his presentation as if nothing had been said.
    Makewell, knowing that, though intellectually limited, he was neither lazy nor stupid, supposed that there must be a way through this thicket. He must abandon dignity and ask for help, either from his main private secretary, Patrick Vaughan, or from his press secretary Artemis Palmer, both inherited from Russell. Could it really be true that Simon Russell had slept with Artemis? Russell’s wife Louise seemed to Peter Makewell exactly what a prime minister’s wife should be, beautiful, loyal, unpolitical. He could not imagine what spasm of desire or despair might have driven Simon to desert her for the skimpy embraces of his press secretary. But he acknowledged that he himself, long a faithful husband now a sober widower, found it hard to judge stories about the sex life of others. His happiest hours now were snatched at his old desk in the Foreign Office, surrounded by the much loved green and gold wallpaper, coping with the relative simplicities of the Cyprus question or the admission of Balkan states to the European Union.
    But he was misusing time. The anthem was moving towards its climax. This was an opportunity to ask advice, not from God, who for Peter Makewell was real enough but dwelt in the Perthshire hills and on Sunday in the Episcopalian Church at Blairgowrie, no, from Simon Russell, who was clearly present with them in Westminster Abbey and able to read minds even more skilfully now than during his life. As so often before Makewell put the problem as clearly as he could to his former leader.
    There was no uncertainty about the timing of the electionof the new Conservative leader. Martin Redburn, chairman of the 1922 Committee of Conservative backbenchers, was in effect their group leader. He had the job of fixing the date, and had chosen Thursday, 25 March, for the first stage. Nor was there much doubt about the two likely candidates – Roger Courtauld and Joan Freetown. The problem for Makewell as acting Prime Minister was different. Joan Freetown had told him yesterday that she intended to produce a special Budget on 20 March. She had talked in his study as if this was a decision for her alone, although they both knew that his assent and that of the Cabinet were needed.
    â€˜The economy needs stimulating. The country and the Party need encouragement. I have carefully worked out proposals to achieve this. It’s all ready. The case for a March Budget is overwhelming.’
    She had closed her folder with something approaching a bang. The bracelets on her wrists had clacked vigorously in applause. She had not mentioned the immense impetus a popular Budget would give to her leadership campaign. She had chosen a date five days before MPs would vote on the new leader. She had dared the caretaker Prime Minister to object.
    And he had not objected. Nor had he assented. He had muttered, in a way he now admitted was feeble, about wider considerations, about the need to reflect and consult.
    â€˜A decision is needed within forty-eight hours,’ she had said, closing the interview.
    The pros and cons were obvious enough. No point in spelling