Ten Days by Gillian Slovo Read Free Book Online

talked some more because although Ruben kept the arm up he neither stepped away nor raised it further.
    â€˜Must be somebody who knows him.’ Cathy felt herself relax.
    The door was opened wider, and Ruben stepped in.
    â€˜They’ll talk him down,’ Cathy said. ‘They’ll keep him safe. I’m going to make some tea.’
    9.10 p.m.
    There was so much to catch up with and so much to put right that Joshua Yares would have stayed on if Downing Street hadn’t called. It was for the best: if he’d kept going, others in the senior management team might have felt obliged to do the same. Probably wiser not to stretch their patience so early on.
    The secretary who’d called had made it clear that this was a private visit, so Joshua circled round to Horse Guards Parade in order to go in through the back.
    â€˜The Prime Minister’s expecting you, sir.’ A man led him up the narrow service stairs to the third-floor flat and rapped smartly on the door. Without waiting for a response, he opened the door, saying, ‘Please do go in. And help yourself to a drink. The PM will be with you in a jiffy,’ before he went away.
    Joshua hadn’t been in the living room for a while, and now he admired afresh how successful Marianne had been in her project to stamp out all the tasteful traces of the previous occupants. The room was in fact such a riot of colour the tabloids had nicknamed it Dizzy Street.
    None of this was much to Joshua’s taste, but when Marianne was in residence there was a crazy logic that seemed to work. Now, however, everything looked to be out of place and clashing with everything else. Marianne must be in the country, leaving the room to the mercy of the whirlwind that was Teddy, who was bound to be the source of the loud rock music issuing from deeper in the flat.
    Joshua was hot and thirsty from his walk. He poured himself a soda water.
    â€˜That all you want?’
    He turned. ‘Prime Minister.’
    â€˜No need to stand on ceremony, Josh. Here we can still be friends. Fix me a malt, will you? No ice.’ The Prime Minister had always been a vigorous man and, although he looked exhausted, he strode rather than walked across the room, and when he opened the door to shout, ‘Turn that racket down. And come and say hello to Joshua,’ his voice was loud enough to penetrate the music, which was immediately cut off.
    â€˜That God for that.’ Taking the glass from Joshua, the PM went over to one of the sofas, plopped himself down into its bright-cushioned embrace and took such a big swig that he almost downed the lot.
    â€˜Bad day?’
    â€˜Not much fun. Bit of a pattern at the moment. I wake, see the blue sky, remember the latest guestimate of how much water there is in our reservoirs and decide, yet again, that somebody up there has it in for me.’ He drank what remained of his glass before putting it down with a bang.
    â€˜Another?’
    â€˜Better not.’ He stretched out his long legs and sighed. ‘It’s frenetic at the moment. Marianne’s right to have made good her escape. She sends her love by the way.’
    â€˜And mine to her.’ With Marianne away, Joshua couldn’t help wondering why this sudden summons to the private residence. And on his first day as Commissioner.
    â€˜You must have heard Whiteley using your appointment to attack me?’
    Could this be the reason? But surely the Prime Minister knew that, now he was in post, there was no way that Joshua could get involved in a squabble between politicians, especially in the same party, even if it did seem to be about him. Joshua gave a noncommittal nod.
    â€˜The ungrateful bastard is after my job. Didn’t think he’d dare. Frances, his Lady Macbeth of a wife, sweats politics – if, that is, she ever sweats. I can’t help admiring her even though she’s dangerous. She was born to it. But he had to fight hard to get where