The House of Cards Complete Trilogy by Michael Dobbs Read Free Book Online Page A

confusion and congestion were repeated inside as the Prime Minister’s party pushed its way upstairs, pausing only for a traditional word of thanks to the staff. It had to be repeated because the press photographers hadn’t been assembled quickly enough. Through it all, the delay, the gentle pushing, the noise, the Prime Minister smiled.
    Yet once upstairs in the relative safety of Lord Williams’s suite, the signs of strain that had been so well hidden all evening began to appear. The television set in the corner was just announcing that the computer was predicting a still lower majority, and Collingridge let out a long, low sigh. “Turn the bloody thing off,” he whispered. Then his eyes wandered slowly round the room.
    “Has Charlie been around this evening?” he asked.
    “Yes, he’s been here, but…”
    “But what?”
    “We seem to have lost him.”
    The Prime Minister’s eyes met those of the Chairman.
    “I’m sorry,” the older man added, so softly that it almost required the Prime Minister to lip read.
    Sorry for what? The fact that my brother’s a drunk? Sorry that I’ve almost thrown away this election, put so many of our colleagues to the sword, done more damage than Goering? Sorry that you’ll have to wade through the sewage that’s about to hit us along with me? But anyway, thanks for caring, old friend.
    The adrenalin had ceased flowing and suddenly he was desperately tired. After weeks of being hemmed in on all sides and without a single private moment to himself, he felt an overwhelming need to be on his own. He turned away to find somewhere a little quieter and more private but he found his way blocked by Urquhart who was standing right by his shoulder. The Chief Whip was thrusting an envelope at him.
    “I’ve been giving some thought to the reshuffle,” Urquhart said, his eyes lowered, his voice betraying a mixture of discomfiture and hesitation. “While this is hardly the time, I know you will be giving it some thought over the weekend, so I’ve prepared a few suggestions. I know you prefer positive ideas rather than a blank sheet of paper, so…” He held out his handwritten note. “I hope you find this of use.” He was demanding his place at the top table, and by right rather than invitation.
    Collingridge looked at the envelope and something inside him broke, the little wall that keeps politeness and honesty well apart. He raised his exhausted eyes to his colleague. “You’re right, Francis. This is scarcely the time. Perhaps we should be thinking about securing our majority before we start sacking our colleagues.”
    Urquhart froze in embarrassment. The sarcasm had cut deep, deeper than the Prime Minister had intended, and he realized he had gone too far.
    “I’m sorry, Francis. I’m afraid I am a little tired. Of course you’re quite right to think ahead. Look, I’d like you and Teddy to come round on Sunday afternoon to discuss it. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to let Teddy have a copy of your letter now, and send one round to me at Downing Street tomorrow—or, rather, later this morning.”
    Urquhart’s face refused to betray the turmoil that was growing within. He had been too anxious about the reshuffle and cursed himself for his folly. Somehow his natural assurance deserted him when it came to Collingridge, the product of a grammar school who in social terms would have had trouble gaining membership to any of Urquhart’s clubs. The role reversal in Government unnerved him, unsettled him; he found himself acting out of character when he was in the other man’s presence. He had made a mistake and he blamed Collingridge for that more than he blamed himself, but now was not the time to reclaim the ground he had lost. Instead, he retreated into affability, bowing his head in acceptance. “Of course, Prime Minister. I will let Teddy have a copy straight away.”
    “Better copy it yourself. Wouldn’t do to have that list getting around here tonight.”