'Usual lobby terms, Mr Urquhart,' she assured him. 'Just let me get this perfectly clear. You are not denying, indeed you are confirming that the Prime Minister will order an investigation into his Cabinet members' conduct?'
'If you keep my name out of it - yes.'
‘Jesus, this will set them all flapping,' Mattie gasped. She could already see her front page lead taking shape.
'June 10th does seem a long time ago, doesn't it, Mattie?'
Urquhart continued up the stairs which led to the Strangers Gallery, where members of the public perched on rows of cramped, narrow benches to view the proceedings of the House, usually with a considerable degree of discomfort and a still larger degree of astonishment. He caught the eye of a small and impeccably dressed Indian for whom he had previously obtained a seat in the Gallery, and signalled to him. The man struggled past the outstretched knees of other visitors packed into the benches, and emerged with obvious embarrassment past two extremely buxom middle-aged ladies. Before he had any opportunity to speak Urquhart motioned to him for silence and led him towards the small hallway behind the gallery.
'Mr Urquhart, sir, it has been a most exciting and highly educational ninety minutes. I am deeply indebted to you for assisting me to obtain such a comfortable position.'
Urquhart, who knew that even small Indian gentlemen such as Firdaus Jhabwala found the seats acutely uncomfortable, smiled knowingly. ‘I know you are being very polite in not complaining about the discomfort of the seating. I only wish I could have found you some more comfortable position.'
They chatted politely while Jhabwala secured the release of his black hide attaché case from the attendant. When he had arrived he had firmly refused to hand it over until he discovered that his entry to the Gallery would be forbidden unless he lodged it with the security desk.
‘I am so glad that we British can still trust ordinary working chaps with our possessions,' he stated very seriously, patting the case for comfort.
'Quite’ replied Urquhart, who trusted neither the ordinary working chap nor Jhabwala. Still, he was a constituent who seemed to have various flourishing local businesses, and had provided a £500 donation towards his election campaign expenses and had asked for nothing, in return except, shortly afterwards, a personal interview and private meeting in the House of Commons.
'Not in the constituency,' he had explained to Urquhart's secretary on the phone. It's a matter of national rather than local attention.'
Urquhart led the way under the great vaulted oak ceiling of Westminster Hall, at which point Jhabwala asked to stand for a while. ‘I would be grateful for a silent moment in this great hall in which Charles I was tried and condemned and Winston Churchill lay in state.'
He noticed the condescending smile appearing at the corner of Urquhart's mouth.
'Mr Urquhart. Please do not think me pretentious. My own family associations with British institutions go back nearly 250 years to the days of the Honourable East India Company and Lord Clive, whom my ancestors advised and to whom they loaned considerable funds. Both before and since my family has occupied prestigious positions in the judicial and administrative branches of Indian Government.'
Jhabwala's eyes lowered, and a strong sense of sadness filled his voice. 'But since Independence, Mr Urquhart, that once great subcontinent has slowly crumbled into a new dark age. Muslim has been set against Hindu, worker against employer, pupil against teacher. You may not agree, but the modem Gandhi dynasty is less inspired and far more corrupt than any my family ever served in colonial days. I am a Parsee, a cultural minority which has found little comfort under the new Raj, and the fortunes of my family have declined. So I moved to Great Britain, where my father and grandfather were educated. I can tell you without a trace of insincerity, Mr Urquhart, that I feel more at home and more attached to this country and its culture than ever I could back in modem India. I wake up grateful every day that I can call myself a British citizen and educate my children in British universities’
Urquhart saw his opportunity to interrupt this impassioned and obviously heartfelt monologue. 'Where are your children educated?'
‘I have a son just finishing a law degree at Jesus College, Cambridge, and an elder son who is undertaking an MBA at the Wharton Business School in Philadelphia. It is my earnest hope that my younger son will soon qualify to read medicine at Cambridge’
They were now walking towards the interview rooms beneath the Great Hall, their shoes clipping across the worn flagstoned floor where Henry VHI had played tennis and which now was splattered with shafts of bright sunlight slanting through the ancient windows. It was a scene centuries old, and the Indian was clearly in great awe.
'And what precisely do you do?' asked Urquhart.
‘I, sir, am a trader, not an educated man. I left behind any hope of that during the great turmoil of Indian Independence. I have therefore had to find my way not with my brain but by diligence and hard work. I am happy to say that I have been moderately successful’
'What sort of trade?'
‘I have several business interests, Mr Urquhart. Property. Wholesaling. A little local finance. But I am no narrow minded capitalist. I am well aware of my duty to the community. It is about that I wished to speak with you.'
By now they had arrived at the interview room and at Urquhart's invitation Jhabwala seated himself in one of the green leather chairs, fingering with delight the gold embossed portcullis which embellished the upright back of this and all the other chairs in the room.
'Mr Urquhart. I was not born in this country, and I know that of necessity I must work particularly hard to gain respectability in the community. That is important, not so much for me but for my children. I wish them to have the advantages which my father could not secure for me at a time of civil war. So I try to participate. I assist the local Rotary Club. I help with many local charities. And as you know, I am an ardent supporter of the Prime Minister’ {
‘I am afraid that you did not see him to best advantage this afternoon’
Then I suspect he needs his friends and supporters more than ever’
There was a short silence. Urquhart struggled to find the meaning and direction behind his guest's remarks, but it eluded him, although meaning and direction he knew there must be. Jhabwala began again, a little more slowly.
'Mr Urquhart. You know that I have great admiration for you. I was happy to assist in a modest way with your election appeal and would be happy to do so again. I am also a fervent admirer of the entire Government. I would wish to help you all’
'May I know how?'
‘I know election campaigns are expensive, and perhaps I could make a small donation to Party coffers. I imagine that funds must be short at times like these.'
Indeed, indeed,' said Urquhart. 'Could I ask how much you were thinking of giving?'
Jhabwala lifted his case onto the table top, twirled the combination and flipped the two brass catches. The lid sprang open and he slid the black leather case around to Urquhart.
'I would be delighted if the Party could accept £50,000 as a gesture of my support.'
Urquhart resisted the ferocious temptation to pick up one of the bundles of notes and start counting. He noticed that all the wads were of used £20 notes and were tied with rubber bands rather than bank cashiers' wrappers.
'This is ... most generous, Mr Jhabwala.' He found himself using his guest's name for the first time since they had met earlier in the afternoon. 'But it is a little unusual for me to accept such a large donation on behalf of the Party, particularly in cash.'
‘You will understand that during the civil war in India my family lost everything. Our house and business were destroyed, and we narrowly escaped with our lives. In 1947 a Muslim mob burned my local bank to the ground - with all its deposits and records. The bank's head office apologised, of course, but without any records could only provide my father with their regrets rather than the funds he had deposited with them. It may seem a little old fashioned of me, but I still prefer to trust cash rather than cashiers’
The businessman's smile shone reassuringly from beneath his dark features. Urquhart did not trust him or his story.
‘I see.' Urquhart took a deep breath. 'May I be blunt, Mr Jhabwala, and ask if there is anything you wish from us in exchange for your support? It is sometimes the case with first-time donors that they believe there is something the Party can do for them, when in reality our powers are very limited...'
Jhabwala beamed and shook his head to halt Urquhart's question. There is nothing I wish to do other than to be a firm supporter of the Prime Minister and yourself, Mr Urquhart. You will understand as a local MP that my business interests often bring me into friendly contact with local authorities for planning permission or tendering for contracts and so forth. I cannot guarantee that you will never find my name in the local press or that I will not ask at some point to seek your guidance through the maze of local decision makers, but I assure you I am looking for no favours. I want nothing in exchange, other than to request that I and my wife have the honour of meeting with the Prime Minister at some suitable time, particularly if he should ever come to the constituency. It would mean a great deal to my wife, as you will appreciate.'
And the photographs of Jhabwala closeted with the Prime Minister would go down remarkably well in the local and ethnic press, as Urquhart well knew. He didn't care for the hint about local planning or contract decisions, but he was an experienced hand at dealing with such requests when they arose. Urquhart began to relax and to return the Indian's smile.
‘I am sure that could be arranged. Perhaps you and your wife would like to attend a reception at Downing Street?'
The Indian was nodding. It would be an honour, of course, to be able to have just a few private words with him, simply to express my great personal enthusiasm.'
"That might be possible, too, but you will understand that the Prime Minister himself could not accept the money. It would not be-how should I put it? - delicate for him to be involved with such matters.'
'Of course, of course, Mr Urquhart. Which is why I would be delighted if you would accept the money on his behalf.'