gossip.
She looked around the intimate Victorian room and noted another political correspondent who was deeply engrossed in conversation with a Minister, and would not want to be disturbed. Two other people she thought she recognised but could not be sure. The young man on the next table she did not know and Mattie had just decided to finish a solo breakfast when she noticed the pile of papers and folders on the chair next to her neighbour. The papers and the rather academic scruffiness with which he was dressed suggested that the breakfaster was one of the many party officials Mattie had not yet got to know. The name scribbled on top of the folder was K. J. Spence.
The journalist's professional instincts had by now begun gradually to reassert themselves under the steady bombardment of caffeine, and she reached inside her ever-present shoulder bag for a copy of the internal party telephone list that at some point she had begged or stolen - she couldn't remember which.
'Spence. Kevin. Extension 371. Opinion Research.'
Mattie checked again the name on top of the folder, feeling that mistakes on opinion research had caused her enough trouble already that morning, but there was no confusion. Her editor's sarcasm had already demolished her faith in the leaked poll's statistics but she thought there would be no harm in trying to find out what the real figures were. She caught his eye.
'Kevin Spence, isn't it? From party headquarters? I'm Mattie Storm of the Telegraph. I haven't been on the paper long, but one of my jobs is to get to know all the party officials. Can I join you for a cup of coffee?'
Kevin Spence, aged thirty-two but looking older, unmarried and a life-long headquarters bureaucrat with a salary of £10,200 (no perks), nodded obligingly, and they were soon in conversation. Spence was rather shy and deeply flattered to be recognised by someone from a newspaper, and he was soon explaining with enthusiasm and in detail the regular reports he had given during the election on the state of public opinion to the Prime Minister and the Party's War Committee. Yes, he admitted, they did take opinion polls seriously in spite of what they always said on television. He ventured the thought that some even took opinion polls too seriously.
'What do you mean, too seriously? That's your job, isn't it?'
Somewhat donnishly Spence explained the foibles of opinion polling, the margin of error you should always remember, the rogue polls which in spite of all the pollsters' efforts still sneaked through and simply got it wrong. like the one I've just seen’ Mattie remarked with a twinge, still tender from her earlier embarrassment,
'What do you mean?' Spence enquired sharply.
Mattie looked at him and saw that the affable official had now developed a flush which even as she looked was spreading from the collar up to the eyes. The eyes themselves had lost their eagerness. Spence was not a trained politician and was not adept at hiding his feelings, and the confusion was flowing through. Why was he so flustered? Mattie mentally kicked herself. Surely the damned figures couldn't be right after all? The dynamic young reporter of the year had already jumped several somersaults that morning, and feeling rather sour with herself decided that one more leap could scarcely dent her professional pride any further.
‘I understand, Kevin, that your latest figures are quite disappointing. In fact, somebody mentioned a figure of 31 per cent.'
Spence, whose cheeks had been getting even redder as Mattie spoke, reached for his tea to give himself time to think, but his hand was trembling.
'And the PM personally is down to 24 per cent’ she ventured. ‘I can't remember any Prime Minister being as unpopular as that.'
At this point the tea began to spill from the cup, and Spence returned it quickly to the saucer.
‘I don't know what you're talking about’ he muttered, addressing the napkin which he was using to mop up the tea.
'Aren't these your latest figures?' Mattie reached once more inside her bag and pulled out the mysterious sheet of paper which she proceeded to smooth on the table cloth. As she did so, she noticed for the first time .the initials KJS typed along the bottom.
Spence reached out and tried to push the paper away from him, seemingly afraid to get too near to it 'Where on earth did you get that?' He looked around desperately to see whether anyone had noticed the exchange.
Mattie picked up the piece of paper and began reading it out loud.' "Opinion Research Survey Number 40" - this is yours, isn't it?'
Yes, but... Please, Miss Storin!'
He was not used to dissembling. Spence was clearly deeply upset, and seeing no way of escape decided to throw himself on the mercy of his breakfast companion. In a hushed voice, and still looking nervously around the room, he pleaded with her.
I'm not supposed to talk to you about any opinion research. It's strictly confidential.'
‘But Kevin, it's only one piece of paper.'
You don't know what it's like. If these figures get out, and I'm the one thought to have given them to you, I'd be out on my ear. Everyone's looking for scapegoats. There are so many rumours flooding around. The PM doesn't trust the Chairman. The Chairman doesn't trust us. Everybody says that heads are going to roll. I like my job, Miss Storin. I can't afford to be blamed for leaking confidential figures to you.'
‘I didn't realise morale was so bad.'
Spence looked utterly miserable. I've never known it worse. Everyone was exhausted after the election, and there was a lot of bad feeling flying around because the result wasn't as good as we expected. Then all those leaks and reports that the Cabinet were at each other's throats, so instead of a long break during the summer Lord Williams kept us all hard at it. Frankly, all most of us are trying to do is to keep our heads down so that when it hits the fan we get as little of it as possible.'
He looked at Mattie eye-to-eye for the first time. 'Please don't drag me into this.'
'Kevin, you did not leak this report to me and I shall confirm that to anyone who wants to know. But if I'm to help you I shall need a little help myself. This is your latest polling report, right?'
She slipped the paper back across the table. Spence took another anguished look at it and nodded in confirmation.
They are prepared, by you and circulated on a tightly restricted basis?’ Another nod.
'All I need to know from you, Kevin, is who gets them. That can't be a state secret, can it?'
There was no more fight left in Spence. He seemed to hold his breath for a long time before replying.
'Numbered copies are circulated in double-sealed envelopes solely to Cabinet Ministers and five senior headquarters personnel: the Deputy Chairman and four senior directors.'
He tried to moisten his mouth with another drink of tea, but discovered he had already spilt most of it. How on earth did you get hold of it?'
‘Let's just say someone got a little careless, shall we?'
'Not my office?' he gasped, his insecurity flooding out.
'No, Kevin. You've just given me the names of over two dozen people who receive the figures, and with their secretaries it would bring the possible number of sources to well over fifty.' She gave him one of her most reassuring, warm smiles. Don't worry, I won't involve you. But let's keep in touch.'
Mattie left the breakfast room. She should have been feeling elated about the front page story she was now able to write but she was wondering too hard how the devil she was ever going to identify the turncoat.
Room 561 in the hotel could not be described as five star. It was one of the smallest rooms, far away from the main entrance and at the end of the top floor corridor under the eaves. The party hierarchy did not stay here, it was definitely a room for the workers.
Penny Guy hadn't heard the steps outside in the corridor before the door burst open. She sat bolt upright in bed, startled and exposing two perfectly formed breasts.
'Shit, Roger, don't you ever bloody knock?' She threw a pillow at the intruder. 'And what the hell are you doing up so early? You don't normally surface until lunchtime.'
She did not bother to cover herself as O'Neill sat down at the end of the bed. There was an ease between them suggesting an absence of any sexual threat which would have startled most people. O'Neill constantly flirted with her, particularly in public, but on the two occasions when Penny had offered, O'Neill had been very affectionate and warm but had complained of being too exhausted. She guessed he had a deep streak of sexual insecurity running through him, which he hid beneath flattery and innuendo. Penny had heard from other women who had spent time with O'Neill that he was frequently too exhausted - attentive, Very forward, suggestive, but rarely able to commit himself fully. She was very fond of him, and longed to ease the insecurities out of him with her long, electric fingers, but she knew he would not drop his guard long enough to let her weave her magic. She had worked for O'Neill for nearly three years and had seen him slowly change as he found the pressures of political and public life increasingly infatuating, yet steadily more difficult to cope with.
To those who did not know him well he was extrovert, amusing, full of charm, ideas and energy. But Penny had watched him become increasingly erratic. He rarely came into the office nowadays before noon,’ he had started making many private phone calls, getting agitated, disappearing suddenly. His constant hay fever and sneezing were unpleasant, but Penny was devoted to him. She did not understand many of the odd ways he had developed -particularly why he would not sleep with her. She had that strange blindness for him which comes with daily familiarity and strong affections. But she knew he depended on her. If he didn't need her in bed, he needed her practically every other moment of his day. It wasn't the same as love, but her warm heart responded anyway. She would do
almost anything for him.