‘Just one minute, please’ said an eager young man's voice. I’ll call it up on the screen.'
There was the sound of a keyboard being tapped. 'Ah, here it is. Charles Collingridge, 216 Praed Street, Paddington, London W2.'
Thank you very much indeed. You have been most helpful.'
The presenter turned once again to Collingridge. 'Do you wish to comment, Prime Minister?'
He shook his head, uncertain of what to say, or whether he should walk off the set. He was astonished that Charles was registered with the Sales and Literature Office, because he had only ever shown interest in the social side of politics. But he suspected that this was likely to be the least of his surprises.
'Of course, we took seriously your explanation that it might be a case of mistaken identity, of confusion with another Charles Collingridge.'
Collingridge wanted to shout in protest that it was not 'his' explanation, that it was simply an off-hand and speculative remark made without prejudice by his press secretary. But he knew it would be a waste of time, so he remained silent.
‘Do you know how many other Charles Collingridges there are listed in the London telephone directory, Prime Minister?'
Collingridge offered no response, but sat there looking grim and ashen faced.
The presenter came to the assistance of his silent guest. There are no other Charles Collingridges listed in the London telephone directory. Indeed, sources at British Telecom tell us that there is only one Charles Collingridge listed throughout the United Kingdom Your brother, Prime Minister.'
Again a pause, inviting a response, but none was offered.
'Since a Mr Charles Collingridge seems to have acted on inside information concerning the Renox Chemical Company and decisions of the Department of Health relating to it, we asked both organisations if they had any knowledge of a Charles Collingridge. Renox tells us that neither they, nor their subsidiaries, have any Collingridge amongst then-employees. The Department of Health's press office was rather more cagey, promising to get back to us but never did. However, their trade union office was much more cooperative. They, too, corifirmed that there is no Collingridge listed as working at any of the Department's 508 offices throughout the country.'
The presenter shuffled his notes. 'Apparently they did have a Minnie Collingridge who worked at their Coventry office until two years ago, but she went back to Jamaica.'
"They're laughing at me’ screamed Collingridge to himself. 'They have convicted, sentenced and now are executing me!' In the background he could see Sarah, and the tears which were running like rivers of blood down her cheeks.
'Prime Minister. We have almost come to the end of our programme. Is there anything you wish to say?'
Collingridge sat there, staring ahead at Sarah, wanting to run to her and embrace her and lie to her that there was no need for tears, everything would be all right. He was still sitting motionless in his chair a full minute later, as the eerie studio silence was broken by the programme's theme music. While the lights dimmed and the credits rolled, the viewers saw him rise from his seat, walk slowly over to v embrace his sobbing wife, and start whispering all those lies.
When they arrived back at Downing Street, Collingridge went straight to the Cabinet Room. He entered almost like a visitor, looking slowly and with a new eye around the room, at its elegant furnishings, fine classical architecture and historic paintings. Yet his gaze kept corning back to the Cabinet table itself, symbol of the uniquely British form of collective Government. He walked slowly around it, trailing his hand on the green baize cloth, stopping at the far end at the seat he had first occupied ten years ago as the Cabinet's most junior member. He raised his eyes to meet those of Robert Walpole, who seemed to be looking directly at him.
'What would you have done, old fellow?' he whispered. ‘Fight, I suppose. And if you didn't win that one then fight and fight again. Well, well see.'
He reached his own chair and settled slowly into it, feeling physically lost as he sat alone at the middle of the great table. He reached for the single telephone which stood beside his blotter. There was a duty telephonist on call every hour of the day and night.
'Get me the Chancellor of the Exchequer, please.'
It took less than a minute before the receiver buzzed, with the Chancellor on the line.
'Colin, did you see it? How badly will the markets react tomorrow?'
The Chancellor gave an embarrassed but honest opinion.
'Bloody, eh? We shall have to see what can be done about it. We shall be in touch.'
He then spoke to the Foreign Secretary. 'What damage, Patrick?'
Woolton told him bluntly that with the Government's reputation so weak it would now be impossible to achieve the reforms of the Common Market's budgetary system which the United Kingdom Government had long been demanding and which had been made a clear priority during the election. 'A month ago it was there, within our grasp, after all these years. Now we carry about as much political clout around the negotiating table as O'Reilly's donkey. Sorry, Henry, you asked me to be brutally frank.'
Then it was the turn of the Party Chairman. Williams could hear the formal tone being used by Collingridge on the end of the phone, and responded in kind.
'Prime Minister, within the last hour I have had calls from seven of our eleven Regional Party Chairmen. Without exception, I am sorry to say, they think the situation is quite disastrous for the Party. They feel that we are beyond the point of no return.'
'No, Teddy,' contradicted Collingridge. 'They feel that I am beyond the point of no return. There's a difference.'
He made one more phone call, to his private secretary asking him to seek an appointment at the Palace around lunchtime the following day. The secretary rang back four minutes later to say Her Majesty looked forward to seeing him at ‘I o'clock.
He felt suddenly relieved, as if the tremendous weight had already shifted from his shoulders. He looked up one last time to face Walpole.
'Oh, yes. You would have fought. You would probably have won. But this office has already ruined my brother and now it is ruining me. I will not let it ruin Sarah's happiness, too. If you will excuse me, I had better let her know.'
Walpole's forty-ninth successor as Prime-.Minister strode towards the Cabinet Room door for almost the last time and, with his hand on the brass handle, turned once more.
'By the way, it already feels better.'
Shortly before 10 o'clock the following morning, the members of the Cabinet assembled around the Cabinet table. They had been called individually to Downing Street rather than as a formal Cabinet, and most had been surprised to discover their colleagues also gathered. There was an air of expectation and great curiosity, and the conversation around the table while they waited for their Prime Minister was unusually muffled.
As the tones of Big Ben striking the hour reached into the room, the door opened and Collingridge walked in.
'Good morning, gentlemen.' His voice was unusually soft. ‘I am grateful to see you all here. I shall not detain you long.'
He took his seat, and extracted a single sheet of paper from the leather bound file he was carrying. He laid it carefully on the table in front of him, and then looked slowly around at his colleagues. There was not a sound to be heard in the room.
‘I am sorry I was unable to inform you that this morning's meeting was to be one of the full Cabinet. As you will shortly see, it was necessary to ensure that you could all be assembled without creating undue attention and speculation amongst the press.'
He let out a long sigh, a mixture of pain and relief.
‘I am going to read to you a short statement that I shall be issuing later today. At ‘I o'clock I shall be going to the Palace to convey the contents to Her Majesty. I must ask all of you, on your oaths of office, not to divulge the contents of this message to anyone before it is officially released. I must ensure Her Majesty hears it from me and not through the press. I would also ask it of each one of you as a personal favour to me’
He looked slowly around the table to catch the eye of those present, all of whom nodded their assent as he did so. He picked up the sheet of paper and began to read in a slow, matter-of-fact voice. He squeezed out any trace of regret he might have felt.
'Recently there has been a spate of allegations in the media about the business affairs of both me and my family, which shows no sign of abating.
‘I have consistently stated, and repeat today, that I have done nothing of which I should be ashamed. I have adhered strictly to the rules and conventions relating to the conduct of the Prime Minister.