PoW: Chapter 5: all influence is immoral

[motleypatches]

The grim satisfaction that the Opposition looked as shocked as they were at the sudden appearance - invasion, George's mind helpfully supplied - was very little comfort.

“And so I had them headed out here instead of having them rumbling all across England like some sort of chaotic United Nations rescue mission. I didn't think you would appreciate that.”

“Thank you,” David said, still sounding a little stunned. The lorries were parked outside, eyesores amidst the normally picturesque view from the window of his office at Number 10.

“Peter organized the drivers. They were all decent chaps, though none of them would let me have a go; something about preserving the hedgerows. But what a welcoming; I didn't know you would be all there. And the sun, of course. It's just the opportunity.”

“What opportunity?” Nick inquired politely.

Boris threw a startled look at their DPM, George noticed with some amusement. He had forgotten the man was there; it was David who had insisted on Nick's presence. “If there is a mob. Excuse me, that is, the mobile population of Britain, happen to follow us here-”

“Which wouldn't be very difficult,” George interrupted.

“Well yes, though I'm sure Peter exercised enough vigilance. We drove only at night and through the roughest and most deserted terrains, I assure you. And then of course Peter had the way cleared through some sort of distraction I'm not quite certain, but as I was saying, even if anyone followed us, they would only find the government strong, united, and with a proper plan to reconstruct Britain. We could launch an era of Reconstruction.”

George could hear the capitalization on the last word.

“Who is this Peter you speak of?” David asked warily.

“Peter Mandelson,” Boris said. “I met him. Rather, he came to meet me; there was no other reason he would be at a fundraiser for my campaign. He gave me reason to believe that this government is in need of material as well as logistical support.”

“And unfortunately, he is not wrong,” said David.

George turned to say that he is, he must be, because Mandelson's goals were always primarily his own, then Labour's, and never the Conservatives'. He was about to Boris what was he thinking when he had agreed to divulge their location to someone who should be an anathema to this government but Nick's expression that caught his eye. It was alarming how resigned he looked. George had no idea what he was resigned about.

Then he heard Boris: “Haven't you seen him? I thought he would arrive before me.” And George was certain he couldn't breathe. The effort to look calm, to remain calm, to think, was almost beyond him. And really, what did it matter, now?
“Do you mean he's here?"

He was very aware that the atmosphere in the room changed. Both David and Nick were looking at him rather worriedly. Boris followed the shift of David's attention.

“Ah,” he said, as if looking George for the first time. “You don't know,” he said carefully. “Peter said he was looking forward to seeing you again, since he knew you the best. I thought it a remarkable statement, but I had been rather out of the loop, as people say. I was given to understand you had been working with your mutual friends in Europe...”

“George,” David stood. “Perhaps we should wait until-”

George ignored him. “He said that? Did he? What else did he say?”

“He spoke about the reinstatement of the House of Lords, of course. We had a beautifully democratic narrative for the world media; couldn't be helped that the lords became involved; many of them were in some sort of consultant capacity in various government policy think tanks or holidaying with them. I was certain that he had returned before me. In fact, I've got the e-mail from him the other day; something about finding a prime spot for the next conference for our new government.” He began rummaging through his pockets for his phone.

“Perhaps he is delayed by other business.” Nick looked about as stricken as George felt.

“Well, he had been a rather secretive sort. I wouldn't be surprised if he had gone to meet with David Miliband. Unlikely allies, I thought. But then there were him and you, and Nick Clegg.” He turned to Nick. “I hadn't the chance to congratulate you, but that was quite the successful Odyssey and I hope you're content staying,” he stayed meaningfully.

“Enough of that,” David said decisively. “Time is passing quickly. We haven't a moment to lose before public formed opinions, good or ill, on this rather visible state of affairs. And if Peter Mandelson's still involved, we have to be on our guard. Perhaps you don't know Boris,” he added casually, “but we're quite determined to declare a war on the house of lords. If we learned anything in the last two years, it is that public opinion is still rather against them.”

Boris sighed, and pushed his hands into his hair, which had whitened over the years to incandescence. He rallied. “That's what I said. So now what? Strike while the iron's hot? How should we spin this?”

George could've laughed. He didn't. “What spin? There's no spin. It is a race. There will be no new government. The Coalition Government would be offering what Britain deserves and so it would remain.” He gave a moment for Boris to digest the idea, then added, “It looks like we won't be canceling the fox hunt this year.”

George saw David wince at the metaphor, but he didn't disagree.

-=-=

The sun was still shining a week after its reemergence in a cloudless sky but faces frequenting Parliament grew darker and stormier. The variability of the weather was still less changeable than the hopes of men.

As Nick had expected, no one remembered the session where George Osborne gave the budget statement and where the Lib-Dem DPM had sat alone among Tories. However, he had not counted on the disturbance that Boris Johnson could create among a community with disproportionately numbered politically-minded people grown complacent in the sort of theoretical politics practised by students.

Nick's return had been welcomed precisely because it merely presented possibilities, the nebulous paper hopes easily transmuted to anything precious by the alchemy of carefully concocted spin to be determined in some equally nebulous future date. Meanwhile, the lorries - contents commonplace yet necessary and unavoidably concrete- was reminding the MPs daily of the world outside and the living breathing people they were supposed to be representing and yet from whom they had sequestered themselves. Even the youngest staffer for whom the floods was merely a youthful adventure could sense the bitter philosophical taint of that dilemma. Beneath the irony of fine weather at last, a confrontation was inevitable; a civil dispute necessary; the prize, as always, was the honourable onus of rule.

Instead of guns or cannons, the wars of British politicians in the twenty-first century were fought with newspapers. The side with the most and the best coverage wins. As part of the campaign devised by an indefatigable George Osborne and their director of communications, Nick had been sent forth to do the interviews since his popularity was unchallenged according to the meta-analyses of the polls conducted at home and abroad over the years.

“There was once a cartoon of you as a knight on a quest when you left, though they hadn't drawn you wearing the Conservative's favour,” David teased. Nick remembered the cartoon. It was actually a series. It was one of the rare ones since he had been depicted without marionette strings or a dress by the British pictorial press. He had felt vaguely apologetic when he realised that the trend became so that cartoon David was given the dress instead in a variety of rather cruelly inspired “wife-waiting-at-home” themed ones. It seemed society was still unable to think of ironic comedy beyond gender stereotypes.

“Yours only,” Nick answered darkly, as David slid the yellow tie around his throat. Nick was no longer pretending. He would not be doing this for anyone else. Labour had remained been uncharacteristically quiet regarding their criticism of him. Nick strongly suspected was because his own party was in a formal alliance with them in all but name. He didn't dare to speculate what they must think of him.

“Thank you,” David said, though he was concerned. He had grown less tense after Nick's first independent interview after his return, but the subtle wrinkles around his eyes deepened every time George suggested that the public needed to hear from someone who could at least appear to be separate from the Conservatives. Nick wasn't certain if it was the subtle disparagement or the reminder that Nick was still a Lib-Dem and not one of them but it discomforted him.

“You know my principles don't change,” he said, his hand sliding around the smooth wool across the other man's shoulder just as he was about to step away. “I never make a promise I don't believe in.”

“I've never doubted your principles,” David protested, misunderstanding. The soft light of the morning sun had barely percolated through the curtains. His eyes were dark. “I trust you.”

Nick drew him closer, his fingers curling into the soft short hair at the back of David's neck, letting the smell of their aftershave and cologne mingle in the kiss. “Thank you.” He did not look at himself in the mirror.

-=-=

David had imagined that he would merely have to approve the premise for the conference, but George had insisted that both he and Boris visited it in person; scheduled, perhaps on purpose, at the time Nick's interview was supposed to be streamed online in real time.

And knowing George, David was certain it had been on purpose. George had all but offered Nick a practice session where he would roleplay the interviewer. It was politely, but firmly declined. George and Nick got along as long as the topic was not political.

“The coasts seemed to be swarming with private security firms,” Boris offered near the of the tale of his homeward journey. “There were rumours in America that the Xe Services were in a hurry to leave anywhere with American jurisdiction now that their Congress finally managed to untangle some legal matters from ten years ago." He tempered his words for his audience. "I can't say I'm fond of the thought of mercenaries on our shores with the government, uh..being rather vulnerable."

“That would be the invasion we had mentioned,” George said darkly, “by our own. Provided that that the terms of the contracts was with the Lords and would be honoured by the next legitimate government, anything these mercenaries do between then and now are in a legal vacuum.”

“What? The lords will stage a military coup and take over government?” His brow pinched. "Would that be a rebellion to the crown?" To Boris' credit; he tended to grasp even improbable matters immediately, though he sounded pleased at the prospect.

“Only if they're given the opportunity, which is why we are here. David, I don't think you should be worried about Nick at this point.”

Guiltily, David put away his mobile. They were standing in front of a semi-official looking building, old with mossy stones. All the doors and window frames were gone, probably burnt for fuel during the first awful winter. The grounds were semi-wild. “Where are we?”

“A town hall,” George answered, then added quietly, half to himself, “I stayed here for a time.”

“I thought you didn't come back to Britain until recently. ”

The uncanny good weather only emphasized how pale they had all became, except for the startling tanned Boris, but David thought for an alarming moment that George had turned as gray as the stones.

“That would be the story; but I didn't stay away because I wanted to,” George said after a moment, seemingly without rancor, though his smile was tight. “The straitened circumstances of a number of people; people saw it as my fault. The floods; that, too, seemed to be within the domain of the office of chancellor. In the presence of such unpopularity, a compromise was reached very much without my input. ”

“So you were the scapegoat who took on the sins of the people into a permanent exile or worse,” Boris commented drily. “The superstitious will always confuse the realm of politics and supernatural because it is the easier.” He carried on while pacing the width of the building. “Though I still can't see how Nick Clegg escaped unscathed if you were obliged to leave; I doubted that his feeble Lib-Dem principles could withstand any intelligent scrutiny. The man had death and shame in his eyes the last time I saw him, a dangerous combination, I thought. A man like that would do anything.”

Sometimes, he could be astoundingly and annoyingly astute. “There's neither sin nor guilt for George to bear,” David flicked his eyes to Boris, “We live in the modern world.” His own Church of England faith, never quite strong, had all but disappeared since half of the country flooded. Nick's staunch atheism, constant and unwavering, had been as if not even more reassuring because his convictions had been practically tangible. At least, back then, David had very much wished it to be. He wondered how Nick was getting on with the interview- one for the national archives. After all, nondescript though the interview would be; he would be speaking for the Government in their very discreet location.

“Of course there's no sin, only perhaps a mistake to choose regulators who regulate so badly that they provided oversight of apparent violations by breaking other rules,” George intoned.
David wondered who and how he would direct his revenge.
“But I've returned.”

David clapped George's shoulder. The man merely turned his head, looking at him quizzically. “We have a lot to do. Our plans were only half finished."

“But long years ahead for them, I believe,” said Boris cheerfully. “Big Society's working, Labour paralyzed-”

“You're back with us then?” David asked, bolstered by the thought. “Not going back to America and devote the rest of your life to reform across the pond?”

Boris grimaced. “Consider me to never have left. As we've said since the beginning, we are all in this together.”

-=-=

One of the Speaker's clerks hurried past the Chancellor's office and nearly collided with one his advisers. The papers she was holding spilled onto the ground. The sound of rustling echoed in the hallway.

“I hope it's nothing important. Surely these are not the amendments selected for debates tomorrow. We can't have accusations of collusion with the Coalition Government so soon after Britain realised that it still has a Parliament, hidden and well-fed.”

The clerk must've been surprised; she muttered something about number of desks, but George knew the sentence wasn't for her benefit. Then there was a strangely surreal half a minute as his own adviser was courageously refusing Peter Mandelson's request to see him by implying that the Chancellor was still busy catching up to the mess left by his predecessors.

“Just let him in,” George called out before her reasons start to sound like out-dated apologetics. God knows what Mandelson might say and who else would be walking around.

“Ah George,” Mandelson said. “I had been hoping to see you for a while.” He shut the door behind him.

George felt his heart speed up. He stopped twirling the pen in his hand and set it down deliberately.

“You seemed surprised to see me,” Mandelson continued.

“Why am I surprised you are here?” George closed his eyes briefly, when he opened the again, Peter Mandelson was still there, only the gray in his hair had crept higher than George remembered. “It seems I shouldn't be. There's the watch, of course, and the note. You even had Ed Miliband and Boris warn me.” The other man sat amused before him, cool and collected. “In retrospect you've given me enough hints and clues that it shouldn't be such a shock to see you but it is. You can see it can't you?” he finished somewhat bitterly. He realised he had picked up the pen again and was tapping it idly on his desk. Letting it fall, he added, “If you thought your last trick would discredit me you're too late.”

Mandelson was frowning. “George, I didn't mean to frighten you for the world. I quite regretted it, that day. That you would have such a reaction to my mere voice was entirely unexpected. I wasn't even sure if you saw me.” He didn't sound facetious.

“I can't imagine why I would either when it is merely your voice when I couldn't see you,” George said sarcastically. “It doesn't bear resemblance to anything I might remember in a negative light, of course. How was that accomplished? Where were you?”

“Now, let me think,” Mandelson said, putting a finger under his chin and tilting his head, a gesture so deliberately theatrical and George knew at least that part of the conversation was feigned, “it's been a while, but I believe I was outside the door, on the phone with Vince Cable. A surprisingly mischievous man now that I think of the event," the smile on the corner of his mouth quite ruined any mistaken doubt of his sincerity, "with a higher quality of video phone than possibly necessary.”

“With an unsurprising dislike for me,” muttered George.

“All Lib-Dems have that I would think, but you might forgive me-”

“Forgive you?” George was incredulous. “For scaring me half to death, for threatening death? Or the general intimidation?” He paused and said, “So Vince Cable knows.”

“He knows you were forcibly detained, but as you mentioned, he has an aversion even to your name. I'm afraid that we mentioned you very little.” Mandelson wanted George to think that it was Nick Clegg who divulged the facts of his humiliation, but in this case George was certain that Nick would be far too preoccupied with his own affair, affairs, George reminded himself and suppressed a scowl at the thought.

“At the same time, you haven't come to see me before.”

“I didn't think you would crave my company.” Mandelson raised an eyebrow. “What should we have talked about?”

“What I meant is,” George said, discarding the replies that leapt to mind, “why have you come to see me now?”

“At the heart of any political campaign, it is often said that it would always be about the economy. But it is politics, therefore it is about people. The questions we address primarily are in fact: Are people happy? Has their needs been adequately taken care of? After all, for most people, economic gains and losses are not immediately perceivable; context could make all the difference for their hopes and fears. Both you and I know that, though the new Conservatives have taken to rather more extreme ends than new Labour ever did."

"You don't need to come to re-contextualize me or my views," George said grimly. "I'm not one of your Labour lackeys or third-generation voters. What do you want from me?"

"I thought I could make my position a little clear on our history together, that was all."

"And as always, you've merely added mud to the mess." George was quietly satisfied with how unhappy Mandelson looked.

"It's all politics, George. You should know that, but I never meant ill. We cannot balk at a solution merely because it is difficult.”

"A cross-party solution, too, Peter. I must congratulate you, and I suppose, a number of people for the doubtless historic alliance."

"I am, at least," Mandelson said, "very sorry for all that caused you ill."

"I find it difficult to believe when I know you're attempting to reinstate the House of Lords, all so that you might sit in government again.” George refused to be distracted by the thought of Mandelson feeling sorry; contrition was beyond the man. “Furthermore, I know you are attempting to break apart the Coalition, again, for very much if not the exact purpose." George said. "As for me, I made my own bed and had to lie in it though it would be a bed of roses or thorns.”

“Both, I should gather," Mandelson said. "Is that what you really think?” Mandelson was vaguely amused. There was a very familiar undertone to the words that made George glad for the desk between them. It was different when he could see the man speaking, but the taunt in the voice was unmistakable. “You seem certain.”

“Everything I know is building up towards it.”

“Everything you know is merely that Labour is the Opposition. You haven’t learned anything new, George,” Mandelson remarked. “You have forgotten one very important confounder, the Deputy Prime Minister Clegg who so handily delivered you from me via our mutual friends in Europe.”

“And so we have finally come to a point!” On familiar grounds again, the relief was impossible to describe. “I will not be breaking the Coalition for you. I will not tear down Nick’s reputation. He is an important factor for general happiness, you’ll find. Practically a hero, ready-made for public consumption.”

Disconcertingly, Mandelson smiled. And to the forefront of George’s mind came image from a book illustration of the Cheshire cat from a book he had never finished reading aloud before things fell apart. The resemblance was so uncanny, the assault of the memory so unbearably painful that it took a moment for him to gather what Mandelson was saying.

“Nick Clegg is nothing without his party, which is not without its own internal disputes, especially after such a long alliance with the Tories and the Tory economic policy. And then there is the contract he signed even as I signed the contract for your detainment. But as we all know, with every signature and every meeting, there are gentlemen’s agreements that require no paper, but merely the private shared understandings between the parties.”

It took a moment for George to recall the occasion. “What has Nick's contract with the Group has to do with anything? It was you who had Balls and Burnham meeting me, wasn’t it?” The lack of reply was answer enough. “But what is it about Nick’s contract?”

“Ask David Cameron.” Mandelon was being mysterious and there was a hint of mockery in the statement that made George uneasy. He felt as if he was in a small room again, shut away from some important information with that voice being his sole link to the outside world. “He would know, since he had a copy placed on his desk. I’m surprised that he hasn’t shared with you what he learned.”

And curiously enough, David hadn’t. George had been too busy to ask and assumed- Well, David is the party leader and the Prime Minister. There was no reason to consider he would deliberately do anything that would jeopardize them without jeopardizing himself. He started making a show of starting to reorganizing several items on his desk just so Mandelson might not see how much the thought disturbed him.

“George,” the other man started, then sighed, as if even the name pained him. “You know that I've always considered you a friend though we have had our differences, politically.”

“What, not Gideon?” George asked without looking up. “You liked ‘Gideon’ though you know I disliked people calling me by it.”

“It would be far too easy for you to identify me had I used your name. And it is not always me, you know. The ship was mine only in name,” Mandelson finally conceded. “You could see why, couldn’t you? I prefer not to have something so insignificant in our rather significant lives to remain a stumbling block in our future relations.”

At that, George met Peter’s eyes. “And with keeping me locked up, why did it not occur to you to let me keep some basic dignity? A prison, really, Peter? And then a ransom? Did playing at cartoon villainy proven sufficient amusement for the long stretches at sea? You don't even attempt to endear yourself to someone you claim a friend. All those little tricks, were they suppose to be signs of friendship? ”

“Nothing is a trick when there’s a pattern beneath. Whatever private aims we have, we are not our own masters. Sometimes, even for men like us, we are only pawns in a greater game.”

Hearing that ominous remark, George had to admit he lost. There were suspicions that shadowed his every thought that passed his mind. He needed to see David and ask for an explanation.

-=-=

“And I must be d’Artagnan,” he said, laughingly.

“Why yes.” The journalist looked up, looking surprised and puzzled at the same time. “Of course you are. Don’t you remember the ending of the book?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had time for an adventure story,” Nick admitted. He hadn’t even read the book at school. There were only vague memories of badly made movies.

“Other than your own, of course,” she said, smiling. “Downing Street had released your travel logs to the public and those with media access had doubtless knew parts of your journey. Some of those experiences sounded like something from a novel. Were you really held up by bandits in Roman aqueducts?”

“It did happen and unfortunately, we didn't have a mutual language. My Italian wasn’t persuasive enough to ensure my release. It is simple luck than anything I did. The door was unlocked. And believe me, I didn’t want it to be an adventure,” Nick said, honestly. “I thought very often that I can't go on, but I went on because I just wanted to come back home and as I’m sure everyone does. The floods had given all of us enough adventures for several lifetimes, it is time for peace.”

The journalist, independently chosen by the press corp and vetted by the government, raised a skeptical eyebrow. Adventure, Nick had to admit, was perhaps too flippant a term to describe the loitering gangs of unemployed, the grim jerry-rigged shantytowns, and the food riots in London that had preceded his departure for Europe, but both David and he had thought that the relief effort should be sufficient underway that optimism for the future could be the main message without incurring too much damage. It was, however, a gamble.

“I don’t think you would find anyone who would not agree with the sentiment. But,” she continued, evidently deciding to be kind. Or at least, was being so by policy, “there is still the matter of the government who will organize our rebuilding. And at the end of the book, it was d’Artagnan who ended up being the closest to Athos. Surely you wouldn’t deny that despite the intents of the new Conservatives, it is you who had worked the closest with the Prime Minister in the absence of George Osborne and Boris Johnson. Thus, in fact, is it you who was shaping Conservative policies rather than the Conservatives themselves.”

It was a leading question if there was ever one. “I wasn't aware of the political strategies of the Tories before the formation of the government,” Nick said, wary. “In fact, you’ll find that my priorities remain to the British public and to my own party,” Nick answered. “The MPs from all political parties remain at the Parliament. This government has always been a Coalition and we have proven that it is working. We have acquired the material required for reconstruction and are distributing it in the fairest and most efficient manner possible.”

“But do you feel you are ready to face the British public with what is unveiled today at the budget review when, from what I know, there would be a momentous change to occur to the currency. To what extent does that put Britain in the debt to other nations?”

“In the last economic disaster we had, it was the IMF who bailed us out of the financial crises incurred by the war. This time, a natural disaster compounded effects of the failure of the banks and no financial institution, especially since this was a disaster that affected other nations as well as our own, could be relied to aid us without coming to an agreement of how to communicate. It is the dynamism of economics in this highly globalized world that created a necessary change of fiat that would allow us to cooperate with other nations. The multilateral approach is for our benefit.”

“Some would argue that it would reduce Britain’s independence, especially when people find all their savings and investment suddenly dissolved.”

“People can argue all sorts of things but I can reassure you that the government has been working tirelessly to ensure that Britain would resume normality as fast as possible; even now, teams are at work assessing the damage and planning on reconstructing the infrastructure for the future. Just as we had the foresight to print the ration booklets-an order that the chancellor issued before he departed for continent-was to prevent the society from devolving into a system of barter, so we will exercise due diligence regarding the role of the Euro used within Britain. It will not be an overnight change but a transition much as what we have seen to take place in other nations. The point is that in fact, Britain is better off than others; despite the inflation of the pound prior to the flood it still provides a monetary cushion."

"But what does that mean in real terms for people?"

"It means people will have a very fair exchange rate. It means the government will be able to use that fair exchange rate and support any reconstruction, our roads, bridges, schools, as well as being able to afford to pay our own citizens as well as purchase goods or services from abroad if necessary." Nick looked at the camera, trying to convey much confidence as he could though the last time he had faced the British public, the reception involved more bodyguards than he had liked. "This Coalition will ensure there is a brighter and stronger future for Britain."

It helped that the weather was holding out.

-=-=

“I saw Peter Mandelson,” George told him.

“Are you all right?” David asked, somewhat alarmed.

“As well as might be expected when the most harrowing experience of your life is expected to be forgotten with supposedly a sincere apology from the most insincere man you've ever known.”

"You shouldn't let him get to you," David said absently, turned around, and watched a sort of quiet despair settle over George's face. Letting Mandelson get to him was exactly what he didn't want, but that seemed a hopeless cause since he did get him, quite literally. George and Mandelson seemed to be drawn to each other even before in the odd, unsettling way of politicians who would've otherwise been on the same side if only a side could have the fortitude to bear two of them at once.

"How did Nick's interview go?"

"It's still going on," he answered, pointing at the screen of the computer. "And thankfully, no power failures thanks to the constant sunshine. Do you think people will like the message? It's a bit unoriginal, but the familiarity might help."

"Yes, I said so, didn't I?"

"Yeah." David was still worried. The venue was discreet and Nick looked just on the right side of tired without being haggard, but whoever was doing the interviewing - a fresh face and only minimally associated with the BBC - seemed a bit too intent on a comprehensive review of how the Coalition changed before and after the floods. Despite other foreign English press sometimes calling it the "Second Deluge," Nick thought it hinted at the church and would've probably evoke sense of judgment in a religiously vulnerable population.

"Everyone prays when times are difficult," Nick had said, "looking for some explanation beyond their own experiences, help from some intangible external force." David hadn't disagreed exactly, though he wondered if Nick prayed and what intangible help he had sought.

But so far, the interview hadn't deviated from the recognised plural noun, which was a very good sign. The last thing they need was an uncooperative press. There was some concern at one point where it seemed that the line of questioning seemed to gear Nick into launching into a defense of their economic policy and the necessary secrecy of their location, but he distracted her from the direction by subtly suggesting that the government would allow a three year moratorium on all debts. It wasn't exactly true, but it was distracting.

"What else did Lord Mandelson say?”

“What?” George had been distracted as well. He was staring at David’s desk with an unnecessary intensity. There was only an ashtray on it and the wreckage of a single cigarette. The papers and folders had been cleared before IT came to set up the feed.
“You’ve taken up smoking again,” he commented.

David hadn’t. “George, you’re not even paying attention to what Nick is saying,” he said.

“I am, but we are not members of the public, David, just in case you have forgotten. We know his lines, we even know most of her lines,” said George gloomily. “What we don’t know is what they will do. Or at least, I don’t.”

“What did Mandelson say?” David repeated the question, noting the shift in mood. Something had happened. There was a leak in the security, but that will be dealt with in its own time. At the moment, he wasn’t sure he preferred all the Labour spin doctors inside or outside the community if a single interview with Mandelson could so upset George that he couldn’t even pay attention to what he had personally engineered.

“Lord Mandelson was deeply interested in the other contract that Nick Clegg signed.” George was looking at him closely. “The one that had almost ruined his return Parliament and which you have a copy in possession.”

David put on his best blank expression. He didn’t deny it, though he wondered why George would choose to bring it up now and who had told him. “It doesn't matter,” he tried to dismiss the issue. “We’ve come to an agreement. Nick won't be seeking to oppose prolonging this Government for the foreseeable future. There will not be a repeat of Spring 2015.”

The chaos of the Coalition Government would be memorable even to someone who deliberately avoided the news. The provocative and scandalous headlines filled the airwaves and was plastered on buses as the parties sought to distance themselves from each other. To politicians in the center of the storm, even the thought of it was agonizing. George’s mouth twisted at the reminder.

“You mean he wouldn't be on our side now if you're not sleeping with him.”

“Keep your voice down,” David hissed. “Wasn't that your advice?”

“Yes, but-” Neither of them was watching the broadcast any more. It was concluding. David could hear the thanks and slightly forced geniality. The sound of drums in the background of the music was too loud. George reached out one long hand to turn down the speakers before the crescendo reached its conclusion.

“What will your wives say?” asked George, his voice mild. “Do you think Miriam will give up on her husband as quietly as Sam might accept your new arrangement? This is not France. We are not French. You both have families, David.” He paused and said, “She's lawyer.” And Spanish, David remembered, but George didn’t say it. “I notice you’re not denying it. There will be no normality if you can’t set the example. You use to know this.” At the end, there was a little of plea in his voice.

David couldn’t answer. He didn’t want to. He stared at the ashtray with its lone cigarette and the small pile of ash instead of at his friend.

“What did that contract say?”

“What else did Peter Mandelson say?” David countered. “Why can’t you just accept the fact that I’ve dealt with it? It doesn’t matter any more.” George, unhappy, resembled a sullen schoolboy. In the right moments, David could almost feel protective. So far, this interview did not appear to be shaping into one of them.

“You know you have to end the affair,” George said. “That is my advice.”

“Go away Gideon,” David said, viciously.

-=-=

George returned to his office. It was blissfully empty and still far too close. There was work to be done. The sky was darkening earlier. The conference to reveal the site of the government still needed to be prepared. There were people to sooth, coerce, and bully. He couldn’t muster the effort.

Even if located in the most idyllic of locations, politics was by necessity labyrinthine, or perhaps that was simply people trying to work together for a common goal despite “personal differences”. But David’s “personal difference” was going to provoke an outrage if discovered and he himself knew it. George simply couldn’t see why David’s insisting on continuing the liaison.

Of course, going to Nick Clegg himself was beyond the question. Simply asking what else he did during that Bildergroup Conference other than securing relief for his country and exhibiting the decency to rescue the chancellor, yours truly, was too humiliating even in thought. Still smarting from seeing David -how did it go so wrong?- and the words and what came afterwards, George wasn’t proud of his own reaction. The walls were not thick, he hoped no one imagined that they were foolish enough to trade blows, though a chance glance caught in the reflection of the window showed his own face, scarlet with shame, was perhaps equally or even more damning.

And that wasn’t even why they fought. George simply wanted to know what David already knew. If he must concede to David’s foolish infatuation with another married man, a politician at that, so be it. Perhaps society had changed. Though he thought it unlikely that it would’ve changed enough to feel confident about blatant adulterers as their leaders, David was right that it was personal, just as George had chosen a personal friendship with David and so now he must also accept that particular aspect about him. Still, as a member of the party, George didn’t have to. In particular, he couldn’t accept the fact that David was keeping what he knew about the Coalition from him. Wasn’t he the chancellor? Wasn’t he, in effect, the deputy to the party leader?

George wished Peter Mandelson was here. It might be too much to hope for advice from him. In fact, it would be. But at least George would have a legitimate excuse to shout at him instead of lurking about his own office, with mounting futile frustration as all his hard-won equilibrium tipped into nothing. He wanted everything to be back as before. He wanted the future brighter, better than the present, and yet familiar enough to evoke his past, when he still had...everything.

George didn’t like, but he was falling for his own propaganda.

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Chapter 6: the commoness of thoughts and images