The Fourth Estate

Atkins arrived at Armstrong House just before one. The proprietor was having a conversation in Russian when Pamela ushered him into the office. Armstrong immediately put the phone down in mid-sentence and rose to welcome his guest. He couldn?

?t help noticing as he shook Atkins’s hand that it was a little damp.

“What would you like to drink?” he asked.

“A small Scotch and a lot of water,” Atkins replied.

Armstrong poured the minister a drink and then led him through to the adjoining room. He switched on an unnecessary light and, with it, a concealed tape recorder. Atkins smiled with relief when he saw that only two places had been laid at the long dining table. Armstrong ushered him into a chair.

“Thank you, Dick,” he said nervously. “It’s most kind of you to see me at such short notice.”

“Not at all, Ray,” said Armstrong, taking his place at the top of the table. “It’s my pleasure. I’m only too delighted to see anyone who works so tirelessly for our cause. Here’s to your future,” he added, raising his glass, “which everyone tells me is rosy.”

Armstrong noticed a slight tremble of the hand before the minister responded. “You do so much for our party, Dick.”

“Kind of you to say so, Ray.”

During the first two courses they chatted about the Labor Party’s chances of winning the next election, and both of them admitted that they weren’t over-optimistic.

“Although the opinion polls are looking a little better,” said Atkins, “you only have to study the local election results to see what’s really happening out there in the constituencies.”

“I agree,” said Dick. “Only a fool would allow the opinion polls to influence him when it comes to calling an election. Although I believe Wilson regularly gets the better of Ted Heath at Question Time in the House.”

“True, but only a few hundred MPs see that. If only the Commons was televised, the whole nation could see that Harold’s in a different class.”

“Can’t see that happening in my lifetime,” said Dick.

Atkins nodded, then fell into a deep silence. When the main course had been cleared away, Dick instructed his butler to leave them alone. He topped up the minister’s glass with more claret, but Atkins only toyed with it, looking as if he was wondering how to broach an embarrassing topic. Once the butler had closed the door behind him, Atkins took a deep breath. “This is all a bit awkward for me,” he began hesitantly.

“Feel free to say anything you like, Ray. Whatever it is will go no further than this room. Never forget, we bat for the same team.”

“Thank you, Dick,” the minister replied. “I knew straight away that you’d be the right person with whom to discuss my little problem.” He continued to toy with his glass, saying nothing for some time. Then he suddenly blurted out, “The Evening Post has been prying into my personal life, Dick, and I can’t take much more of it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Armstrong, who had imagined that they were going to discuss a completely different subject. “What have they been doing that’s so disturbed you?”

“They’ve been threatening me.”

“Threatening you?” said Armstrong, sounding annoyed. “In what way?”

“Well, perhaps ‘threatening’ is a little strong. But one of your reporters has been constantly calling my office and my home at weekends, sometimes two or three times a day.”

“Believe me, Ray, I knew nothing about this,” said Armstrong. “I’ll speak to Don Sharpe the moment you’ve gone. You can be assured that’s the last you’ll hear of it.”

“Thank you, Dick,” he said. This time he did take a gulp of wine. “But it’s not the calls I need stopped. It’s the story they’ve got hold of.”

“Would it help if you were to tell me what it’s all about, Ray?”

The minister stared down at the table. It was some time before he raised his head. “It all happened years ago,” he began. “So long ago, in fact, that until recently I’d almost been able to forget it ever took place.”

Armstrong remained silent as he topped up his guest’s wine glass once again.

“It was soon after I’d been elected to the Bradford city council.” He took another sip of wine. “I met the housing manager’s secretary.”

“Were you married to Jenny at the time?” asked Armstrong.

“No, Jenny and I met a couple of years later, just before I was selected for Bradford West.”

“So what’s the problem?” said Armstrong. “Even the Labor Party allows girlfriends before you’re married,” he added, trying to lighten the tone.