“What do you have in mind?” he asked as he stood by the mantelpiece.
“Fair exchange.”
“For what?”
“For the world rights to my life story.”
“Your what?” said Charles in disbelief. “Who is going to be the slightest bit interested in you?”
“Its not me they’re interested in, Charlie, it’s you. The News of the World have offered me £100,000 for the unexpurgated story of life with Charles Seymour.” She added dramatically, “Or what it’s like to live with the second son of an earl who will go to any lengths to become Prime Minister.”
“You can’t be serious,” said Charles.
“Deadly serious. I’ve made quite a few notes over the years. How you got rid of Derek Spencer but failed to pull the same trick on Clive Reynolds. The extremes you went to trying to keep Simon Kerslake out of the House. How your first wife swapped the famous Holbein picture of the first Earl of Bridgwater. But the story which will cause the most interest is the one in which the real father of young Harry Seymour is revealed because his dad’s life story was serialized in the People a couple of years ago, and that seems to be one episode they missed out.”
“You bitch. You know Harry is my son,” said Charles, advancing toward her. But Amanda stood her ground.
“And perhaps I should include a chapter on how you assault your wife behind the closed doors of your peaceful Eaton Square mansion.”
Charles came to a halt. “What’s the deal?”
“I keep quiet for the rest of my life and you present me with £50,000 now and a further £50,000 when you become leader.”
“You’ve gone mad.”
“Not me, Charlie, I’ve always been sane. You see, I don’t have a paranoia to work out on dear harmless brother Rupert. The News of the World will love that part now that he’s the fifteenth Earl. I can just see the picture of him wearing his coronet and decked out in his ermine robes.”
“They wouldn’t print it.”
“They would when they learn that he’s as queer as a two-pound note, and therefore our only son will collect the earldom when he’s not entitled to it.”
“No one would believe it, and by the time they print the story it will be too late, said Charles.
“Not a bit,” said Amanda. “I am assured by my agent that the true reason behind the resignation of the leader of the Conservative party would be an even bigger scoop than that of a one-time contestant.”
Charles sank down in the nearest armchair.
“Twenty-five thousand,” he said.
“Fifty thousand,” replied his wife. “Its only fair. After all, it’s a double deal: no story to the press and you become leader of the Conservative party.”
“All right,” whispered Charles, rising to leave the room.
“Wait a minute, Charlie. Don’t forget I’ve dealt with you in the past.”
“What else are you hoping for?” said Charles, swinging round.
“Just the autograph of the next Tory leader,” she replied producing a check.
“Where the hell did you get hold of that?” asked Charles, pointing to the slip of paper.
“From your checkbook,” said Amanda innocently.
“Don’t play games with me.”
“From the top drawer of your desk.”
Charles snatched it from her and nearly changed his mind. Then he thought of his brother in the House of Lords, his only son not inheriting the title, and having to give up the leadership. He took out his pen and scribbled his name on the check before leaving his wife in the drawing room holding £50,000. She was checking the date and the signature carefully.