When the Zoom call starts, I don’t see Clive. Instead, it’s the intimidating face of Sir Alan next to Viv.
For the first time, I let myself feel angry at this blatant disregard of my request. But Sir Alan is quick with his answers.
“Clive is a minister now, he is busy.”
I don’t care. “I need to talk to him.”
“He’s in a soundproof studio at the BBC for an interview on the Today program. You remember those?” He challenges me. “You used to write for them. Your condition can’t have made you forget.”
He scans down my body and his eyes widen. “What happened?
“I had my baby early.”
Viv opens her mouth in shock then beams. “Congratulations. What did you, I mean what…”
“A girl. I called her Malinara Joy.”
“That’s a lovely name. And are you well? Is everything–”
Her father cuts in. “I’ll send a helicopter to collect you. There’s a private airfield near Norwich, I’ll organise all the logistics. Can you be ready in a week? I need time to make arrangements with the clinic.”
“I don’t need the clinic, Malinara is twenty-two days old, she–”
“No harm in giving you all the care you need until you can manage. Now, I can find you a house with a nanny, ideally nearAspach. It’s in Austria which is better. It’s remote, but you’ll be more private there. We’ll have to give you a different name. Obviously, an English-speaking housekeeper, you don’t speak German, do you?”
“I don’t. and I don’t want to go to Austria.”
“Where do you want to go then?”
“London, of course. Not right away but in a few months.”
He shakes his head impatiently. “You can’t. It might have been manageable without your baby, but not now. The media might be stupid, but they can count months. It’s clear you were pregnant before leaving. You’ll ruin Clive and this is a very difficult time. The PM likes him, and if he plays his cards right, he’ll be promoted within a year. Sports is just a steppingstone. We’re hoping he’ll get Education next. He’s already working on building a great portfolio of policies.”
“What about the Phoenix bill?” The question surprises even me. Something about Sir Alan’s political planning throws me into autopilot.
He shakes his head. “Political suicide.” He cuts his hand through the air in a throw away gesture. “Come, Alice, you’re too experienced to indulge in such idealism. Phoenix was well and good when Clive was still a backbencher, he needed something to make him stand out and attract attention. Things are different now.”
“Is that what Clive thinks?” I can’t help asking.
“Right, I think Austria is the perfect place for you to hide out. It has top-notch facilities but off the beaten track.”
He hasn’t answered my question, but I didn’t really need him to. Clive’s own actions are answer enough. In some twenty-four speeches and interviews since the election two months ago, he hasn’t mentioned the topic, not once.
“We can feed the press a story about you being married to someone else and in a couple of years we’ll say you had a baby with that someone else. In the meantime, Clive will carry on as planned.”
Viv moves to say something, but her father stops her. “Pet, why don’t you leave us?”
‘Pet.’ With this one word, he reduces Viv to an irrelevance. She drops her eyes and gets up. “See you later, Alice.” She gives me a small, tight smile and walks off camera.
Sir Alan watches her and waits, presumably until she’s out of the room. “My daughter,” – He turns back to me – “isn’t an experienced campaigner and she can react emotionally. You are different, baby or no baby, you understand what’s at stake. So, that plan the two of you hatched up for an early divorce was a very bad idea, it took a lot of hard work to spin it away. When you come back to London, in a year or two, then we can consider a divorce and sell a different story about you and Clive.”
Ah, yes, Clive. This is why I asked for this call, not to listen to Sir Alan planning my life for me.
“I need to talk to Clive.”
“He sends you his love and wants you to know that there’ll be no expense spared in making you comfortable until the right time for your return. By then, this baby will be old enough to go to a private nursery, under an assumed name, and you’ll have to say it was born a year later so it doesn’t look like Clive’s.”
A sudden movement draws my eyes up the stairs. Brandon is on his feet, his face furious. He’s breathing hard and his glare at my computer is hard enough to crack it into pieces.
