‘Can’t you just distance yourself? Blame it on the over-enthusiasm of your juniors?’
Ben squints at me. It’s the sort of look you give someone in a foreign country, speaking a language you can’t understand.
‘Well, no. It’s going to be one of my key policies.’
I laugh. I think he’s joking.
‘Scrapping child benefit? Surely, that’s …’
‘It’s a bold move but the majority of voters in this country support it,’ he says. ‘Besides, we’ll replace it with a universal system.’
Again, I scan his face for some sign of humour, some recognition that what he’s saying is appalling and illogical. It’s not that I’m a champion of the underdog or some working-class hero (I mean, please) but I have always thought, despite Ben’s privilege and the insulation of his wealth and breeding, and despite the fact that he is self-interested and makes stupid mistakes and is capable of throwing people away like discarded sweet wrappers, that he had some flicker of decency; that his cruelty is an unwitting consequence of his flawed character, rather than a central plank of it.
‘I don’t know anyone who has ever been on benefits,’ Ben is saying now. ‘Do you?’
‘I do, actually. My mother. When she lost her job at the accountancy firm. She was only on benefits for a few months, but I believe the welfare state was a great help to her.’
‘Your mother? Really? Huh!’ he says as if I have told him an inane piece of trivia – the mating rituals of a South American egret, for instance, or how many balloons you’d need to blow up to reach themoon. Ben sips his wine, swills it around his mouth. He has hairs sprouting out of his ear, I notice. Ugly, grey, wiry things.
‘Anyway, other than that, it’s all going well, thanks for asking,’ he continues. No further interest in my mother or my upbringing, of course. No further mention of the hypothetical decision he’s toying with that will cause chaos and misery to millions. ‘It’s been a team effort. Ed’s been guiding me. And Richard Take has been useful for the younger element of the party.’
‘Extraordinary how that man has managed to turn stupidity into a virtue,’ I say.
Ben throws his head back and laughs.
‘Tell me what you really think, why don’t you?’
‘And Jarvis?’
‘Yeah, he’s been a great help with the financial backing. And it’s good he has experience in government. Don’t know what I’d do without him.’
Their intimacy still stings.
‘You’ll see him later, actually,’ Ben says, draining his glass.
My heart gives an unpleasant thump.
‘Oh, really?’
‘He and Bitsy have a weekend cottage a few minutes away.’
‘Cosy.’
Ben glances at me. He realises he’s said the wrong thing. I watch him recalibrate and then he leans forward, grabs my upper thigh and says, ‘Remember, LS, how we used to go swimming in the lake at Denby Hall? Those long, lazy summers?’
‘Of course.’
‘With dear, darling Fliss. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, you know?’
His eyes moisten.
‘Your friendship and your loyalty has meant more to me than I can say,’ Ben continues. Utter bullshit, I think. ‘Your understanding, too, over all that happened. I know Serena said some terrible things toLucy. We just needed there to be some clear water for a while, while Serena calmed down and … well … I know you get it.’
‘Of course,’ I say again. ‘You can count on me.’
Ben is satisfied. He slaps my back and then we both stand and he hugs me tightly, kissing me on the cheek. Lips dry on my skin. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he says. And then: ‘Oh, before I forget, there was just one more thing.’
My shirt sticks to me clammily. This suit is really far too hot.
