‘That’s a good point, Harriet,’ he says finally, ‘and I’m glad you raised it.’
Her shoulders relax.
‘It’s one I’ve asked myself several times over the last few months and, owing to some information that has recently come into my possession, I’m not sure anymore how to answer it.’
Harriet is caught off guard.
‘Why not?’ she asks.
A churning anxiety takes hold of his bowels. For a split second, he thinks he’ll bottle it. But then he remembers Hannah and her hand over his at the pub. He thinks of Fliss Fitzmaurice, abused and discarded like a soiled rag. He thinks of justice and what it actually means. He thinks of the people without power who can’t fight for themselves. So he takes out the grenade, removes the pin and throws it into the centre of Ben Fitzmaurice’s political career.
‘Events have been weighing heavily on me,’ Richard starts. He’s rehearsed this bit in his shaving mirror at home. ‘And I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that Ben Fitzmaurice cannot provide the leadership or build the team for the task ahead.’
He can hear the shocked whispers from the studio floor as Harriet sweeps her notes aside on the table. It is the perfect dramatic gesture and she knows it. She leans forward, a single finger extended towards him. He can sense an almost sexual excitement thrumming from her.
‘You’re saying that—’
‘I’m saying, Harriet, that I have, over the past few days, been made aware of certain worrying allegations concerning Ben Fitzmaurice and his family and I believe these allegations need to be investigated by the appropriate authorities before we can truly decide if this is the calibre of man we want leading our country.’
Harriet’s mouth drops open. The studio is pin-drop silent. Richard has never felt power like it.
‘I have, this morning, handed the relevant files over to the Metropolitan Police.’
In truth, he met with the Met yesterday afternoon, but that has less of a ring to it. The new Commissioner is a fearsomely blunt woman called Clare Dunstable with a close-cropped haircut and an unsmiling manner that reminds him of disciplinarian headmistresses in children’s books. When she was appointed, Commissioner Dunstable issued a statement saying she was ‘a new broom, sweeping out corruption’ and adding that ‘the era of institutional sexism and the old boys’ network is over’. The Felicity Fitzmaurice files were right up her street. She practically salivated when Richard outlined the details.
‘The police?’ Harriet says. ‘So – let me get this straight – it’s a criminal matter?’
‘An alleged criminal matter, yes.’
‘Alleged, yes of course,’ she says, hurriedly. ‘And what are the allegations?’
Richard draws himself up straighter.
‘I’m afraid I can’t get into that. I wouldn’t want to compromise any future legal processes.’
‘But …’ Harriet interjects. There is a certain manic quality to her questions now, like a lion pacing around a gazelle, waiting for her moment to pounce.
‘What I can tell you, Harriet, is that there are huge challenges ahead for this country but also – and this is important – huge opportunities. I believe we can make Britain stronger and fairer. There’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal divisions, give everyone a stake in our future and to set an example as the most creative, innovative, tolerant and progressive country in the world. If we are to make—’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Take, I don’t mean to be rude, but you’ve just dropped a bombshell here. We don’t need a party political broadcast. We need to know why you’ – she picks up her pen and jabs it at him – ‘have had this extraordinary change of heart?’
‘Look,’ he says, fanning out his hands, ‘I’ve always said I don’t want to be prime minister.’
‘Repeatedly,’ Harriet agrees.
‘But, as I say, the events of the past few days have weighed heavily on me. I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that Ben Fitzmaurice is not up to the job of leading us through the very real challenges we will face and that’s why I’ve decided, today, to put my name forward for the leadership.’
The make-up woman Maisie, now in his sightline with brush and powder in hand, gives an audible exclamation of surprise. Beside her, the floor manager is making frantic gestures. They’re heading towards an ad break, but Harriet can’t let it go. Usually, interviews go the way she has planned them. She is meticulous in her preparation, mapping out several different routes the conversation could take and memorising questions for each possible outcome. This loss of control is rattling her. She ignores the floor manager and takes out her earpiece, letting it hang from a thin wire over her collar.
‘But,’ she says, her face a picture of consternation, ‘isn’t it far too late, Mr Take? The membership are casting their ballots in a matter of days. There’s no way—’
He cuts across her.
‘Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures. Let me just say that the circumstances of this particular, ah, case are unique. I believe that the information contained in those files – the files I’ve passed to Commissioner Dunstable at the Metropolitan Police this morning – could have devastating consequences, not only for Ben Fitzmaurice but for the Conservative Party and the country as a whole if he is allowed to go ahead and stand. In the event of his withdrawal, I would like to explore the possibility of stepping up to take his place on the ballot.’
‘That would be unprecedented,’ Harriet says.
‘Yes, well,’ Richard replies. ‘I’m an unprecedented kind of guy.’
