James Craig - The Circus

On the other hand, if it stopped the scandal from reaching Downing Street, it was a price well worth paying.

The Cabinet Secretary inspected his beautifully polished shoes. ‘I wouldn’t rule anything out.’

‘Not with Horsegate still rumbling on,’ Miller said.

‘Tsk.’ Edgar angrily waved away the mention of the latest pseudo-scandal.

‘Mr Miller is right.’ O’Dowd smiled sadly.

‘This is nonsense,’ Edgar said testily. ‘I am the Prime Minister, for goodness sake — the Prime Minister! How many times do I have to say this? I am not going to get into a conversation about whether or not I went riding on a nag called George Canning. .’

With some difficulty, Trevor Miller stifled a guffaw.

‘. . or any other horse, for that matter.’ He jabbed an angry finger in the direction of O’Dowd. ‘How was I supposed to know that the Metropolitan Police were lending out their spare horses to Sonia Claesens and her bloody boyfriend?’

You idiot, Miller thought. These people are toxic. What the hell were you doing, going riding with them in the first place? ‘Look on the bright side,’ he said aloud. ‘It saved our four-legged friend from the knacker’s yard, at least for a while.’

For a moment, it looked as if the PM might explode in the face of such rank impertinence. Trying to calm the situation, O’Dowd held up a hand.

‘These things happen,’ he said. ‘With the benefit of hindsight, was it wise that you went riding on a police horse with your close friends, the head of Zenger Corporation’s media division and her toyboy? Probably not. However, now we have to look forward, not back, so it is best if we don’t fixate on it.’

‘I don’t even know if that was the actual bloody animal I sat on,’ Edgar whined.

‘Such details don’t matter. The point is, as Mr Miller has shown, this trifling incident will, for the moment at least, keep you tied to the wider problem.’ O’Dowd spread his arms. ‘Which means we have to be seen to be treating the wider problem with the utmost seriousness. Which in turn means that, if the Commissioner’s position becomes untenable, you cannot flinch from making sure that the right decision is made. And made quickly.’

Which means I will have to lean on Christian to sack him, Edgar thought morosely. What’s that going to cost me?

‘Not that we are prejudging the issue,’ O’Dowd flashed one of his most insincere smiles, ‘in any way, shape or form.’

‘Of course not,’ Miller agreed.

‘Glad to hear it.’ Edgar took another sip of Hennessy to calm his nerves.

‘It all depends on how diligent he proves to have been in terms of dealing with. . perceived abuses among the rank and file of the MPS.’ O’Dowd pushed back his shoulders and clasped his hands in front of his chest. This was the standard undertaker’s pose that he liked to adopt when doling out bad news to politicians and other naughty children. ‘But I’m afraid, Prime Minister, we can rule nothing out at this stage. The horse George Canning is, of course, a distraction but it is also symptomatic of how this has now become really quite a serious matter.’

‘I know all this,’ Edgar groaned. ‘The question remains: how is the issue going to be resolved? How do we make it go away?’

O’Dowd ignored the PM’s gripe. ‘In the short term,’ he said evenly, ‘I fear that it isn’t. So far, the police have a list of a thousand possible targets.’

‘Targets?’

‘Targets of the media — people who we think may have had their phones hacked by rogue journalists.’

‘The current number is fifteen hundred,’ Miller interjected, ‘and it’s growing all the time.’

‘Quite,’ O’Dowd nodded. ‘The point is that it will take years to check out all the potential cases.’ Years, as in long after the next election . ‘Meanwhile the victims will troop through the courts looking for compensation.’

‘Almost all these cases are celebrities, footballers and politicians,’ Miller continued. ‘Not groups likely to gain much public sympathy.’

‘No,’ O’Dowd agreed. ‘Far more worrying are the allegations that police officers have been selling people’s phone details to journalists.’

Not as worrying as the risk of us having to forfeit the very generous donations that Zenger has made over the years to Party funds, Edgar thought. Not to mention the Zenger cash we need to fight the next election. ‘So, what should we do?’

O’Dowd raised his gaze to the heavens, as if the PM’s question was a bolt from the blue. ‘That,’ he said finally, ‘is something that you are going to have to consider very carefully in due course. For the moment, we have to wait and see how things pan out.’

Wait and see, thought Edgar morosely. In other words, the standard civil-service line when they don’t have a clue.

‘Now, let me leave you to your meal.’

Edgar gave a curt nod and watched the Head of the Civil Service solemnly make his way to the door. ‘Bloody fence-sitter,’ he grumbled into his almost empty snifter. ‘Never gives you a straight answer.’

‘I think he wanted an invite to dinner,’ Miller grinned. He was feeling hungry himself, but was more of a Big Mac man. Steamed suet pudding was just not his thing.

‘I’m definitely going to sack him,’ Edgar mumbled. ‘Give his jobs, all of them, to some bright young filly with a double-first from Oxford, great teeth and a monster rack.’ There were always more than a few of those knocking around Westminster.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, nothing.’ Edgar offered a tired smile to the two advisers who had been waiting patiently in the corner. One was a pollster, the other, one of the Downing Street Press Officers. ‘Sorry, guys, we’re out of time here. Let’s reconvene in the morning.’ Without a murmur of complaint, the duo shuffled off. Finishing the last of his cognac, the PM decided against another one. Doubtless Christian Holyrod was getting stuck into his first bottle of Chateau Haut-Brion Blanc 2006, and Edgar was keen to join him. He placed his empty glass on the table and turned to Miller, who was always the last man to leave his side. ‘So what do you think?’

‘What have we got?’ Miller shrugged. ‘Bad behaviour by tabloid hacks, gleefully reported by other tabloid hacks. Is it really so surprising?’

‘Of course not,’ Edgar sighed.

‘The plebs love scandal, simply love it. They want to be titillated one day, outraged the next.’

‘It was ever thus.’

‘So, I would say that it’s all just a storm in a teacup.’ Miller shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. ‘We have to be seen to be taking it seriously, of course, but there’s no need to panic. Soon enough it will all be over, and everyone will move on.’

‘Absolutely,’ the PM nodded. ‘It just depends how many careers it wrecks along the way.’ The beginnings of an idea floated across his Hennessy-soaked brain. ‘Sir Gavin may well be right. Some important heads will have to roll.’

Miller thought about that for a moment. ‘How many heads are we talking about?’ he asked finally.

‘Difficult to say,’ Edgar smiled. That is the great thing about you, Mr Miller, he thought. Nothing fazes you. The Head of Security had been a key member of his team for more than seven years now. Unlike the callow youths who swarmed around Whitehall acting as special advisers, Trevor Miller was a man of the world with an extensive range of contacts. Over time, the ‘security’ brief had expanded as Edgar had come to rely on him for an ever-wider range of advice and services. Other people brought him problems; Miller delivered solutions.

‘I would assume a relatively small number,’ Miller mused. ‘Not too few but not too many either; with at least one sufficiently senior, so that the whole process doesn’t look too. . tokenistic.’