Michael Dobbs - To play the king

'I see,' Urquhart mused, the creeping cold sending his left leg into spasm while a pair of ducks splashed their way into flight from the lake. Wonderful targets, he thought. 'That's a kind offer, of course, Sir. But I wouldn't want the Environment Secretary to feel in any way that we were undermining his authority. I have to keep a happy team around me…'

'You are absolutely right, I do agree. That's why I took the precaution of chatting about this with the Environment Secretary myself. I didn't want to put any proposal to you which might be an embarrassment. He said he would be delighted, offered to brief me himself.'

Bloody Dickie. He'd no sense of humour, that was clear, now it appeared as if he had no other sense either.

'Today this is just a muddy field,' the King continued. 'But in the years to come this could be a new way of life for us all. Don't you see?'

Urquhart couldn't. He could see only piles of mud spread around like newly turned graves. Damp was seeping through the welts of his shoes and he was beginning to feel miserably uncomfortable. 'You must take care, Sir. Environmental matters are becomingly increasingly the stuff of party politics. It's important that you remain above such sordid matters.'

The King laughed. 'Fear not, Prime Minister. If I were meant to become involved in party politics the Constitution would have allowed me a vote! No, such things are not for me; in public I shall stick strictly to matters of the broadest principle. Simply to encourage, to remind people that there is a better way ahead.'

Urquhart was growing increasingly irritable. His socks were sodden, and the thought of the public being told from on high that there was a better way ahead than the one presently being pursued, no matter how delicately phrased, smacked of grist to the Opposition's mill and filled him with unease, but he said nothing in the hope that his silence would bring an end to the conversation. He wanted a warm bath and a stiff whisky, not more regal thoughts on how to do his job.

'In fact, I thought I might pursue the point in a speech I have to make in ten days' time to the charitable foundations…'

'The environment?' The irritation and impatience were beginning to show in Urquhart's tone, but the King appeared not to have noticed.

'No, no, Mr Urquhart. An address intended to bring people together, to remind them how much we have achieved, and can continue to achieve, as a nation. Broad principles, no specifics.' Urquhart felt relieved. An appeal to motherhood.

'The charitable foundations are making such prodigious efforts, when there are so many forces trying to divide us,' the King continued. 'Successful from the less well-off. Prosperous South from the Celtic fringe. Suburbs from the inner cities. No harm in encouraging families secure in their own homes this Christmas to spare a thought for those forced to sleep rough in the streets. In the rush, so many seem to have been left behind, and at this time of year it's appropriate to reach out to the less fortunate, don't you think? To remind us all that we must work towards being one nation.' 'You're intending to say that?' 'Something on those lines.' 'Impossible!'

It was a mistake, a rash outburst brought on by frustration and the growing cold. Since there was no book of rules, no written Constitution to order their conduct, it was vital to maintain the fiction of agreement, of discussing but never disputing, no matter how great their differences, for in a house of cards which lean one upon the other each card has its place. A King must not be seen to disagree with a Prime Minister, nor a Prime Minister with a King. Yet it had happened. One impatient word had undermined the authority of one and threatened both.

The King's complexion coloured rapidly; he was not used to being contradicted. The scar on his left cheekbone inflicted in a fall from a horse showed suddenly prominent and purple while his eyes carried an undisguised look of annoyance. Urquhart sought refuge in justification.

'You can't talk of one nation as if it didn't exist. That implies there are two nations, two classes, a divide which runs between us, top dogs and the downtrodden. The term reeks of unfairness and injustice. It's not on! Sir.'

'Prime Minister, you exaggerate. I'm simply drawing attention to the principle – exactly the same principle as your Government has just endorsed in my Christmas address to the Commonwealth. North and South, First World and Third, the need to secure advancement for the poor, to bring the different parts of the world community closer together.' 'That's different.' 'How?' 'Because…'

'Because they're black? Live in distant corners of the world? Don't have votes, Prime Minister?'

'You underestimate the power of your words. It's not what the words mean, it's how others will interpret them.' He waved his arms in exasperation and sought to pummel life back into his frozen limbs. 'Your words would be used to attack the Government in every marginal constituency in the country.'

'To read criticism of the Government into a few generalized Christmas-time sentiments would be ridiculous. Christmas isn't just for those with bank accounts. Every church in the country will be ringing to the stories of Good King Wcnceslas. Would you have him banned as politically contentious? Anyway, marginal seats, indeed… We've only just had an election. It's not as if we have to worry about another just yet.' Urquhart knew it was time to back down. He couldn't reveal his election plans – Palace officials were notoriously gossipy – and he had no taste for a personal dispute with the Monarch. He sensed that danger lay therein. 'Forgive me, Sir, perhaps the cold has made me a little too sensitive. Just let me say there are potential dangers with any subject as emotive and complex as this. Perhaps I could suggest you allow us to see a draft of the speech so that we can check the detail for you? Make sure the statistics are accurate, that the language is unlikely to be misinterpreted? I believe it is the custom.' 'Check my speech? Censorship, Mr Urquhart?'

'Heavens, no. I'm sure you would find our advice entirely helpful. We would take a positive attitude, I can guarantee.' His politician's smile was back, trying to thaw the atmosphere, but he knew it would take more than flattery. The King was a man of rigid principles; he'd worked hard for many years developing them, and he wasn't going to see them smothered by a smile and a politician's promise.

'Let me put it another way,' Urquhart continued, his leg once more going into spasm. 'Very soon, within the next few weeks, the House of Commons must vote on the new Civil List. You know how in recent years the amount of money provided for the Royal Family has become increasingly a subject of dispute. It would help neither you nor me if you were engaged in a matter of political controversy at a time when the House wanted to review your finances in a cool, constructive manner.'

'You're trying to buy my silence!' the King snapped. Neither man was renowned for his patience, and they were goading each other on.

'If you want a semantic debate then I put it to you that the whole concept of a constitutional monarchy and the Civil List is precisely that – we buy your silence and active cooperation. That's part of the job. But really…' The Prime Ministerial exasperation was undisguised. 'All I'm offering is a sensible means for us both to avoid a potential problem. You know it makes sense.'

The King turned away to gaze across the bedraggled lawns. His hands were behind his back, his fingers toying irritably with the signet ring on his little finger. 'What has happened to us, Mr Urquhart? Just a few moments ago we were talking of a bright new future, now we haggle over money and the meaning of words.' He looked back towards Urquhart, who could see the anguish in his eyes. 'I am a man of strong passion, and sometimes my passion runs ahead of what I know is sensible.' It was as close to an apology as Urquhart was going to get. 'Of course you shall see the speech, as Governments have always seen the Monarch's speeches. And of course I shall accept any suggestion you feel you must make. I suppose I have no choice. I would simply ask that you allow me to play some role, however small and discreet, in pushing forward those ideals I hold so deeply. Within the conventions. I hope that is not too much to ask.'