Michael Dobbs - To play the king

The King spun round on his heel, like an officer on parade. 'Oh, do you, Prime Minister? Damned difficult that, I've already set the wheels in motion, you see. Prime Minister's right to demand an election, of course, the Constitution's clear about that. Can't for the life of me remember the bit where it says he's allowed to call one off. Anyway, I'm the one who dissolves Parliament and signs the Royal Proclamation, and that's just what I'm going to do. If you find my actions objectionable on constitutional or personal grounds, I'm sure I can rely on your vote during the abdication debate.'

'I shall withdraw my proposals for constitutional reform,' Urquhart uttered in exhaustion. 'If necessary, I shall make a public apology for any… misunderstanding.'

'Decent of you to offer, Urquhart. Saves me and Mr Landless here insisting on it. I would like the apology made when you introduce the Abdication Bill.' 'But there's no need. You win. We can turn the clock back…'

'You still don't understand, do you? I am going to abdicate, whether you want that or not. I am not the right man for this task I was born to, I don't have the self-restraint required of a King. I've come to terms with that. My abdication will protect the Crown and all it stands for much more effectively than if I try to muddle my impatient way through the murky constitutional waters. My son has already been sent for and the regency papers are being drawn up. He is more patient than I, younger, more flexible. He will have a better chance of growing into the great King I shall never be.' He prodded his own chest. 'It's the best thing for me, the man.' The finger turned on Urquhart. 'And it is also the best damned way I can devise of destroying you and everything you stand for.' Urquhart's lip trembled. 'You used to be an idealist.' 'And you, Mr Urquhart, used to be a politician.'

There was a knock on the front door, a soft, tentative sort of rapping. Kenny put down his book and went to answer it. The door opened and there, on the darkened doorstep, wrapped in a new overcoat against the blustery rain, stood Mycroft.

Mycroft had prepared his explanations and apologies carefully. With the announcement of the abdication and election, things had changed. The press had new fish to gut and fry and would leave them alone, if Kenny could understand. And forgive. But as he looked up at the other man he could see the pain deep within the startled eyes, and his words deserted him.

They stood facing each other, each afraid of what the other might say, not wanting to expose once again the scarcely healed wounds. It seemed to Mycroft several lifetimes before Kenny finally spoke.

'Are you going to stand out there all sodding night, David? The bears' tea will be getting cold.'