Michael Dobbs: Whispers of betrayal

'Thank God you got here, Sam. You're the first grown-up I've talked to all day.'

'What's up?'

'Reshuffle time, and suddenly the farmyard's full of headless chickens hoping to be a big cock by the end of the day.' He tried to make it sound as if it were a matter of complete inconsequence to him, but knew he hadn't succeeded.

'I thought you said you might have a chance

'That was a week ago.' He shook his head to clear it of regrets. 'So much has happened since then. We've a lot to catch up on.'

'At my end, too…'

'But let's start with the good news. Your art course in Italy. I can let you have the money.'

She seemed oddly underwhelmed.

'Daddy, there's a small problem.' A pause. 'It's not eight hundred any more, it's a thousand.'

'And there was me about to tell the good people of Marshwood that we had conquered inflation.'

'It's not for Italy any more, either.'

'Not for Italy? Curiouser and curiouser. So what's it for, Sam?'

She reached for his hand, squeezed it. She was upset. The look in her eye wasn't that of a confident young woman any more but that of the unhappy little girl who used to run to him for help after Stevie's Action Men had taken over the doll's house. 'Something's come up, Daddy, something really important and I…'

She wasn't allowed to finish. Their lunch was interrupted by the arrival of Mickey, who seemed uncharacteristically flustered. She squatted at Goodfellowe's elbow in conspiratorial fashion, but as he looked down all he could see was cleavage trying to escape.

'Oh, dear, didn't they have anything in your size?'

'Be quiet. It's all a secret.'

'That's supposed to be secret?'

'Daddy!'

'Sorry, Sam. OK, what's this big secret?'

'A summons. From the Prime Minister.'

'I didn't realize George Vertue might need a new secretary.'

'Not me, idiot. You. You are respectfully instructed to get your Marks amp; Spencer three-button over there as quickly as possible. And say nothing to anyone.'

'Me?' He was about to swear in surprise, but found himself fresh out of breath.

'Rumour in the powder room is that he's fed up with all the altar boys and spin doctors who surrounded Bendall and he wants to balance it out by bringing back a bit of experience.' She picked a piece of lint from his lapel. 'At first I thought they said elegance and I was about to tell Downing Street they had got entirely the wrong man, but apparently it's experience they're looking for.'

'Daddy, if you want a new job, it's fine with me,' Sam offered softly.

Mickey grabbed his sleeve and shook it excitedly. 'Hey, Goodfellowe, takes a hell of a lot to kill off an old soldier, eh?'

'Some old soldiers, at least,' he muttered wistfully, his frown a mixture of puzzlement and alarm. 'But do you really think of me as old?'

'Let's put it this way. If you were a party, we'd be on to the jelly and musical chairs by now.'

Sam giggled.

'But maybe that's it,' Goodfellowe continued, still frowning. 'He might want me to resign. Kick me into the House of Lords to make way for someone else. Someone younger.'

'You're ten years younger than he is!'

'But I like Barry Manilow…' Goodfellowe had slipped into melancholy, indulging his Celtic roots, which always found it easier to visit the dark side first.

'There's only one way to find out, Daddy. Will you call me later?'

She was squeezing his hand again, and suddenly her words came back to him. She had been in the middle of telling him that something had come up, something that was really important to her. A father and daughter thing that both instinct and experience suggested he was going to find difficult. 'Look, there's half a bottle of Chablis left and I can't go wasting good wine on the whim of any old Prime Minister. We're going to finish lunch, Sam, just you and me. I suspect Downing Street will still be there when we've done.' He turned to Mickey. 'Phone back. Tell them I'm with my mistress and can't possibly be disturbed before two thirty.'

'Should I say which mistress?'

He waved a vague hand. 'Oh, find me one, will you? There always seem to be plenty around this place.'

'Good luck, boss.' Mickey kissed him on the cheek and wiped away the lipstick with a manicured thumb before leaving.

Goodfellowe returned to his lunch and swallowed a large mouthful of wine. 'I suspect it's going to be one of those days. Again. So, what were you saying has come up, Sam?'

She remained silent, concentrating on chasing a slab of vegetable terrine around her plate.

'You said it was something really important, that's what you said. Sounded as though it was going to cost me a hell of a lot of money.'

She pushed the plate aside and studied the grain on the wooden table in front of her. 'It's Darren and me. We…' She looked up at him, needing to gauge his reaction. 'This is really awkward. I'm sorry. Daddy, but we've got ourselves into a bit of trouble.'

'Oh, Sam! Darling, don't tell me you're…'

'The Big P.'

'You're…' He couldn't find the words, neither could he stop himself gazing with horror at her stomach.

'No, Daddy! I'm not pregnant. What the hell do you think I am, an amateur?'

'Then…?'

'Big P. Prosecuted. For obstruction. It was during one of our demonstrations to save the streets. I didn't want to tell you unless… But the magistrates found us guilty.'

'And now you need a thousand pounds?'

'For the fine and the costs. Sorry, Daddy, I hope this won't embarrass you. But I think it's worth taking a few risks in order to save London, don't you?'

Goodfellowe laughed until he thought they might hear him in Heaven.