Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

Giles didn’t want to tell him why that hope was likely to be short-lived.

“I write to Karin and her mother every week, but I never know how many letters get through. Now you’ve met her, I feel more confident, and will contact the Home Office again.”

“I’ve already spoken to the Home Office department that’s responsible for immigration. However—”

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Giles. My family and I are in your debt, and you’re not even my MP.”

“Can I ask you a personal question, Mr. Pengelly?”

“Yes, of course, Sir Giles.”

“Do you think it’s possible that Karin could be working for the Stasi?”

“No, never. She detests them even more than I do. In fact I keep warning her that her unwillingness to cooperate with the authorities could be the reason they won’t grant her a visa.”

“But they gave her a job as an interpreter at an international conference.”

“Only because they were desperate. Karin wrote in her letter there were over seventy delegates from more than twenty countries, and she felt very lucky that she was allocated to you.”

“Not so lucky, because I have to warn you that the press might have got hold of some photographs showing the two of us together, that at best can be described as unfortunate, and at worst—”

“I can’t believe it,” Mr. Pengelly eventually managed. “Karin is normally so cautious, she never takes risks. What came over her?”

“She is in no way to blame, Mr. Pengelly,” said Giles. “It was entirely my fault, and I must apologize to you personally, because if the press find out you’re Karin’s father, they’ll make your life hell.”

“They did that when I married her mother,” said Pengelly, “and I’ve never regretted it.”

It was Giles’s turn to remain silent, as he thought how to respond. “The truth is quite simple, Mr. Pengelly, and I haven’t even been able to share it with my wife.” He paused again. “I fell in love with your daughter. If I could have avoided it, I most certainly would have and, let me assure you, I am quite willing to go through the same pain you must have endured just to be with her. What makes it worse, I don’t even know how she feels about me.”

“I do,” said Pengelly.

The call came on a Saturday afternoon, just after four o’clock. It quickly became clear that the Sunday People had an exclusive, although Giles accepted that by midnight most editors would be resetting their front pages.

“I assume you’ve seen the photographs we have in our possession, minister?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Do you wish to make a statement?”

“No, I do not.”

“Will you be resigning from the government?”

“No comment.”

“How has your wife reacted to the news? We understand she’s gone to stay with her parents in Wales.”

“No comment.”

“Is it true you’re getting divorced?”

Giles slammed down the phone. He couldn’t stop shaking as he looked up the chief whip’s home number.

“Bob, it’s Giles. The story will break in tomorrow’s Sunday People .”

“I’m so sorry, Giles. For what it’s worth, you were a damned good minister and will be sorely missed.”

Giles put down the phone, only one word ringing in his ears — were . You were a damned good minister. He took a sheet of House of Commons paper from the letter rack in front of him and began to write.

Dear Prime Minister,

It is with great regret...

Giles entered the Privy Council office on Whitehall so he could avoid the scrum of Fleet Street hacks waiting for him in Downing Street, or at least those who didn’t know about the back door entrance to No.10.

One of the memories he would regale his grandchildren with was that as he entered the Cabinet room, Harold Wilson was trying unsuccessfully to relight his briar pipe.

“Giles, good of you to drop in, considering what you must be going through. But believe me, and I speak with some experience in these matters, it will blow over.”

“Possibly, prime minister. But it’s still the end of my career as a serious politician, which is the only job I’ve ever really wanted to do.”

“I’m not sure I agree with you,” said Wilson. “Just think about it for a moment. If you were to hold on to Bristol Docklands at the next election, and I’m still convinced you can, the electorate would have expressed their views in the ballot box, and who am I to disagree with their judgement? And if I’m back in Downing Street, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you to rejoin the Cabinet.”

“Two ifs, prime minister.”

“You help me with one, Giles, and I’ll see what I can do about the other.”

“But, prime minister, after those headlines...”

“I agree, they were not edifying. It was perhaps unfortunate that you were minister for foreign affairs.” Giles smiled for the first time in days. “But several of the comment pieces,” continued Wilson, “as well as one or two leaders, have pointed out that you were an outstanding minister. The Telegraph , of all papers, reminded its readers that you’d won an MC at Tobruk. You somehow survived that dreadful battle, so what makes you think you won’t survive this one?”

“Because I think Gwyneth is going to divorce me, and frankly she has good reason to do so.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Wilson, once again trying to light his pipe. “But I still think you should go down to Bristol and test the waters. Be sure to listen to what Griff Haskins has to say, because when I called him this morning, he left me in no doubt that he still wants you to be the candidate.”

“Many congratulations, major,” said Virginia. “You’ve been single-handedly responsible for bringing Giles Barrington down.”

“But that’s the irony,” said Fisher. “I didn’t. It wasn’t our girl who spent the night with him.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I flew to Berlin just as you instructed, and it wasn’t difficult to locate an escort agency with offices on both sides of the wall. One particular girl came highly recommended. She was paid well, and promised a bonus if she could supply photographs of the two of them in bed.”

“And there she is,” said Virginia, pointing to a selection of that morning’s papers that normally wouldn’t have found their way into the flat in Cadogan Gardens.

“But that’s not her. She rang the following morning and told me that Barrington had relieved her of a bottle of champagne but then slammed the door in her face.”

“So who’s that then?”

“No idea. The agency say they haven’t come across her before, and assume she must work for the Stasi. It had sound and surveillance equipment in all the delegates’ hotel suites during the conference.”

“But why did he reject your girl, then allow himself to be taken in by this one?”

“That I can’t explain,” said Fisher. “All I am sure about is that your ex-husband isn’t necessarily finished.”

“But he resigned this morning. It was the lead story on the morning news.”

“As a minister, yes, but not as a Member of Parliament. And if he were to hold on to his seat at the next election...”

“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t.”

“How can we do that?”

“I’m so glad you asked that question, major.”

“I’m afraid I’ve been left with no choice but to resign as your Member of Parliament,” said Giles.

“Just because you went to bed with a tart?” said Griff.

“She wasn’t a tart,” Giles replied, as he did to everyone who made that assumption.

“If you resign, we may as well hand the seat to the Tories. The PM won’t thank you for that.”