curtail the questioning and protect the Prime Minister, decided that enough was enough and handed the floor over to Tony Marples, a prison officer elected to represent the marginal constituency of Dagenham at the last election who regarded himself as a saviour of 'the ordinary chap' and who made no secret of his ambition to get a Ministerial job. He wouldn't get one, of course, not simply because he probably wouldn't last long in the House nor because he was homosexual, but because an estranged boyfriend had recently retaliated by wrecking the MP's Westminster flat before being carted away by the police. Disaffected lovers had dragged down many finer men than Marples, and no Prime Minister was going to give him the chance to follow in their footsteps, no matter how well trodden. But in Madam Speaker's eyes his ambition made Marples just the man to lob the PM an easy ball to hit and so provide the House with an opportunity to regain its composure.
'Wouldn't the Prime Minister agree with me,' Marples began in strong Cockney tones; he hadn't prepared a question in advance, but he thought he knew how to help his beleaguered leader, 'that this Party stands second to none in its respect for the institutions of this country, and in particular in its respect, love and devotion to our wonderful Royals?' He paused for a second. Once on his feet he was suddenly uncertain how to finish. He coughed, hesitated, too long, exposing a gap like a chink in medieval armour. The Opposition lunged. Interventions were hurled at him from across the Chamber, throwing him even further off-stride until his mind jammed in second and stalled. His jaw sagged and his eyes grew wide with the terror of those who wake from a dream to find that nightmare has become reality and they are naked in a public place. 'Our wonderful Royals,' he was left repeating, ever more feebly.
It was left to an Opposition MP to deliver the final blow, putting him out of his misery with a stage whisper which carried to all parts of the House.
'Particularly our queens!'
Even many on Marples' own side failed to restrain their smug grins. Marples saw an Opposition member blow a silent kiss of mockery in his direction, his confidence drained from him for all to see, and he sank miserably back into his seat as the Opposition once more reached a state of euphoria.
Urquhart closed his eyes in despair. He had hoped he'd staunched the flow of blood; now he would need a tourniquet. He thought he would apply it to Marples' neck.
The King was standing, as was his custom, near the window of his sitting room. He was toying self-consciously with the crested signet ring on his left hand, and made no move towards Urquhart. The Prime Minister had been kept waiting outside for a period which was not actually discourteous but was noticeably longer than usual, now he was forced to pace across the full length of the room before the King extended his hand. Once again Urquhart was surprised at the limp handshake, remarkable for someone who took such pride in his physical fitness. A sign of inner weakness? Or an occupational injury? At the King's silent direction they sat in the two chairs by the fireplace.
'Your Majesty, we must put an end to this open sore.' ‘I do so agree, Prime Minister.'
The informality of their earlier meetings had been replaced by an almost theatrical precision, like two chess players taking patient turns with the pieces. They sat just a few feet apart, knees together, waiting for the other to begin. Eventually Urquhart was forced to make his move.
'I must ask that this never happens again. Such material emanating from the Palace makes my task impossible. And if the leak came from a Palace servant, then he should be disciplined as an example to others for the future—'
'Confound your insolence!'
‘I beg—?'
'You come here to impugn my integrity, to suggest that I or one of my staff leaked these wretched documents!'
'You don't for one moment think that I leaked them, not for all the damage they have done . . .'
'That, Mr Urquhart, is politics, which is your game and not mine. Downing Street is notorious for leaking documents when it serves their purpose. I am not in that game!'
The King's head was thrust forward, his balding temples glowing with indignation and the bony bridge of his long and much broken nose showing prominently, like a