Kompromat

‘Look at this,’ Barnard went on. ‘Here’s the penultimate draft of the Bloomberg speech. It’s dated January the 14th. Still nothing about a Referendum. Now here’s the scanned version of the final draft with some manuscript additions. Can you read the handwriting? See what it says. “That is why I’m in favour of a Referendum”. That’s Hartley’s own addition to the draft speech. And in his very own hand. The text as delivered contains precisely the words Hartley personally added.’

Barnard flipped though a few more slides, then shut the computer down. The screen in front of them went blank.

‘The rest is, as they say, history. Once the Bloomberg speech was made, an irrevocable step had been taken. Fifteen months later – in May 2015 – there would be a general election. The Conservative manifesto commitment on the Referendum was even more explicit, as I recall, than the Bloomberg commitment. It committed the Conservative Party, as it sought support in the country, to call an In-Out Referendum on Britain’s continued membership of the European Union by 2017.’

‘So, no wriggle room there, then,’ Boles commented. ‘Let’s not beat around the bush. You’re suggesting that someone offered the Conservative Party a sordid deal. Ten or twelve million pounds up front in exchange for a Referendum commitment in the manifesto. This is “cash for policy” on a grand scale. Why ever would the PM want to take the risk?’

‘Was it such a risk?’ Barnard countered. ‘I think Hartley calculated the Referendum commitment would help the Conservatives, but he never imagined they would get an overall majority at the next election. If the coalition with the Lib Dems continued, as he presumed it would, when the time came he could rely on them to kill the Referendum idea stone-cold dead. So basically it was money for jam. But then, when the Conservatives to everyone’s surprise won an overall majority, Hartley was stuck with the Referendum commitment and he had to deliver.’

The two men sat in silence as they thought about what had just been said.

The next day, back in London, Edward Barnard stopped briefly at his office to clear his desk and dictate his letter of resignation:

Dear Prime Minister,

With the Referendum on the United Kingdom’s membership of the European Union now only weeks away, active campaigning about to begin and with the government and you personally being firmly committed to Remain in the EU, I feel I have no alternative but to offer my resignation as Secretary of State for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs.

I know you have granted Cabinet members on the Leave side permission to stay in their jobs and even to campaign actively against the government’s policy of staying in Europe, but this is not for me. I am a supporter of the Leave camp, and I do not see how it is possible to ride these two horses at once.

I have much enjoyed serving as a member of the government.

Yours, Edward Barnard

He drove down to his Wiltshire constituency later that day. His mobile phone rang incessantly. Finally he turned it off altogether.

His wife heard the car as the tyres crunched on the gravel. She came out to greet him.

‘What on earth has happened, darling? The press has gone mad trying to get hold of you. Apparently you’ve resigned.’

Barnard gave her a kiss, then hugged her tight. For years Melissa had been his rock and comfort. He needed her now. More than ever.

‘Yes, that is so. I should have done it long ago. In spite of what the prime minister said about me being free to campaign on the Leave side, my hands were tied. Official government policy is to Remain but now that I’ve left Office, I can do what I like.’

Barnard carried a large cardboard box from the car into the hall. The box contained personal papers from his office, framed photos of his wife and their two, now grown-up, children, and other small items of sentimental value, such as a porcelain polar bear from a famous Danish pottery, which he’d once been presented with when he addressed a conference in Copenhagen.

‘I could do with a cup of tea,’ he said. ‘It’s been a long day.’

CHAPTER SEVEN