Kompromat

Harriet paused to wait for the round of applause to subside. Then she went on, ‘Meanwhile the Remain campaign has been plugging on with Project Fear and its usual scare tactics, warning all and sundry of economic doom should the British people dare to opt to leave the European Union at the Referendum on the 23rd June. I must say I was a bit shocked to hear Alan Sigsworth, governor of the Bank of England, start talking about recession, inflation, and a “sharp” crash in the value of sterling, lower wages and rising house prices in the event of Brexit”. You would have thought Armageddon was round the corner. And the Bank of England is meant to be independent. Tom Milbourne himself might have written the script!’

Looking around the table, Harriet couldn’t help thinking that the team was shaping up well. She didn’t on the whole have much respect for politicians but this bunch seemed ready to put their shoulders to the wheel.

Take Ed Barnard, for example. Some people might regard Barnard as a kind of ‘useful idiot’. And yes it was true he was ‘useful’, but he was by no means an idiot. Take the way he had built up the relationships with the Craigs. It was Ronald Craig, after all, who invited Barnard to join his daughter, Rosie, on that vital trip to Australia to woo Mickey Selkirk.

Or take Harry Stokes, the ebullient, blond-haired former Mayor of London. Harry was absolutely living up to the high expectations people had of him, wowing the crowds wherever he went. He could be serious too if it was absolutely necessary.

Or take Jack Kellaway, the former minister for Social Affairs, who was playing a key role. If Barnard had led the way in resigning from the Cabinet, Kellaway had followed suit soon after.

Another one to watch was David Cole, the former journalist, and friend of Jeremy Hartley, who had somehow managed to keep his position as a member of the Cabinet even though he had joined the Leave campaign. You never quite knew what Cole was thinking behind those huge owl-like spectacles!

And then there was that dark horse, Andromeda Ledbury. She had turned in a couple of very competent television appearances recently and seemed game for any and all future challenges. She was a woman, too, which helped. Harriet didn’t on the whole believe in gender balance and that kind of thing but you couldn’t ignore it altogether. Not nowadays.

Yes, it was a decent team, Harriet thought. They had begun talking about an ‘alternative government’ and, frankly, it wasn’t such a ludicrous idea.

She decided to wrap up. There was work to do. ‘Let’s be clear about this,’ she said. ‘We may be winning the battle of the airwaves. We may have important parts of the print media on our side. But we are not there yet.’

After coffee, and they got down to the nitty gritty. The spread-sheets came out. Speeches and broadcasts were planned. The itinerary of the Leave Battle Bus was carefully plotted to ensure that, though it would criss-cross the country between now and June 23rd, it would be back in London in time, it was hoped, for a Victory Drive down Whitehall on the morning of June 24th.

Before they left, Harriet Marshall had one last word of caution for them.

‘We’re on the right track,’ she said. ‘But there’s still one thing which could scupper us. What if the EU, at the last minute, agrees after all to the prime minister’s demands in this so-called renegotiation? What if they see which way the wind is blowing and suddenly come up with a vastly improved offer?’

‘What kind of an offer might that be?’ Barnard asked. ‘The EU so far has offered the PM nothing. Nada. Niente. Zilch!’

‘Don’t be too sure,’ Marshall replied. ‘Rabbits and hats come to mind.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Later that morning, the Chamber of the House of Commons was already crowded when Edward Barnard arrived. As a minister, he used to sit on the front benches. Since his resignation, he had to take pot luck on the back benches. He squeezed into a seat under the gallery in time to hear the speaker call for order.

‘Statement by the prime minister,’ the Speaker, the Rt. Hon. Eric Foster bellowed.

Jeremy Hartley, already in his sixth year as prime minister, sprang to the despatch box. Tall, tanned and fit-looking, he exuded confidence.

‘Mr Speaker,’ he began, ‘I have here in my hand a letter which I have received this morning from the president of the European Commission in Brussels, Mr Michael O’Rourke, and with your leave I would like to read this to the House this morning.’

‘Oh dear!’ Barnard reflected. ‘I have here in my hand…’ That’s an unfortunate beginning. That’s what Neville Chamberlain said when he came back from Munich after his meetings with Hitler, waving a piece of paper in his hand as he stepped off the plane.

But the prime minister was clearly oblivious of the unfortunate historical parallel. He read out O’Rourke’s letter with obvious satisfaction: