Kompromat

Jeremy Hartley had, of course, heard the text the previous day. He’d had a chance to study it in detail. He admired its simplicity and the economy of words, so unlike most EU documents. He could live with it. More than that, he was ready to welcome it with open arms.

Best say so straightaway, he thought. That was always the best tactic. Set the tone of the debate. Make his view clear.

‘I am very grateful to you, Mr President, as Chair of the Council,’ he said to Arne Jacobsen: ‘And of course to the Commission,’ here he gestured to Michael O’Rourke, ‘for all the hard work the community institutions and the Member States have put in, so that we can today find a solution to what up till now has been an intractable problem.

‘What is interesting to me,’ he continued, ‘is that what seemed in the first instance to be a purely British problem turns out in the end to be a European problem and therefore one that is capable of a European solution.

‘I can confirm today that the United Kingdom government welcomes the text that the Commission has put forward, and sincerely hopes that it may be adopted unanimously by the Council this morning.’

The applause which followed Hartley’s brief intervention was more than polite. It was heartfelt.

It really was a different ball game now, they all thought, compared to what it had been just a few months ago. Even countries like Poland and Romania, whose workers travelled in tens of thousands each year in search of jobs in the more affluent parts of the European Union, could see the value of agreed language, which in the end permitted them to take their own decisions about what was right for their country. And if this text really did help to stop the imminent disintegration of the EU, it was surely worth swallowing any objections they might have.

One by one, the heads of State and government took the floor to express their views. Some of them made long speeches; some of them made short speeches, but none of them, not one, took exception to the text the Commission had circulated.

The prime minister of Hungary, Lazlo Ferenczy, was positively ecstatic, which was not surprising given that his country was busy erecting huge fences, topped with razor-sharp wire, along the length of its Eastern border.

‘It is high time we took this step,’ he urged. ‘My country supports the Commission’s proposal whole-heartedly.’

The president of France, Jacques Petit, was more nuanced. ‘France will not object to the text,’ he said. ‘The circumstances are indeed very special. But we would suggest the addition of one line at the end, namely that Member States which decide to introduce unilateral measures to control migration should nevertheless report such measures to the Commission.’

Arne Jacobsen decided to give the French president all the help he could. It was in any case, as far as he could see, a fairly harmless proposal. No one was suggesting that the Commission should actually forbid or try to subvert these unilateral measures.

‘If I hear no objection, I propose we accept the amendment as proposed by the president of France.’ He banged his gavel on the table before anyone had a chance to ask for the floor. ‘So agreed.’

The last speaker had just finished when there was a sudden commotion at the far end of the room.

‘Ah! I see the German chancellor has arrived,’ Arne Jacobsen said. ‘Shall we break for five minutes to give Mrs Brun the chance to catch up?’

The five-minute break stretched to ten; ten minutes stretched to fifteen. What on earth was happening, Hartley wondered? He was worried. It looked as though there had been a cock-up somewhere along the line.

‘I thought the Commission had squared this text in advance with the Germans,’ he commented acidly to Sir Luke Threadgold.

‘I did too,’ Threadgold replied. ‘The German ambassador definitely gave it his okay.’

‘Well, his okay doesn’t count unless Brun’s on board too,’ Hartley snapped. He could see that members of the German delegation were clustered round the chancellor in a corner of the room. The German ambassador, Herr Otto von Wiensdorf, a huge white-haired man who was the doyen d’âge among delegates, seemed to be almost shouting at her.

‘This is the only solution, Chancellor,’ he urged. ‘We must agree to it, not block it. And it is in Germany’s interest also. We too need this emergency brake. We cannot tolerate the present situation. Europe itself is at risk!’

When Arne Jacobsen called the resumed meeting to order, he gave the German chancellor the floor straightway,

‘I would like to apologize, chairman, for arriving late at the meeting this morning,’ Helga Brun began. ‘I have to admit that I only saw the interesting text circulated by the Commission as I was leaving Berlin to come to Brussels. I had to take the time necessary to consult colleagues and officials.’

She paused and took a sip of water from the glass in front of her.