The Complete Yes Minister

But my trouble is, I never know when to stop. I then launched into a tremendously self-righteous tirade. I told him that I cannot have it thought that I asked him to do this. Then I turned on Humphrey, and told him that I cannot have it thought that I will tolerate bribery and corruption in our business dealings. ‘Enough is enough,’ I went on, digging my own grave relentlessly. ‘If this journalist asks me straight questions about either of these matters I must give straight answers. There is a moral dimension.’

I should have realised, since Humphrey was looking so thoroughly unflappable, that he had an ace up his sleeve. I didn’t guess. And he played it.

‘I agree with you, Minister. I see now that there is a moral dimension to everything. Will I tell the press about the communications room or will you?’

Blackmail. Shocking, but true! He was clearly saying that if I laid the blame for (a) the bribery and corruption, or (b) the rosewater jar – neither of which were my fault – at his door or Bernard’s door or anyone’s door (if it comes to that) then he would drop me right in it.

I think I just gaped at him. Anyway, after a pause he murmured something about the moral dimension. Hypocritical bastard.

I tried to explain that the communications room was not the same thing at all. Completely different, in fact. Drinking is nothing to do with corruption.

But Humphrey would have none of it. ‘Minister, we deceived the Qumranis. I am racked with guilt, tormented by the knowledge that we violated their solemn and sacred Islamic laws in their own country. Sooner or later we must own up and admit that it was all your idea.’

‘It wasn’t,’ I said desperately.

‘It was,’ they chorused.

I would have denied it, but it was their word against mine. And who would ever take the word of a mere politician against that of a Permanent Secretary and a Private Secretary?

Sir Humphrey piled on the pressure. ‘Is it fifty lashes or one hundred?’ he asked Bernard, who seemed to be brightening up a little.

In what seemed like an interminable pause, I contemplated my options. The more I contemplated my options the more they disappeared, until I didn’t seem to have any at all. Finally Bill said that I had to meet the journalist or she would write something terrible anyway.

I nodded weakly. Humphrey and Bernard hovered. I knew that only one possible course was open to me. Attack! Attack is always the best form of defence, especially when dealing with the press.

And after all, dealing with the press is my stock-in-trade. That is what I’m best at.

[That is what Ministers had to be best at. At that time the Minister’s main role was to be the chief public relations man for his Ministry – Ed.]

I sized her up in no time as she came into the office. Attractive voice, slightly untidy pulled-through-a-hedge-backwards sort of look, trousers, absolutely what you’d expect from The Guardian – a typical knee-jerk liberal, Shirley Williams type.

As she came in a rough strategy formed in my mind. I was charming, but cool, and gave her the impression that I was fairly busy and didn’t have too much time to spare. If you don’t do that, if you let them think that you think they are important, it confirms their suspicions that they are on to something.

So I adopted a brisk tone like the family doctor. ‘What seems to be the trouble?’ I asked in my best bedside manner.

‘Two things,’ she said, ‘both of them rather worrying to the public.’

How dare she speak for the public, who know nothing about any of it? And never will, if I can help it!

She started with the French allegation of BES corruption in getting the Qumrani contract.

‘Absolute nonsense,’ I said categorically. If in doubt, always issue an absolute denial. And if you’re going to lie, then lie with one hundred per cent conviction.

‘But they quoted reports of payments to officials,’ she said.

I pretended to lose my rag. I fixed her with a piercing gaze. ‘This is absolutely typical. A British company slogs its guts out to win orders and create jobs and earn dollars, and what do they get from the media? A smear campaign.’

‘But if they won by bribery . . .’

I talked over her. ‘There is no question of bribery – I have had an internal inquiry and all these so-called payments have been identified.’

‘What as?’ she asked, slightly on the retreat.

Humphrey saw his opportunity to help.

‘Commission fees,’ he said quickly. ‘Administrative overheads.’

He’d given me time to think – ‘Operating costs. Managerial surcharge,’ I added.

Bernard chimed in too. ‘Introduction expenses. Miscellaneous outgoings.’

I thundered on. ‘We have looked into every brown envelope,’ I found myself saying, but changed it to ‘balance sheet’ in the nick of time. ‘And everything is in order.’