blackest day of young Tim’s life, and his leadership qualities remained
stifled until he went to college and joined the Party.
A lost fight, a torn blazer, and six of the best: he could wish for
problems like that now. A whistle blew in the playground outside the
flat, and the noise of the children ceased abruptly. I could end my
troubles that quickly, Tim thought; and the idea appealed.
What was I living for yesterday? he wondered.
Good work, my reputation, a successful government; none of these things
seemed to matter today. The school whistle meant it was past nine
o’clock. Tim should have been chairing a committee meeting to discuss
the productivity of different kinds of power stations. How could I ever
have been interested in anything so meaningless? He thought of his pet
project, a forecast of the energy needs of British industry through to
the year 2000.
He could summon no enthusiasm for it. He thought of his daughters, and
dreaded the idea of facing them. Everything turned to ashes in his
mouth.
What did it matter who would win the next election? Britain’s fortunes
were determined by forces outside its leaders’ control. He had always
known it was a game, but he no longer wanted the prizes.
There was nobody he could talk to, nobody. He imagined the conversation
with his wife: “Darling, I’ve been foolish and disloyal. I was seduced
by a whore, a beautiful, supple girl, and blackmailed …” Julia would
freeze on him. He could see her face, taking on a rigid look of distaste
as she withdrew from emotional contact. He would reach out to her with
his hand, and she would say: “Don’t touch me.” No, he could not tell
Julia; not until he was sure his own wounds had healed and he did not
think he could survive that long.
Anyone else? Cabinet colleagues would say:
“Good God, Tim, old chap–I’m terribly sorry.. and immediately begin to
map out a fallback position for the time when it got out. They would
take care not to be associated with anything he sponsored, not to be
seen with him too often; might even make a morality speech to establish
Puritan credentials. He did not hate them for what he knew they would
do: his prognosis was based on what he would do in that situation.
His agent had come close to being a friend, once or twice. But the man
was young; he could not know how much depended upon fidelity in a
twenty-year-old marriage; he would cynically recommend a thorough
cover-up and overlook the damage already done to a man’s soul. to HIS
sister, then? An ordinary woman, married carpenter, she had always
envied Tim a little.
She would wallow in it. Tim could not contemplate that.
His father was dead, his mother senile. Was he that short of friends?
What had he done with his life, to be left with no one who would love
him right or wrong? Perhaps it was that that kind of commitment was
two-way, and he had been careful to see that there was nobody he
wouldn’t be able to abandon if they became a liability
There was no support to be had. Only his own resources were available.
What do we do, he thought wearily, when we lose the election by a
landslide? Regroup, draw up the scenario for the years of opposition,
start hacking away at the foundations, use our anger and our
disappointment as fuel for the fight. He looked inside himself for
courage, and hatred, and bitterness, to enable him to deny the victory
to Tony Cox; and found only cowardice and spite. At other times he had
lost battles and suffered humiliation, but he was a man, and men had the
strength to struggle on, didn’t they?
His strength had always come from a certain image of himself: a
civilized man, steadfast, trustworthy, loyal, and courageous; able to
win with pride and lose with grace. Tony Cox had shown him a new
picture; naive enough to be seduced by an empty-headed girl; weak enough
to betray his trust at the first threat of blackmail; frightened enough
to crawl on the floor and beg for mercy.