May 1945
‘The Prime Minister to see you, sir.’
Carlisle smiled and looked up from his paperwork.
‘James,’ said Churchill, proffering his hat to Carlisle’s secretary and advancing on Carlisle, hand outstretched. ‘How good to see you again, old chap!’
‘Prime Minister,’ Carlisle said, rising and bowing slightly, as he took the hand.
‘Oh come now, James. No need for all that. We were at school together, after all.’
‘Indeed, sir. I was your fag, you may recall.’
Churchill chuckled.
‘Did I beat you?’ he asked.
‘A number of times. Would you care to sit down?’ The Prime Minister lowered himself gratefully into one of two leather armchairs. ‘May I offer you some refreshment?’
Churchill raised an eyebrow and in response, Carlisle stepped over to the drinks cabinet and produced from it, a decanter.
‘Cognac?’
‘They tell me you have a fine Jarnac over here,’ said Churchill. ‘I’m afraid we have to make do at Number 10, so I’m curious to see if it matches expectations.’ Carlisle smiled, noted the jibe and, as Churchill took out a cigar and matched it into life, poured two glasses, handing the larger to Churchill.
‘I’d offer you one,’ said the Prime Minister, lifting the cigar, ‘but my doctor sees to it that there are only half a dozen in my case before he lets me out of his sight. Silly sod thinks they’re bad for my cough! Ha! It was my father who first gave me one in order to cure a bloody cough. I wouldn’t have called Lord Randolph a fool, and nor would you, I’ll wager, what?’ He gave a wheezing laugh. Carlisle smiled wanly but offered no opinion. He saw Churchill’s smile fade and, seating himself opposite the Prime Minister, he asked,
‘How may I be of service, sir?’
Churchill set about swirling and nosing his brandy. Presently, he said,
‘Well, as I’m sure you have no doubt learned, James, I expect to go the country next month. Bit of a bugger, of course but there it is. I trust I may count on the support of yourself and those of your colleagues over whom you have… influence?’
‘I assure you, Prime Minister, I have no influence whatsoever over how people cast their vote; nor would I wish it.’
Churchill said nothing. The brandy was still forming russet parabolas as he took his first long sip. He stole a glance at Carlisle through the crystal before lowering the glass.
‘I am not without intelligence, James, in every sense of the word. Before my man, Graveney… disappeared, I learned a very great deal about the extent of your “influence” and, though it pains me somewhat to say this, I was not a little impressed by what I heard.’
Carlisle had no doubt that Churchill knew nothing save that which he could glean from rumour. He was fishing with flattery.
‘I think you credit me with qualities I fear I do not possess, sir.
‘False modesty does not become a man in your position, Carlisle. I’m perfectly well aware that you’re building yourself a little fiefdom over here and who could blame you? In your position, I may well have done something similar myself. I wouldn’t expect such a thing to stand in the way of our… getting along after the election.’
‘“Getting along”, sir? Why on earth should we not.’
Churchill put down his glass and sat forward in his chair. Leaning on his thigh and adopting an almost conspiratorial tone, he said,
‘We are both of us experienced in matters of deceit and dissembling, Carlisle and I’ve done my fair share of manoeuvring when matters of moment were on the field. Who knows? I might even be able to put myself in the way of assisting you in your… ambitions. Come; tell me what’s going on with the Secret Services.’
‘I have no ambitions, sir. And as to what is “going on” with the Secret Services, I can in all honesty say that I have not the faintest idea to what you refer.’
The Prime Minister took a long gulp of brandy, placed the glass, noisily onto the table, leaned back and glared at Carlisle.
‘Not many people have the balls to refuse an invitation to the Prime Minister’s residence, Carlisle,’ he said at last. ‘I’m wondering what makes you think I’m going to let you get away with it.’
The real Churchill. So soon? Usually, he liked to get the measure of his targets before dropping the convivial façade but Carlisle felt strangely comforted that the arrogant bully had made his appearance without too much tiresome pretence. He said nothing and Churchill continued.
“Well?”
‘Prime Minister, I assure you…’
‘Don’t you fucking well “Prime Minister” me, you traitorous bastard!’
It had long been rumoured that Churchill was not in the rudest health and Carlisle noted the veins on the old man’s forehead begin to bulge and his face turn a fierce red. Spittle bubbled between his clenched teeth and he leaned forward, jabbing his finger at Carlisle and whispered,
‘One word: just one word from me and you are finished!’
James Carlisle stood and placed his glass on his desk.
‘Prime Minister,’ he said, quietly, ‘you know that simply isn’t the case; which is why this conversation is taking place in my office and not yours. I am certain that the entire nation will join me in honouring your extraordinary achievement in leading this nation through a very dark period indeed. Frankly, I doubt that anyone else could have done it. But…’ (and here, he paused to let the preposition do its work) ‘I doubt equally that the people believe you are the man to lead them now that the war is won.’
‘And what makes you so damned certain of that?’ Churchill hissed.
‘Oh, I’m not certain by any means but if you would pause for a moment and consider what you have achieved. You have united this country in a way one might never have believed possible. You have urged people to fight for what they hold dear: for freedom, for the right to choose how to live their lives. By doing this, you have shown them that they and not the sons of lords and… great-nephews of seventh dukes are the true inheritors of power; that it matters not which school you went to or how much… “influence” you have but that you understand what the ordinary men and women of this country believe they have suffered for. The right to choose their own destiny. And this, sir, is why it makes no difference how much influence you believe I may possess. In the eyes of the people of Britain, I possess none and I would not have it any other way for all the world.’
‘The Prime Minister to see you, sir.’
Carlisle smiled and looked up from his paperwork.
‘James,’ said Churchill, proffering his hat to Carlisle’s secretary and advancing on Carlisle, hand outstretched. ‘How good to see you again, old chap!’
‘Prime Minister,’ Carlisle said, rising and bowing slightly, as he took the hand.
‘Oh come now, James. No need for all that. We were at school together, after all.’
‘Indeed, sir. I was your fag, you may recall.’
Churchill chuckled.
‘Did I beat you?’ he asked.
‘A number of times. Would you care to sit down?’ The Prime Minister lowered himself gratefully into one of two leather armchairs. ‘May I offer you some refreshment?’
Churchill raised an eyebrow and in response, Carlisle stepped over to the drinks cabinet and produced from it, a decanter.
‘Cognac?’
‘They tell me you have a fine Jarnac over here,’ said Churchill. ‘I’m afraid we have to make do at Number 10, so I’m curious to see if it matches expectations.’ Carlisle smiled, noted the jibe and, as Churchill took out a cigar and matched it into life, poured two glasses, handing the larger to Churchill.
‘I’d offer you one,’ said the Prime Minister, lifting the cigar, ‘but my doctor sees to it that there are only half a dozen in my case before he lets me out of his sight. Silly sod thinks they’re bad for my cough! Ha! It was my father who first gave me one in order to cure a bloody cough. I wouldn’t have called Lord Randolph a fool, and nor would you, I’ll wager, what?’ He gave a wheezing laugh. Carlisle smiled wanly but offered no opinion. He saw Churchill’s smile fade and, seating himself opposite the Prime Minister, he asked,
‘How may I be of service, sir?’
Churchill set about swirling and nosing his brandy. Presently, he said,
‘Well, as I’m sure you have no doubt learned, James, I expect to go the country next month. Bit of a bugger, of course but there it is. I trust I may count on the support of yourself and those of your colleagues over whom you have… influence?’
‘I assure you, Prime Minister, I have no influence whatsoever over how people cast their vote; nor would I wish it.’
Churchill said nothing. The brandy was still forming russet parabolas as he took his first long sip. He stole a glance at Carlisle through the crystal before lowering the glass.
‘I am not without intelligence, James, in every sense of the word. Before my man, Graveney… disappeared, I learned a very great deal about the extent of your “influence” and, though it pains me somewhat to say this, I was not a little impressed by what I heard.’
Carlisle had no doubt that Churchill knew nothing save that which he could glean from rumour. He was fishing with flattery.
‘I think you credit me with qualities I fear I do not possess, sir.
‘False modesty does not become a man in your position, Carlisle. I’m perfectly well aware that you’re building yourself a little fiefdom over here and who could blame you? In your position, I may well have done something similar myself. I wouldn’t expect such a thing to stand in the way of our… getting along after the election.’
‘“Getting along”, sir? Why on earth should we not.’
Churchill put down his glass and sat forward in his chair. Leaning on his thigh and adopting an almost conspiratorial tone, he said,
‘We are both of us experienced in matters of deceit and dissembling, Carlisle and I’ve done my fair share of manoeuvring when matters of moment were on the field. Who knows? I might even be able to put myself in the way of assisting you in your… ambitions. Come; tell me what’s going on with the Secret Services.’
‘I have no ambitions, sir. And as to what is “going on” with the Secret Services, I can in all honesty say that I have not the faintest idea to what you refer.’
The Prime Minister took a long gulp of brandy, placed the glass, noisily onto the table, leaned back and glared at Carlisle.
‘Not many people have the balls to refuse an invitation to the Prime Minister’s residence, Carlisle,’ he said at last. ‘I’m wondering what makes you think I’m going to let you get away with it.’
The real Churchill. So soon? Usually, he liked to get the measure of his targets before dropping the convivial façade but Carlisle felt strangely comforted that the arrogant bully had made his appearance without too much tiresome pretence. He said nothing and Churchill continued.
“Well?”
‘Prime Minister, I assure you…’
‘Don’t you fucking well “Prime Minister” me, you traitorous bastard!’
It had long been rumoured that Churchill was not in the rudest health and Carlisle noted the veins on the old man’s forehead begin to bulge and his face turn a fierce red. Spittle bubbled between his clenched teeth and he leaned forward, jabbing his finger at Carlisle and whispered,
‘One word: just one word from me and you are finished!’
James Carlisle stood and placed his glass on his desk.
‘Prime Minister,’ he said, quietly, ‘you know that simply isn’t the case; which is why this conversation is taking place in my office and not yours. I am certain that the entire nation will join me in honouring your extraordinary achievement in leading this nation through a very dark period indeed. Frankly, I doubt that anyone else could have done it. But…’ (and here, he paused to let the preposition do its work) ‘I doubt equally that the people believe you are the man to lead them now that the war is won.’
‘And what makes you so damned certain of that?’ Churchill hissed.
‘Oh, I’m not certain by any means but if you would pause for a moment and consider what you have achieved. You have united this country in a way one might never have believed possible. You have urged people to fight for what they hold dear: for freedom, for the right to choose how to live their lives. By doing this, you have shown them that they and not the sons of lords and… great-nephews of seventh dukes are the true inheritors of power; that it matters not which school you went to or how much… “influence” you have but that you understand what the ordinary men and women of this country believe they have suffered for. The right to choose their own destiny. And this, sir, is why it makes no difference how much influence you believe I may possess. In the eyes of the people of Britain, I possess none and I would not have it any other way for all the world.’
