Part Sixty Six
Neil felt that the rest of the evening was totally unreal and was in a state of total indecision as George roared off into the dark. His first instinct was to rush off after her, but she had roared off in her car and he knew how George could drive in normal conditions and that was with all the fury and anger that came natural to her vented on her own machinery and other drivers impartially. He stopped mid step, turned and tried to sit down and think this one through calmly.
George was a mature grown woman and could look after herself and so unless she phoned, there was nothing that needed to be done right then. That gave him some reassurance. He could phone the police to keep an eye on her but that would mean inconvenient questions as to why this was strictly necessary. Too many people these days asked too many questions rather than accepting his story as a Cabinet Minister and going out and doing his duty. There was no need to do anything rash.
Neil poured himself a stiff whisky now that he had the run of the house and could do what he damned well liked. When he thought about it rationally, he realised that women were taking over everywhere and there comes a point where you have to take a stand if you are a man. It was the brute primitive in every human being like Desmond Morris said that burst through the civilised man, some sort of throwback instinct in him. Anyway, it really wasn't his fault what happened and anyway, the bitch had deserved it.
What about Jo Channing, Neil thought with a sudden panic attack that made him spill his drink. George would be bound to run off to Daddy and would stay the night there as she had always had this childish irrational attachment to the old fogey. Suppose he were to phone him up and get in his side of the story first? He had a sudden adrenaline rush of fear that froze him to his chair. If George had not gone to Daddy, then what in hell could he say to the man as he was definitely not up to thinking of some feeble excuse as to why he had phoned. The doddering old fool wasn't above finding out that there was something suspicious and would start making enquiries. If he did nothing, there would be no untoward consequences as in a similar way, a mouse reasoned that if he stared out the increasingly bright lights of the juggernaught as he sat in the middle of the motorway then he could face out his problems.
Neil Houghton automatically picked up the Daily Telegraph and looked more closely at it. On page six, it carried an article about the scandal over extortionate mobile phone charges being caused by high licence charges levied by the Department of Trade and Industry on the firms concerned and quoted the official response by Mr Neil Houghton Secretary of State for trade and Industry being quoted as saying 'Someone has got to take the difficult decisions for this country' and that a 'balanced decision had been arrived at which addressed the greater good of the country' where the 'commercial rate charged brought a handsome income into the government's coffers which helped finance the ever expanding education programme.'
He threw the paper down in irritation and told himself to get a grip on the situation. He sat down and tried to review the situation calmly, rationally. What about George's friends? That was a likelier place for George to go as she would not like to admit to her darling daddy that she had failed, an of course in his mind any domestic discord was down to her unreasonable behaviour and she has, she must have, a reputation for being troublesome. Even that arch troublemaker, that Deed character, couldn't live with her.
Neil smiled to himself at that thought that, unknowing to him, he was getting support from the unlikeliest of quarters.
The first logical thing to do is to figure which of George's friends is going to hear all the hard luck, typical neurotic woman tear jerking stuff about how terrible he had been as a partner. If he tries to work that out, he'll know what sort of troublemaker he'll have to face. He thought long and hard and really couldn't place in his mind who George was particularly close to. Her clients came and went and George didn't keep anything around as convenient as an address book. Her mobile phone carried her contacts around with her and George had grabbed it. He tried to create a mental picture in his mind of which member of the legal profession she was particularly friendly with but his memory bank of faces and names produced no answers. All these barristers and judges, he reasoned to himself, they all talk, look and think alike in that curiously affected actorish manner except, of course, that there were more women these days. As it should be, he affirmed stoutly to himself, he is a great believer in equal opportunities as the Class of '97 'Blair babes' demonstrated and this made the House of Commons more attractive to the eye. When he thought about it, he really didn't know much about her social life apart from the social events when she would flit from one person to another, smiling and making conversation in the only way she knew how.
Now that he had calmed down a bit, he thought that he might have been a little hasty. George's assets that she brought to the partnership were not to be lightly thrown aside. Her ability to charm anyone was most useful, her position as a barrister brought a bit of old fashioned respectability to their partnership as the profession had a certain quality and status about it. Besides. He was going to be out of the house if he didn't do something quickly and the edict from above was to display a certain level of respectability to improve the Party's image.
Suddenly the phone rang shrilly and Neil jumped a mile. After an initial hesitation, he braced himself to answer it and be prepared for anything.
"Hello George, I was going to pick your brains about a matter of law. Have you got five minutes?" An educated male voice resonated in his ear.
"Neil here," he replied, feeling relieved as this was clearly a fellow barrister wanting to talk shop. "I'm afraid George is out."
"It's Brian Cantwell here, Neil. If you remember, George took over from me in the Atkins Pilkinton case," Brian Cantwell explained and regretted his words. "I suppose that was a bit tactless of me, old boy, as it didn't end particularly well for the government."
"Yes it was, Brian," Neil replied very coldly. It was his instinct that when he felt at his most resentful that George had flouted his wishes, to take it out on the next person who phoned if he could be safely offended and Cantwell was nothing special. "What you said was very unfortunate. If you give me your phone number, I'll ask George to phone you as I have no idea when she'll be back."
Neil slammed the phone down, sweating. It felt like a ticking bomb as it could herald either George to scream abuse at him, her precious father to splutter in anger at him or some news hound, tipped off by George to cause trouble. The more he thought about it, the less he liked it as it sunk in on his mind that, after all, George was a civil barrister with an appetite for money and she could soak him financially for all he was worth. Imagine if the press got hold of this story. Suddenly George's last words 'you be out of my house by the time I get home tomorrow' leapt into his mind. Now he got really agitated. He knew George well enough that unless he did anything quick, then if he came back here tomorrow night, then George would be further inflamed. He realised that he had better get his possessions packed quickly just in case.
Feverishly, he scrambled around for some spare suitcases and found them in a cubby hole under the stairs. He blew off the dust which scattered itself on the carpet and ran upstairs to his wardrobes and chest of drawers and looked in despair. There were many pairs of suits and shirts hung up on the rail and an impossibly small space to pack the clothes into. Then again, what about everything else of his scattered around the house?
Eventually, he made a quick decision. He would pack the most essential items that he needed most that day and stick the suitcases in the back of his car and get help from the professionals in moving the rest. So as to not forget in the morning, he scrawled a note on a piece of paper and left it out prominently on the sideboard downstairs.
"Have moved some of my personal effects out and the rest are to be collected. Neil."
That made him feel better, no grovelling, nothing over emotional. He settled himself down for the night, found a bottle of sleeping tablets in the furthermost recess of the medicine cabinet, swallowed one and slept like a top.
In the morning, he turned over in bed but there wasn't the familiar shape beside him. Woozily, he collected his wits together as he wasn't used to taking a sleeping tablet and, in the morning, he had trouble holding anything or getting out of bed. It was daylight and, with an effort, he struggled to climb into the uniform and the mindset of a Secretary of State of Trade and Industry. He felt better and more secure, his tie pulled up and anchored to the top shirt button and his smoothest , most expensive suit. He made a cup of strong coffee to clear the fog from his brain and sharpen his wits. As he drank his coffee, his mind went back to when George took a phone call and had the infernal nerve to pollute the house with tobacco smoke. He was at one with professional medical opinion on this issue that he did not want to be a passive smoker and have his lungs polluted. She was on the phone to that Deed character, and he was no doubt gloating about the trial result as he thought at the time. Perhaps that disreputable character had a more sinister agenda and was planning to steal George back from him. He saw the way they behaved with each other and the more he thought about this, the whole thing seemed like a put up job. His face tightened with anger as he slung his suitcases into the car and set off for a day's work. He needed to play his cards carefully, do what was necessary to get George back and, if that didn't work, his worst suspicions would be realised. That man had no moral principles with women, it was well known.
Neil felt that the rest of the evening was totally unreal and was in a state of total indecision as George roared off into the dark. His first instinct was to rush off after her, but she had roared off in her car and he knew how George could drive in normal conditions and that was with all the fury and anger that came natural to her vented on her own machinery and other drivers impartially. He stopped mid step, turned and tried to sit down and think this one through calmly.
George was a mature grown woman and could look after herself and so unless she phoned, there was nothing that needed to be done right then. That gave him some reassurance. He could phone the police to keep an eye on her but that would mean inconvenient questions as to why this was strictly necessary. Too many people these days asked too many questions rather than accepting his story as a Cabinet Minister and going out and doing his duty. There was no need to do anything rash.
Neil poured himself a stiff whisky now that he had the run of the house and could do what he damned well liked. When he thought about it rationally, he realised that women were taking over everywhere and there comes a point where you have to take a stand if you are a man. It was the brute primitive in every human being like Desmond Morris said that burst through the civilised man, some sort of throwback instinct in him. Anyway, it really wasn't his fault what happened and anyway, the bitch had deserved it.
What about Jo Channing, Neil thought with a sudden panic attack that made him spill his drink. George would be bound to run off to Daddy and would stay the night there as she had always had this childish irrational attachment to the old fogey. Suppose he were to phone him up and get in his side of the story first? He had a sudden adrenaline rush of fear that froze him to his chair. If George had not gone to Daddy, then what in hell could he say to the man as he was definitely not up to thinking of some feeble excuse as to why he had phoned. The doddering old fool wasn't above finding out that there was something suspicious and would start making enquiries. If he did nothing, there would be no untoward consequences as in a similar way, a mouse reasoned that if he stared out the increasingly bright lights of the juggernaught as he sat in the middle of the motorway then he could face out his problems.
Neil Houghton automatically picked up the Daily Telegraph and looked more closely at it. On page six, it carried an article about the scandal over extortionate mobile phone charges being caused by high licence charges levied by the Department of Trade and Industry on the firms concerned and quoted the official response by Mr Neil Houghton Secretary of State for trade and Industry being quoted as saying 'Someone has got to take the difficult decisions for this country' and that a 'balanced decision had been arrived at which addressed the greater good of the country' where the 'commercial rate charged brought a handsome income into the government's coffers which helped finance the ever expanding education programme.'
He threw the paper down in irritation and told himself to get a grip on the situation. He sat down and tried to review the situation calmly, rationally. What about George's friends? That was a likelier place for George to go as she would not like to admit to her darling daddy that she had failed, an of course in his mind any domestic discord was down to her unreasonable behaviour and she has, she must have, a reputation for being troublesome. Even that arch troublemaker, that Deed character, couldn't live with her.
Neil smiled to himself at that thought that, unknowing to him, he was getting support from the unlikeliest of quarters.
The first logical thing to do is to figure which of George's friends is going to hear all the hard luck, typical neurotic woman tear jerking stuff about how terrible he had been as a partner. If he tries to work that out, he'll know what sort of troublemaker he'll have to face. He thought long and hard and really couldn't place in his mind who George was particularly close to. Her clients came and went and George didn't keep anything around as convenient as an address book. Her mobile phone carried her contacts around with her and George had grabbed it. He tried to create a mental picture in his mind of which member of the legal profession she was particularly friendly with but his memory bank of faces and names produced no answers. All these barristers and judges, he reasoned to himself, they all talk, look and think alike in that curiously affected actorish manner except, of course, that there were more women these days. As it should be, he affirmed stoutly to himself, he is a great believer in equal opportunities as the Class of '97 'Blair babes' demonstrated and this made the House of Commons more attractive to the eye. When he thought about it, he really didn't know much about her social life apart from the social events when she would flit from one person to another, smiling and making conversation in the only way she knew how.
Now that he had calmed down a bit, he thought that he might have been a little hasty. George's assets that she brought to the partnership were not to be lightly thrown aside. Her ability to charm anyone was most useful, her position as a barrister brought a bit of old fashioned respectability to their partnership as the profession had a certain quality and status about it. Besides. He was going to be out of the house if he didn't do something quickly and the edict from above was to display a certain level of respectability to improve the Party's image.
Suddenly the phone rang shrilly and Neil jumped a mile. After an initial hesitation, he braced himself to answer it and be prepared for anything.
"Hello George, I was going to pick your brains about a matter of law. Have you got five minutes?" An educated male voice resonated in his ear.
"Neil here," he replied, feeling relieved as this was clearly a fellow barrister wanting to talk shop. "I'm afraid George is out."
"It's Brian Cantwell here, Neil. If you remember, George took over from me in the Atkins Pilkinton case," Brian Cantwell explained and regretted his words. "I suppose that was a bit tactless of me, old boy, as it didn't end particularly well for the government."
"Yes it was, Brian," Neil replied very coldly. It was his instinct that when he felt at his most resentful that George had flouted his wishes, to take it out on the next person who phoned if he could be safely offended and Cantwell was nothing special. "What you said was very unfortunate. If you give me your phone number, I'll ask George to phone you as I have no idea when she'll be back."
Neil slammed the phone down, sweating. It felt like a ticking bomb as it could herald either George to scream abuse at him, her precious father to splutter in anger at him or some news hound, tipped off by George to cause trouble. The more he thought about it, the less he liked it as it sunk in on his mind that, after all, George was a civil barrister with an appetite for money and she could soak him financially for all he was worth. Imagine if the press got hold of this story. Suddenly George's last words 'you be out of my house by the time I get home tomorrow' leapt into his mind. Now he got really agitated. He knew George well enough that unless he did anything quick, then if he came back here tomorrow night, then George would be further inflamed. He realised that he had better get his possessions packed quickly just in case.
Feverishly, he scrambled around for some spare suitcases and found them in a cubby hole under the stairs. He blew off the dust which scattered itself on the carpet and ran upstairs to his wardrobes and chest of drawers and looked in despair. There were many pairs of suits and shirts hung up on the rail and an impossibly small space to pack the clothes into. Then again, what about everything else of his scattered around the house?
Eventually, he made a quick decision. He would pack the most essential items that he needed most that day and stick the suitcases in the back of his car and get help from the professionals in moving the rest. So as to not forget in the morning, he scrawled a note on a piece of paper and left it out prominently on the sideboard downstairs.
"Have moved some of my personal effects out and the rest are to be collected. Neil."
That made him feel better, no grovelling, nothing over emotional. He settled himself down for the night, found a bottle of sleeping tablets in the furthermost recess of the medicine cabinet, swallowed one and slept like a top.
In the morning, he turned over in bed but there wasn't the familiar shape beside him. Woozily, he collected his wits together as he wasn't used to taking a sleeping tablet and, in the morning, he had trouble holding anything or getting out of bed. It was daylight and, with an effort, he struggled to climb into the uniform and the mindset of a Secretary of State of Trade and Industry. He felt better and more secure, his tie pulled up and anchored to the top shirt button and his smoothest , most expensive suit. He made a cup of strong coffee to clear the fog from his brain and sharpen his wits. As he drank his coffee, his mind went back to when George took a phone call and had the infernal nerve to pollute the house with tobacco smoke. He was at one with professional medical opinion on this issue that he did not want to be a passive smoker and have his lungs polluted. She was on the phone to that Deed character, and he was no doubt gloating about the trial result as he thought at the time. Perhaps that disreputable character had a more sinister agenda and was planning to steal George back from him. He saw the way they behaved with each other and the more he thought about this, the whole thing seemed like a put up job. His face tightened with anger as he slung his suitcases into the car and set off for a day's work. He needed to play his cards carefully, do what was necessary to get George back and, if that didn't work, his worst suspicions would be realised. That man had no moral principles with women, it was well known.