Neil Haughton was eager with suppressed excitement, after receiving the phone call from the very anonymous but very powerful 'behind the scenes' political fixer. His behaviour was similar to the run up to a first date, even down to the febrile anticipation that his ultimate desires would be consummated.
There was a distinct pecking order in the various ministerial jobs. Of course, Chancellor of the Exchequer was at the top of the pile and a training ground for the ultimate political prize itself, combining the power of the purse strings with the prestige of high public profile. That position was permanently occupied. The position in the Foreign Office carried a certain old style aristocratic grandeur except that it had never truly got over the fact that the Americans called the shots these days. At one time, the minister for Northern Ireland used to be a well-known political graveyard where the coffin was borne by two sets of bitterly hostile pallbearers, of virtually indistinguishable groups of Irishmen with absurdly long historical grudges against each other. Now that peace had broken out, it had dwindled down to being on a par with Minister for Wales.
His own fiefdom in the Dept of Trade and Industry carried a nice line in modernizing flair, ideal for the go getting New Labour politician to exercise his mettle. It placed him in agreeable company with the 'movers and shakers' in industry, including his old friends in advertising. It provided a useful beachhead for further ministerial prizes to be acquired and now it was time to move on. It would mean that he would not have to worry about mobile phone masts as long as he lived, in terms of damaging his career of course. Besides, if any skeletons in the closet were rattling loudly enough to see the light of day, he would be long gone. He decided that he would be in real trouble if the job of Minister for the Department of Work and Pensions were dangled in front of him. The pale attractions of being tough on the idle and the feckless were more than counterbalanced by being in the position of spending the country's largesse on pampering the very kind of people that he and his cronies has sneered and jeered at. Besides, it stood to put him on bad terms with the Chancellor of the Exchequer almost by definition, hardly a career opportunity. What he really fancied was the Home Office. This was a job that was a nice step up in prestige and appealed to him personally. It gave him unlimited exercise of control, and meant that he could stamp his authority on all the groups that he had always had it in for, asylum seekers, terrorists and dangerous criminals of all kinds. It also made him effective overlord of the prison system and put him into a nice working partnership with the Lord Chancellor. Finally, it enabled him to expound on his views in the House of Commons and build himself up as the strong man in government.
Smilingly folding the latest copy of 'The Times' under his arm, he climbed into the back of the ministerial limousine to be taken to the black ornate gates at the entrance to Downing Street. The policeman saw who was coming and escorted him past the ranks of reporters, questioning him about the latest rumours of the cabinet reshuffle. He strolled down that curiously misshapen road and turned right and was naturally given admittance.
All at once, he was in the presence of his patron, the man to whom he owed his very existence, far more than the tame electorate who put him in parliament in the first place. They didn't count but He did.
"Ah, Neil, I'm glad you could drop by so soon." Came those smooth relaxed tones. Neil shot a glance at him. The other man's smile was broad and his gleaming teeth were exposed but then again, that was no guarantee of good news.
"As you know, you are one of my ministers who's future is under review in the forthcoming reshuffle." He said and stopped, offering him a glass of temperate mineral water.
Neil drank a mouthful out of sheer nervousness.
"On the whole, you have done an excellent job in the Department of Trade and Industry with only a few hiccups"
Don't mention the mobile phone masts, the thought hammered away in his fevered brain. Perhaps consummation of his desires would not be so easy.
"You know, PM, that I have done my best to instill some dynamism, some entrepreneurial spirit so that Our Country can prosper." Neil Houghton eagerly
"The mobile phone episode wasn't the easiest to sell to the cabinet as one of our success stories. Honestly, I do understand your situation and I know that you are a hard-working guy, totally committed to the future of this nation"
"Yes, yes, totally committed, day and night without stop." Houghton eagerly said, his head bobbing, like the toy bulldog in a car's back window.
"…..so we'll put the matter of One Way behind us, won't we, Neil"
'Yes, oh yes"
The other man paused and fixed Neil with his unwinking stare. It seemed like he was on Houghton's side but he wasn't quite sure of this. The pause in the conversation ratcheted up the contrasting desire for power and also abject fear. His nightmare was of being cast into the outer darkness of the back benches, and minus his ministerial limousine and driver. It had happened to so many before him, to have to reel out of the door and mouth the same tired platitudes to the cynical press of 'desiring to spend more time with his family and his constituents'
"You are about due for a move so I have in mind something of a challenge"
Houghton's feelings divided between elation and fear. The fact that the other man's grin had not altered in a couple of minutes meant very little. His future was suspended in mid air.
"Things aren't going on too well in the Home Office lately. We really haven't got a grip on immigration. No matter how many tough sounding statements are made, the Sun keep dragging up more scandals of illegals being hidden in the backs of juggernauts and popping up out of nowhere. When they are found, those dratted people seem to cling on and cause us endless trouble wherever they are. I'm sure they are behind all these terrorist conspiracies"
"You can be sure that I'd sweep them out of England with my broom personally…..That is, if you would happen to give me the chance." Exclaimed Neil Houghton, his tones of bombast, suddenly becoming obsequious when he saw the other man's grin broaden and that indefinable worrying look in his blue eyes.
"Then again, the house of lords are being far too obstructive for my liking. They have no concept of patriotic duty. I want solutions but every day I try and introduce legislation, they take some malicious pleasure when they find that not all the i's are dotted and all the t's crossed. They need to be brought into line"
"I agree with every word you say." Houghton said fervently, trying on a little of the requisite sanctimonious earnestly sincere verbal delivery. He had to admit to himself that it sounded pretty plausible.
"The post is a very responsible, high profile one and it will require considerable efforts not to seem too lackadaisical and half hearted. Our sympathetic press always take a very keen personal interest in the incumbent"
It was on the tip of Houghton's tongue to ask if he meant the Guardian when he realized that it was the Sun that the PM was mostly concerned about. That cosy deal had suited both parties just nicely.
"There were many promising candidates but, when I took everything into account, I decided that you are the correct person for the job"
The PM's tones of voice suddenly slowed down to a funereal pace before putting Houghton out of his misery in a politically correct fashion, bearing in mind the increasing number of ambitious, non gender discriminated, female MPs who were coming to the fore.
"I am absolutely thrilled at your expression of confidence in me. Believe me, I won't let you down." Houghton answered in a fervent, emotion choked voice. He couldn't believe what had happened to him and didn't seem quite real for a moment as the passions of satisfied emotions radiated through him. Suddenly, he felt like a bigger man than before.
"That wouldn't be a good idea…….. " the other man answered is a fractionally colder voice than before. The blast of icy air disappeared as he continuing in intimate tones that begged Houghton to conjoin with the PM's visions. "I want you to be one of my right hand men. You know the state of the party these days. All those unreconstructed left wing intellectuals are coming out of the closet now that things are getting a bit sticky. I need someone who is personally loyal to me. They are becoming more treacherous and dangerous every day. I sometimes think that they've got it in for me personally. Don't they remember that it was I that rallied them, that inspired them when we were wallowing in a state of confused backwardness"
Houghton's sympathies rallied to the pained expression on the other man's face. It seemed that the PM was sitting on a branch and everyone was trying to saw the branch off that would finally drop him and the Party into ruination and election defeat.
A little while later, a clean cut press aide was busy drafting Neil Houghton's statement to the press. This was scheduled to be released in twelve days time when all the other ministers had been advised of their fate. Everything was signed and sealed behind closed doors, both promotions and demotions. He then looked out the press contacts to plant the first authorized press leak of 'sources close to Downing Street' so as to soften up public opinion in advance. It was how news was managed these days. "I have been offered the position of Home Secretary. Naturally, this has come as a complete surprise to me but I will rise to the occasion and endeavour to show strength and resolution. I want to ensure that hard working people everywhere can sleep in their beds, feeling safe at night."
Neil Houghton slipped quietly through the metal gates tight lipped and solemn faced. However, in the security of his limousine, an evil smile split his face as he realized that he was in a strong position to put one over Deed and make him regret the day he had so impudently belittled him in public as the former Mr. George Channing.