Free The Image in the Water by Douglas Hurd Page B

while each considered from which angle to counter-attack.
    â€˜Roger, we all understand how you feel. Some of us have children at school, we know how they can worry, and that makes parents worry too.’ Clive Wilson came first, the quickest though not the most skilful. His hand tightened on his glass as he got under way. He would write it all up, with advantages as Shakespeare said, in his diary that night. The publishers were nibbling already. He went on, ‘There are otherfactors, Roger, which you simply have to take into account. You won’t have seen the poll in the
Standard.
It shows a strong swing in your direction.’
    â€˜Yes, I saw it. Sam got it for me. It was taken before the story in
Thunder
.’
    â€˜Of course. But the swing has gone on through today. That’s the point Sarah was making this morning. I’ve had several pieces of evidence since then. Seebright and Spitz have miscalculated, as the tabloids sometimes do. The parliamentary Party will not stand being dictated to by the press.’
    â€˜It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow. They’ll wallow in it. The pious broadsheets worst of all. Wiping the smut away with their silk hankies.’
    â€˜Then the swing to you will continue. The wiser lobby correspondents know how to sniff the breeze. Before long they’ll be writing it in your favour. Particularly
Thunder’s
rivals. In my judgement you’ve as good as won.’
    Roger became irritated. ‘That’s not the point. They’ll all print the story and the picture. They’ll make sure their readers get a good wallow in the mud before they tell them how disgracefully muddy it is.’
    â€˜That’s their way. But on balance—’
    Roger tried to cut short the discussion, fortifying himself behind his bulky shoulders and long arms stretched out on the table. ‘There’s no balance, Clive. Look, I know how hard this is on all of you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I owe you apologies and more. That’s at one level, and I don’t underestimate it. But it’s my life, not anyone else’s, which is on the board. I’ve made a decision to take it off the board. That means the game’s over.’ He paused. ‘Sometimes you hesitate before a decision. I did that all the way back from the bloody school. Idecided at the Chiswick flyover. After that the traffic lights went green all the way up to the Cromwell Road. The lights approved all right. I know it was the right choice.’ He tried to push them on to a practical plane. ‘So that’s it. Thank you all very much. We need to draft something very simple – personal reasons, nothing complicated. We’ll put it out at once. I’ll dine pleasantly with your guests, Sarah. Then home to bed. Tomorrow, as they say, will be another day.’
    But, of course, they could not let him off like that. Sarah had meant to tackle him on the same grounds as Clive Wilson, namely the swing in his favour through the day. That had not worked. She cast back to her days as a mother of two young children, one now a merchant banker, the other, a girl, making forlorn music in Orange County, California. ‘What does Hélène think?’ she asked, to gain time while she thought.
    â€˜I haven’t asked Hélène. She leaves that decision to me.’ It might seem odd to others, but that was the way it was. He had looked in on South Eaton Place to change his shirt between Hillcrest and the Carlton Club. If Hélène had been in, he supposed he would have told her. She had been out shopping. It had not occurred to him to try to reach her on her mobile. He supposed that he ought to do so fairly soon so that she would not be surprised by reporters. But Hélène was not part of the action. Perhaps that was one of the things that was wrong.
    Sarah had thought out her line. She moved across the room and stood over him. In daytime her hair