Free House of Cards by Michael Dobbs Page B

the loss of seats. We need some strong and positive publicity, and I need a budget to create it.'
    'The Chairman receptive to all this?' Urquhart raised an enquiring eyebrow.
    'Are Chairmen ever?'
    'Perhaps, Roger, there is something I can do about that. I would like to be able to help you very much, because I think you've done such excellent work. Ill go in to bat with the Chairman about your budget, if you want. But there is something I must ask you first. And I must be blunt.'
    The older man's blue eyes looked directly into O'Neill's, taking in their habitual flicker. He paused while O'Neill blew his nose loudly. Another habit, Urquhart knew. He examined O'Neill closely. It was as if there were another life going on within O'Neill which was quite separate from the rest of the world, and which communicated itself only through O'Neill's hyperactive mannerisms and twitching eyes.
    ‘I had a visit the other day from an old colleague I used to know from the days when I held directorships in the City,' Urquhart continued, lie's one of the financial people at the Party's advertising agency. And he was very troubled. Very discreet, but very troubled. He said you were in the habit of asking them for considerable sums of cash to cover your expenses.'
    The twitching stopped for a moment, and Urquhart noticed just how rarely he had ever seen O'Neill stop moving.
    'Roger, let me assure you I am riot trying to trap you or trick you. This is strictly between us. But if I am to help you, I must be sure of the facts.'
    The face and the eyes started up again, and O'Neill's ready laugh made a nervous reappearance. 'Francis, let me assure you that there's nothing wrong at all. It's silly, of course, but I am grateful that you raised it with me. It's simply that there are times when I incur expenses on the publicity side which are easier and more convenient for the agency to meet rather than putting them through the Party machine. Like buying a drink for a journalist or taking a Party contributor out for a meal.'
    O'Neill was speeding on with his explanation, which showed signs of having been practised. 'You see, if I pay for them myself I have to claim back from the Party. We have a pretty laborious accounts department which takes its own sweet time paying those invoices - two months or more. Frankly, with the way I get paid, I can't afford it. Yet if I charge them through the agency, I get the money back immediately while they have to put them through their own accounts before invoicing us at headquarters. That takes another month or so, which simply means that the Party gets an even longer holiday on repaying those expenses. It's like an interest-free loan for the Party. And in the meantime I can get on with my job. The amounts are really very small ’
    O'Neill reached for his glass.
    ‘L ike £22,300 in the last ten months small?'
    O'Neill nearly choked. He put his glass down quickly and his face contorted as he struggled simultaneously to gulp down air and blurt out a denial.
    It's nothing like that amount ’ he protested. His jaw dropped as he debated what to say next. This explanation he hadn't practised.
    Urquhart turned away from him to signal for another two cognacs. His eyes returned calmly to O'Neill, whose twitching now resembled a fly caught in a spider's web. Urquhart spun more silken threads.
    'Roger, you have been charging regular expenses to the agency without clearly accounting for those amounts to the tune of precisely £22,300 since the beginning of. September last year. What began as relatively small amounts have in recent months grown up to £4,000 a month. You don't get through that many drinks and dinners even during an election campaign.'
    ‘I assure you, Francis, that any expenses I've charged have all been entirely legitimate!' The choking had begun to subside. As the steward placed the fresh drinks on the table, Urquhart moved in to bind his prey with a lethal touch.
    'And let me assure you, Roger, that I know