Free Avalon by Stephen R. Lawhead Page B

to desentimentalize the account and to prevent the opposition from whipping up a froth of false sympathy. Anyway, the suicide, unexpected as it was, has surprised us no less than anyone else. Did
The Times
predict it? Did
The
Guardian
? Was Ladbrokes taking bets? No. All right. A state funeral takes time to organize — you just can’t throw one together overnight. We are sympathetic, of course. We are looking into it — doing all we can. Unfortunately, time is against us — we don’t even have the corpse back yet and there’s half a week gone. Not to put too fine a point on it, Portuguese embalming practices being what they are” — he made a fluttering motion with his hand before his face as if fanning away noxious fumes — “there are likely to be certain complications.”
    “For pity’s sake, Martin,” sighed the Home Secretary, a trim and elegant, dark-haired former Oxford Union president named Patricia Shah. “Might we forgo the histrionics, please?”
    “Sorry,” he said, moving quickly on. “More important, timing-wise, we host the Pan-European Economic Summit next week. That’s true,” he hastened to point out. “It’s been on the books for months. Everybody knows it. Circumstances may not permit us to do all we would wish for the King’s funeral — limited resources… available manpower… security… et cetera, et cetera.”
    “Are they buying it?” asked Dennis Arnold, Chairman of the Special Committee for Royal Devolution. A long-time party workhorse, he had known the Prime Minister since their days of sharing a flat at university.
    “Not entirely,” admitted Hutchens. “They’ll probably assume we’re stalling. But it’ll stick until they dig up something else to throw at us.”
    “This is why we need to find out who is behind this State funeral scheme,” Waring reiterated. “I want a thorough and speedy workup on Rothes. What’s he up to? What’s his agenda? Just as important: does he have a mistress? A fondness for schoolboys? Get something we can use.”
    “What if we can’t find anything?” wondered Burton.
    “Invent something, Adrian. Use your head for once.”
    “There’s his title, of course,” put in Hutchens. “He’s one of the diehards who still uses it. That’s what I hear, anyway.”
    “There,” said Waring, throwing out his hand to Hutchens. “He’s a greedy, aristo-royalist. We can start with that. We’ve got to sideline this bigmouthed smart-ass — put the heat on and keep it on. We’ll keep him so occupied putting out fires that he won’t have time to stir up any more trouble.”
    “What about the funeral?” asked Dennis Arnold. “What
are
we going to do?”
    “I suggest we hold to our original plan,” said the Home Secretary. “A simple, tasteful, but extremely low-key affair.”
    “But, I thought Tom just said —”
    “I know what I said,” Waring broke in. “But I
will not
be forced into splashing out on a costly public spectacle for that fat bastard — it goes against everything I believe in. I won’t do it.” He glanced around the table at his five chief advisors.
    “On the other hand, we wouldn’t want to appear to be unreasonable about this,” Arnold suggested. “The people expect a certain amount of decorum at least. If we’re seen to be doing Teddy boy down, that could cause a sympathetic backlash. The last thing we want is to have everyone feeling sorry for the old rascal.”
    Waring bristled, but he knew solid advice when he heard it. He paused, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “All right,” he said at last, leaning forward to deliver his decision. “This is how it will be: we stick to the original plan, but allow a few modifications — heaven forbid we should seem
unreasonable
. The cremation goes ahead, but he can lie in state at Buckingham Palace. There will be a small family ceremony — at the crematorium, not at Westminster or St. Paul’s. Nothing public, got it? Say the family wants it that