A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) (24 page)

He turned over the bread and wondered if he should get a toaster.

Wilson has tried to tie the Labour Party to what he sees as ‘the growing confidence of Britain’. Wilson maintains that the ‘white heat of technology’…

He definitely would get a toaster.

…sweep away ‘restrictive practices… on both sides of industry’.

Catesby set out the margarine and jam, but knew there was trouble ahead.

The Liberal Party doubled its share of the vote, mainly at the expense of the Conservatives. Labour did not increase its vote share significantly, but the fall in support for the Tories was enough for Wilson to secure an overall majority of four seats.

London:
21 October 1964

It was one of London’s oldest and most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. Dark oak panelling, leather sofas and armchairs, eighteenth-century paintings – some of which were mildly erotic – and hushed tones. But on one occasion, a crusty Scottish laird had broken the hush by throwing a servant through a bow window. When the club steward had strongly remonstrated, the laird replied: ‘Put him on my bill.’ Conversation is usually about sport, drink and other safe topics. Discussion of trade or business is not allowed. The members and guests who had reserved the billiard room were, however, not obeying the rule. The group consisted of a hereditary peer, a banker, a retired colonel, one serving general and JJ, the retired SIS officer. If someone had accused the five of being a combination of robber baron and imperialist they would not have been offended.

‘Actually,’ said the peer, ‘I’m not worried about Wilson at all. It won’t be long before he fucks up and there’s another election.’

‘The problem,’ said the general, ‘is that Wilson has already put in place plans for withdrawing British forces from all over the world. We’re also going to end up with no aircraft carriers and no Polaris.’

The retired colonel, who had just got back from the civil war in Yemen, was the only one interested in the billiard table. He circled the baize potting reds. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure we really need official UK forces. We’re seeing off the Egyptians and the Sovs pretty much on our own. I always think that Housman got it spot on with that poem of his, “Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries”:

Their shoulders held the sky suspended;

They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;

What God abandoned, these defended,

And saved the sum of things for pay.’

The colonel paused to pot another red. ‘Lovely piece, isn’t it? Makes me want to cry. I’ll always put my trust in mercs and private armies.’

The general shook his head. ‘Mercenaries do not come equipped with battle tanks, aircraft carriers and nuclear missiles.’

The retired colonel turned to the banker. ‘Tell them, Mungo, how much we’re getting from the Saudis.’

Mungo told them.

‘A fine sum indeed. But,’ said the general, ‘I do not want to see UK defence and foreign policy dependent upon the whims of the House of Saud – or anyone else with deep pockets.’

‘Or the Kremlin,’ said JJ.

‘Yes,’ droned the colonel lining up another red, ‘that is a worry. But if push comes to shove we’ll get rid of him.’

‘I think,’ said the banker, ‘that what we will be seeing in the future – without a socialist Labour government getting in the way – is the privatisation of British foreign and military policy. We had it in the nineteenth century with the British East-India Company and Cecil Rhodes’ British South Africa Company. Governments are useless.’

‘Governments are not useless,’ said JJ, ‘they are dangerous. We now have a situation where the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is a Soviet agent who is placing other Soviet agents into positions of power.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said the colonel, ‘we’ll get rid of him.’

The colonel was the most complex and, despite his ready laugh and wit, the most embittered of the five. He was a descendant of Ireland’s Protestant Ascendancy. Both his family’s stately homes had been burnt down during the 1919–1923 Troubles – and his father and an uncle had been assassinated. He feared that such chaos might one day come to Britain. And he was willing to do anything – no matter how ruthless – to stop it from happening.

Washington:
Midnight, 10 February 1965

The President was not in a good mood to begin with – and the telephone call from the British Prime Minister made that mood considerably worse. A particularly vicious Viet Cong attack in the Saigon area had just killed or wounded over a hundred US servicemen. There were two other men in the Oval Office. The President glared at his National Security Adviser.

‘He won’t send troops,’ said the President, ‘he made some pissant excuse last December. I said, “Come on, Harold, just a single fucking Black Watch bagpiper playing in front of the Saigon British embassy.” And he comes up with some feeble bullshit about Britain being co-chairman of the Geneva peace conference.’

‘There are methods,’ said the NS Adviser, ‘to prod him into compliance.’

‘But I’m not having him come over here so he can play the great statesman to the gallery back home. We’ve got enough pollution in Washington already without Harold Wilson coming over with his pecker hanging out and peeing all over me. We need British soldiers, not British advice. I told him, “Why don’t you run what piss little is left of your empire, Harold, and let me run Vietnam?”’

‘May I intervene, Mr President?’

Johnson looked at the NS Adviser. He was a dapper and smooth man, the epitome of Ivy League education and old money East Coast finesse – not normally the sort of person LBJ liked to be around. But this was a WASP who agreed with his policy on Vietnam and could be diamond hard. The President nodded.

‘The British need our help to sustain an overvalued pound. Their economy has suffered for years from outdated industrial practices and militant trade unions. The British are financing their health service and welfare system by cutting military spending and withdrawing from their overseas responsibilities. They can’t have it both ways. They can’t expect the US Treasury to bailout sterling when there is no British flag in Vietnam.’

Johnson shook his head. ‘I know what you’re suggesting, but we’re not going to do it. I’d love to stand on Wilson’s balls, but if it
ever came out in public that we used financial blackmail to force Britain to send soldiers to Vietnam that would make our position even worse.’

‘I can see your point,’ said the NS Advisor, even though he strongly disagreed with it.

Angleton looked on in silence and doodled an impressionistic ink sketch of the Palace of Westminster. Johnson had turned out to be an even weaker President than he had anticipated. America’s hope lay beyond his term in office. Angleton had decided, at least for the time being, not to share his London files – especially, the fact that he had a mole in the Wilson cabinet. Angleton smiled at the other two as the meeting ended. He trusted neither of them – and neither of them understood the dark secrets of Britain.

Mayfair, London:
27 July 1965

One of the reasons JJ had left the Secret Intelligence Service was because he despised Macmillan and his soft policies – especially the casual way he was presiding over the rapid dissolution of the British Empire. Macmillan’s ‘Wind of Change’ speech had left JJ spluttering with rage – especially Macmillan’s condemnation of apartheid and white rule in South Africa. But now, in JJ’s view, the Tory Party had sunk even lower. He picked up the newspaper, crisply ironed by a servant, and read again the latest outrage.

Edward Heath Elected New Tory Leader

Shadow Chancellor Edward Heath has defeated two rivals to win the Conservative leadership contest. The leadership vote was triggered by last week’s unexpected resignation of Sir Alec Douglas-Home.

Mr Heath won 150 votes to defeat Shadow Foreign Secretary Reginald Maudling on 133. A third challenger, maverick Enoch Powell, won only 15 votes, but Mr Powell’s challenge left Mr Heath with a slim overall majority.

Mr Heath’s unexpected victory came as a surprise. Reginald Maudling had been widely tipped to win.

JJ shook his head and shoved the newspaper aside with disgust. He turned to the general who was gazing sphinx-like into the distance. The two of them were sitting in a quiet corner of the club drinking whisky and soda.

‘What has this country come to?’ said JJ. ‘Two of our main political parties are now led by sodomites and the third by a Communist.’

‘I’m not in the Navy,’ said the general, ‘so I’m not up to scratch on sodomy. Can you tell me which ones are the sodomites?’

‘Heath and Thorpe.’

‘Oh, indeed, but not I assume…’

‘Not with each other, at least not as far as I know.’

‘Disgraceful.’

‘There was,’ said JJ, ‘a very strong whiff of corruption from the Macmillan government as well.’

‘I know Macmillan had a limp handshake,’ said the general, ‘but that was because of a shrapnel wound. You can’t really blame him for that.’

‘Macmillan’s wife had – is probably still having – a long-term affair with Bob Boothby who is also a sodomite. Boothby likes villains: his lovers include Ronnie Kray and a cat burglar called Leslie Holt.’

The peer joined them. ‘I won’t hear a word against Bob Boothby,’ said the peer, ‘he’s always the life and soul of any party. Great chap.’

JJ remained silent. He realised that not everyone shared his views. There was a decadent corruption at the heart of modern Britain that needed to be purged.

‘Cheer up,’ said the peer, ‘it takes all types.’

Balmoral Castle:
August, 1965

The Wilsons were nervous about their first weekend as the Queen’s guests at Balmoral. The Prime Minister got on well with her during their weekly audiences, but Wilson soon learned that she read the daily despatch boxes with meticulous care – and would often test him with questions about committee papers that he hadn’t yet read himself. Wilson respected the Queen as a valuable confidante. She, in turn, found Harold and Mary a refreshing change. They were her first prime-ministerial couple to have been born in the twentieth century.

The driver who had picked up the Wilsons from the airport saw the Queen standing next to a Land Rover in front of the castle. She made a gesture for the driver to stop. The driver rolled down his window.

‘I’ll take the Prime Minister and Mrs Wilson the rest of the way. Help me put their luggage in the Land Rover.’

The PM got out and gave the Queen a head bow. His wife followed him with a slight curtsy.

‘Have you not brought Robin and Giles?’

‘No, Your Majesty, they’re staying with my father and sister on the Scilly Isles.’

‘I hope you bring them next year.’

‘We will, ma’am.’

‘We’re putting you up at Craigowan Lodge – a bit rustic, but much nicer than the castle. There will be a couple looking after you, but they won’t get in your way. Hop in and I’ll give you a lift.’

The Prime Minister got in the front passenger side, but there was a box on the seat. The Queen picked it up and handed it to Mrs Wilson. ‘It’s only a Dundee cake. I hope you like it. My mother made it.’

When they got to the Lodge, which was a mile away over a rough track, they were greeted by two servants who unpacked the Land Rover.

‘We need a cup of tea,’ said the Queen. ‘Don’t forget the Dundee cake.’

The Queen led the way into a large farmhouse kitchen. She put the kettle on and opened a cabinet. ‘Assam, Darjeeling, Ceylon, lapsang souchong, pouchong?’

There was a consensus for Darjeeling. As she waited for the kettle to boil, the Queen took off her headscarf. She shook out her hair running her fingers through it and showing her ears. The Prime Minister looked on in amazement as his wife sliced the Dundee cake. The Queen was wearing two gold earrings. One of the earrings was in the shape of a hammer; the other in the shape of a sickle.

‘I am sure you have heard, Prime Minister, that there are those in the Security Service who believe that an undercover Soviet agent has penetrated the British government at the highest level.’ The Queen paused and stared at Wilson. ‘Who would ever have guessed?’

The kettle boiled and the Queen began to laugh.

‘Apologies for teasing you.’ She removed the kettle from the hob and began to undo her earrings. ‘I’d better take these off before someone else sees them. They were a joke Christmas present from my brother-in-law – very naughty of him. He signed the gift tag, “Best wishes, from Anthony B.”, which was even more naughty.’

That evening there were party games after dinner at the castle. One game had a guest crawling around under the table pretending to be drunk. Wilson mentioned that he had one cabinet m inister in particular who could have done such with ‘extraordinary verisimilitude’.

Another game required everyone to write the name of a famous person on a piece of sticky-backed paper and put it into a hat. Each guest then had to draw a name out of the hat with their eyes closed and stick it on their forehead. Each guest in turn then had to ask questions of the others to find out who they were. As soon as Wilson guessed that he was Ringo Starr, he began asking the questions in a Liverpool accent.

At the end of the evening as everyone was heading off to bed, the Queen took the Prime Minister aside. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, ‘and, as regards my teasing earlier today, I want you to know that I trust you completely.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

‘And if you ever need my help, please ask for it.’

Agency News:
1 April 1966

Labour Win with Increased Majority

Harold Wilson’s decision to call a snap election has paid off. The Labour government has been returned with a much larger majority of 96. With the exception of 1945, the result was Labour’s best win ever.

The decision to call the election was based on the fact that a lost by-election had cut the Labour majority to just two. Mr Wilson went into the election with a manifesto entitled, ‘Time for a Decision’. His purpose was clear: he wanted a mandate to govern. Now that Mr Wilson has a sound majority in the House of Commons, much of the pressure on his government will be relieved.