house of cards 1

Chapter 11

Facts are like fine wine.You can only find it in the darkest corners of deep cellars.Sometimes it needs to be reversed.It still has to be gently dusted before you let it out in the light and start using it.

The battered BMW had been parked in front of the house on Cambridge Road in Pimlico for about 15 minutes.The unoccupied car seat is littered with jumbled newspapers and multigrain energy bar wrappers.Must be a really busy single woman who can eat that much.Surrounded by it all, Mattie Stoling bit her lip and fidgeted.The decision to reshuffle, announced later in the afternoon, sparked a lively debate as either the prime minister was far-sighted, wise and courageous, or just plain crazy.She needs to interview the people who help the Prime Minister make these decisions and get their voices.Already got an interview with Williams, who, as always, is fully supportive and convincing.But Urquhart's phone kept ringing, but no one answered.

Mattie didn't quite understand why, so she decided to drive to Urquhart's London mansion after her shift at the Daily Chronicle.The house is only 10 minutes away from the House of Commons. It is located in a better area of ​​Pimlico, and the small street where it is located is also very elegant and beautiful, which is a nearby scenery.She had thought that there would be no one in the house, no lights on.It turned out that the lights inside were brightly lit, and people could still be seen walking around.She broadcast the call again, but still no answer.

The world of Westminster is like a club, full of unwritten rules.Politicians and the media defend the rules with suspicion and vigilance.The media in particular, with so-called "Parliamentary Reporters" quietly and discreetly monitoring media activity at the Palace of Westminster.For example, "briefings" and interviews can be conducted, but the source of the information must be kept strictly confidential, not even a hint, and everything is carried out in the shadows.That way politicians can say what they want without scruples, and that way those parliamentary reporters can write before deadlines and create the most compelling headlines. The "law of silence" is the reporter's passport; if this rule is not followed, he or she will be shut down everywhere, and everyone who wants to interview will be silenced.Revealing the source of information is a capital offense here.And in the "badness" that cuts you off from all useful contacts, knocking on the door of a high-ranking official's private residence is only marginally better than revealing the source of the information.Political news reporters will not chase after their interviewees' homes. This is very rude and disgusting behavior, which will become a stain on their careers and attract countless infamy.

Mattie bit the inside of her cheek again.She was nervous, and that was a serious foul.But why didn't the damn man answer the phone?What kind of medicine is sold in his gourd?

She heard a voice with a thick northern accent that she had missed so much since leaving the Yorkshire Post.It belonged to the wise old editor who gave Marty her first good job.What is he saying? "Rules, my boy, are nothing but blankets that old people use to comfort themselves, to wrap them up in the cold. Rules are meant to attract the wise and scare away the fools. Don't you run into my office Tell me you're missing out on a good piece of news just because of someone else's goddamn rules."

"Well, well, you miserable bastard, stop talking to me," said Mattie loudly.She checked her hair in the rearview mirror, stretched out a hand to comb it, pulled herself together, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the sidewalk, wishing immediately that she hadn't been there.Twenty seconds later, however, the sound of the front door's ornate brass knocker being knocked echoed through the house.

Urquhart opened the door.He was alone, dressed in casual clothes, not expecting a visitor.His wife has gone to the country to relax, and the maid is off on weekends.His eyes fell on Mattie, and his eyes were full of impatience.The street was pitch black, and he couldn't immediately recognize the unexpected visitor in front of him.

"Mr. Urquhart, I hope I have not caused you any inconvenience by contacting you all afternoon?"

"10:30 p.m., no inconvenience?" Urquhart's impatience turned to exasperation.

"I'm really sorry, but I really need help. There hasn't been any change in cabinet, not a single transfer. It's just extraordinary. I want to understand the rationale behind it all."

"The thinking behind all of this?" Urquhart lowered his voice, his sarcasm growing stronger.

"I'm sorry, but I have nothing to say." He tried to close the door, only to find that the uninvited guest stubbornly approached him first.Of course, it was impossible for this stupid girl to step into the door, so the situation would be ridiculous beyond description.But Mattie's voice was small but calm and unflappable.

"Mr. Urquhart, that's good news material. But I don't think you'd want me to have it in the papers."

Urquhart paused, recalling the words with some interest.What the hell does she mean?Mattie saw his hesitation and threw a little more bait into the water.

"The story I'm writing so far will be something like this: 'Last night we found some deep cabinet divisions over a failure to regroup. Everyone knows the Whip has long had ambitions for a new post and last night he Refusing to defend the Prime Minister's decision.' Do you like me writing this?"

Now that Urquhart's eyes had grown accustomed to the shadow of the doorstep, he realized that standing before him was the new political reporter for the Daily Chronicle.He just recognized her face, but he had never seen her report or read her articles. He had reason to suspect that this person was a lunatic or a fool.Now this little girl was breaking into his house, trying to intimidate him, which surprised him a lot. "You don't mean it?" said Urquhart slowly.

Mattie flashed him a big smile. "Of course I'm not. But what can a weak woman do? You don't answer the phone and you don't want to talk face to face."

Her honesty eased his guard.Moreover, at this moment she was standing under the light of the porch, her short blonde hair exuded a faint brilliance, he had to admit that she was much prettier and cuter than many reporters in the conference room.

"I really need your help, Mr. Urquhart. I need something of substance to dig through, or this pile of stuff in my hand is nothing more than invisible air. If you don't help I'm done. Please, please help me."

Urquhart snorted and stared at her. "I should be very angry. Should have called your editor and demanded an apology for this blatant harassment."

"But you wouldn't do that, would you?" She was coquettishly shallow.Although she had only met briefly in the past, she still remembered the quick glance he gave her as they passed each other in the central hall.It was a rather masculine and cautious look, and it saw through everything about her without making a fuss.

"Maybe it's better for you to come in and say it. Miss Stoling, I remember right?"

"Just call me Mattie."

"The living room is upstairs," he said.The tone seemed to be making a small confession.He led Mattie through a room that was traditionally but tastefully decorated.Oil paintings of galloping horses and country scenes hang on mustard-yellow walls, and the furnishings are harmonious and elegant.Tall bookshelves were filled with books, family photos were framed, and there was a marble fireplace.The shadows dangle like silk, the lights are sparse and dim, and the atmosphere is a little tense.He poured himself a large glass of Glenfiddich single malt whiskey, poured her another without asking, and settled into a dark leather chair.On the arm rest a book with a torn spine, a play by Molière.Mattie sat down opposite, barely touching the edge of the sofa with nervousness.She took a small notebook from her backpack, but Urquhart waved her to put it away.

"I'm tired, Miss Stoling--Marty. After such a long campaign, I'm not sure I can express myself clearly. So please don't take notes, if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course, it's the way of Parliament. I'll just keep in my mind what you tell me. But I'll never reveal that you said it. No trace will be left."

"very true."

He put the Molière play aside, and she put away her notebook and went back to the sofa.She was wearing a tight white cotton shirt.He noticed it, but didn't feel any lust.His eyes seemed to absorb everything, seeing deeper than most.Both knew they were playing a game.

He took a cigar from a silver cigar box, lit it, took a deep breath, and said, "Matty, if I tell you that the prime minister thinks this is the best way to get things going, he doesn't think so." Officials should be confused about their new jobs and responsibilities so they can go full steam ahead. What do you think?"

"Mr. Urquhart, I should think it might have to be in the papers!"

Urquhart chuckled softly at the young reporter's bluntness.He took another deep breath of nicotine.The combination of the two seemed to make him very satisfied and comfortable.

(End of this chapter)