house of cards 1

Chapter 13

Some have never stood firm on their principles.In Westminster sometimes it pays to have lunch with these people and be seen.But not too often, or they might think you're a "prude."

Tuesday 22 June

O'Neill was flattered, then ecstatic, when he received an invitation to Urquhart's luncheon at St. James's Club.Mr. Party Whip had never shown undue enthusiasm for this party propagandist before.But now, he "said" on the invitation to "celebrate your outstanding contribution to us throughout the election campaign" together.O'Neill believes that this indicates that he is gradually gaining fame in the party and will rise steadily.

What a fucking good meal, with good ingredients in every corner.O'Neill was overwrought, as usual.He also drank a few shots of almighty vodka before dinner to embolden him.But this is totally unnecessary, there will be plenty of good wine for lunch, two bottles of [-]-year-old Dabaozhuang red wine and a few large glasses of cognac will satisfy this alcoholic Irishman very much.He talked too much, and he knew he always did, but he couldn't help it.Urquhart had always made him nervous in the past, and Mr. Party Whip had always come across as aloof and reserved, and he was once heard to describe himself as a "marketing clown."But he is indeed a master who is good at listening carefully, even if the person in front of him can't help talking loudly.Now the two sit in a huge cracked-leather armchair in a cubicle, next to a snooker table.When no one comes to play snooker, it is quiet and undisturbed, and it is a good place for members to chat with guests.

"Tell me, Roger. Now that the election is over, what are you going to do? Are you going to stay in the party? We can't afford to lose someone like you."

With another triumphant smile on his face, O'Neill stamped out his cigarette, hoping to get a good Havana soon.He assured the host of the luncheon that he would stay as long as the Prime Minister needed him.

"But how do you live, Roger? I may be a little rash for saying that. But I know the party has always been mean to employees, and money has always been tighter after elections. It's going to be a tough few years. You won't get a raise , The budget will also be cut. It’s always like this. We politicians are typically short-sighted and only know how to talk about money. There must be a lot of good places for you outside, don’t you want to be tempted?”

"Well, life isn't always easy, Francis. As you'd guess. The pay isn't great, you know. I chose to work in politics because I was really fascinated by it and wanted to be a part of it. But if the budget is cut, that would be a tragedy. There is so much work to be done!" He had a big smile on his face, and his eyes were shining, but considering what Urquhart had just said, there was something in them. There was a little panic and commotion.Holding the wine glass, he became a little fidgety. "We should start preparing for the next election now. Especially with all the ridiculous rumors flying about that there is a division in the party. We need some positive publicity, so I need enough budget what."

"That makes sense. Does the chairman accept your opinion?"

"Has any chairman accepted it?"

"Roger, maybe I can help you with this matter. I want to help you very much, very much. If you want, I can negotiate with the chairman about your budget."

"Really? Then you're astonishingly good, Francis."

"But there's something I have to ask you first, Roger. And I'm going to say it straight."

Urquhart was older than Roger, and his icy eyes looked directly at O'Neill, seeing the habitual twinkle in the other's eyes.Then O'Neal blew his nose loudly.Urquhart knew it was another habit, as he also liked to tap the index and middle fingers of his right hand.It's as if there's another personality in O'Neill's mind, out of tune with the world, who just expresses himself through these ADHD-like habits and twitchy eyes that O'Neill has every now and then.

"An old acquaintance of mine when I was mayor called in the other day, Roger. He was a financial manager of the advertising agency we used. He was very distressed, cautious of course, but he seemed preoccupied. He said you have I got into the habit of always asking the company a lot of money to cover my own expenses."

There was a pause in the twitching of the eyes, Urquhart thought, and O'Neill didn't move at all, which is rare.

"Roger, I assure you, I didn't set this up, and I didn't mean to tease you. Only you and I know about this. But if I'm going to help you, I have to know whether these are facts."

The face and eyes in front of him began to come alive again.O'Neill's ready-made laugh reappeared slightly nervously, "Francis, I assure you, there's nothing wrong with it, it's absolutely fine. Of course I'm a bit stupid for doing this. But I appreciate you telling me that. Very much Simple, sometimes I have some publicity expenses, and it is easier to go through the company's channel than to report to the party. For example, buying a drink for the reporter, or treating the party's donors to a meal or something." O'Neill spoke quickly It was clearly rehearsed beforehand. "Look, if I paid for it myself, I would have to reimburse the party. You know how slow the reimbursement is, at least two months! You know that the procedures and efficiencies are like ink on a check. Like never. Frankly, like my salary and reimbursements like this, I can't afford it. So I just go the corporate route. I get the money I spend right away, and they take it from their own The account was spent. It was like the party gave them an interest-free loan. At the same time I went to work smoothly. The amount spent was very small."

O'Neill reached for the glass, and Urquhart touched his fingers, watching the man in front of him drink the contents of the glass.

"Twenty-two thousand three hundred pounds spent in the last ten months. That's not a lot, is it, Roger?"

O'Neill choked suddenly.Panting desperately, with a twisted expression on his face, he hurriedly explained, "It's definitely not that much!" he protested.His jaw dropped, and he could tell he was struggling to figure out what to say next, an explanation he hadn't rehearsed beforehand.O'Neill twisted like a fly in a spider's web.Urquhart's net was bigger, denser and softer, and he had no chance of survival.

"Roger, since the beginning of September last year, you have been reimbursed to the company for expenses, but you have not clearly indicated the purpose of the expenses. It is indeed 2 pounds. It was a small sum of money before, and recently it has become a £[-] a month. Even during an election campaign, you can’t have that many people drinking and eating.”

"I assure you, Francis, that any expenses I reimburse will be justified!"

"Cocaine is expensive, isn't it?"

O'Neal's slippery eyes froze with terror.

"Roger, as chief whip, I'm familiar with all the problems that men have. I've had to deal with wife beating, adultery, fraud, mental illness. I've also dealt with the incest thing. It's no big deal, the guy got kicked out at the re-election. Of course. But if it goes out to the public, it doesn't do anyone any good. So you almost never hear about it. Incest I may have to punish you slightly for this kind of thing, Roger, but basically we don’t preach about other things. In my heart, every man has the right to be unrestrained once, as long as it is not known to the outside world.”

He paused for a moment, and O'Neill's eyes began to flicker again, this time full of despair.

"One of my junior whips was a doctor. I brought him in just to help me see what was wrong with someone. After all, we have over 300 MPs to look after and all of them are living under a lot of stress. If I'll tell you how many people do drugs and you'd be surprised. We send these guys to a beautiful farm that's completely secluded outside of Dover, sometimes for a few months. Most of them quit completely , one of them was even a minister." He leaned forward, and the two of them moved closer together, "but it would be better to catch it early, Roger. Cocaine has been a big headache lately. Difficulties. They tell me it's a fad, and I don't know what that means. And it's so fucking easy to get cocaine. They say it makes smart people smarter. Shame it's addictive, and it's expensive."

Urquhart stared at Roger without moving as he said this.The man in front of him was experiencing great pain, as if he was executed by Ling Chi.Urquhart found the feeling beautiful and charming.O'Neill's hands were trembling, his lips were parted, but he was unable to speak, which wiped away any doubts he had about the previous doctor's diagnosis.Finally, O'Neill spoke with a whimper.

"What are you talking about? I'm not a junkie. I don't do drugs!"

"No, of course you don't, Roger." Urquhart said in his most reassuring voice, "but I think you have to accept that some people may see you and jump to the worst conclusions. You I also know that Mr. Prime Minister, especially in the current mood, is not a person who can take risks. Believe me, this is not an indiscriminate disregard for human life, but just wanting to live a quieter life."

"Henry won't believe these nonsense, you must have not told him..." O'Neill panted heavily, as if he was fighting a fierce bull.

"Of course not, Roger. I wanted you to consider me a friend, but the chairman of the party..."

"Williams? What did he say?"

"About drugs? Didn't say anything. But I'm afraid our dear lord doesn't particularly like you. He's so close to the Prime Minister, it's not good for you. He feels it's your fault that the election didn't go well, no his."

"What?!" The word broke into a short scream as soon as it came out of his throat.

"Don't worry, Roger, I've put in a good word for you. There's nothing to be afraid of, as long as you have my back."

Urquhart knew exactly what he was doing. He knew that a cocaine addict's mind was full of paranoia and delusions.He also knew what the story he just made up about the chairman's dislike of O'Neill would affect his fragile nerves.This man is hungry for fame and fortune, and only the consistent support of the Prime Minister can help him achieve his goal.He cannot lose this most precious treasure. "As long as you have my support behind you." These words echoed in O'Neill's mind. "One wrong step, and you're dead." This is the voice-over.The fearful spider web began to shrink, trying to wrap O'Neal.Now is the right time to give him a way out.

"Roger, I've seen gossip ruin a lot of people. The corridors of Westminster are murder scenes. There are dead bodies lying there. If you just because Teddy Williams doesn't like you, or people don't like you A misunderstanding of your spending arrangements, or your - hay fever and sitting on the sidelines, that is a tragedy, and I will not forgive myself."

"What should I do?" O'Neill's voice was chattering.

"What to do? Roger, you don't have to do anything. My suggestion is that you just trust me completely. You need a strong supporter in the inner circle of the party. Especially at this critical moment, the water level is gradually rising Well, the prime minister's boat is flooding, if he can save himself, he will throw people like you overboard without even thinking about it. People like that think you are just a piece of ballast at best."

These words had the desired effect, O'Neill writhed in pain in his chair, sipping blindly from the already empty crystal wine glass.The old leather goods rubbed against him.Urquhart paused, taking in all the details.

"Help me, Francis."

"I asked you here to help you, Roger."

The man in front of him finally broke down in sobs, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"I won't allow them to push out a man of your caliber, Roger." He sounded as if the priest were reciting a hymn to God, "Every penny you spend is justified, and I'll pass it on to the company ...I would also recommend that they continue to do this arrangement and keep it strictly confidential. Otherwise some people in the party who want to cut the PR budget will be jealous, which does us no good. But there is more to do, we have to Make sure the prime minister knows all about the good work and hard work you've put in. My advice to him is not to let his guard down and keep campaigning at a high level if he wants to get through the tough months ahead. Your budget won't be cut either. You'll be safe, Roger."

"Francis, you know I'd be very grateful..." O'Neal slurred his words with excitement.

"But I need something in return, Roger."

"Just open your mouth, I'm terrified."

"If I'm going to be your backstage, then you're going to have to tell me everything that's going on at party headquarters."

"no problem."

"Especially the chairman's every move. He's an ambitious and dangerous man, proving his loyalty to the prime minister while making his own agendas. You've got to be my eyes and ears, Roger. As soon as you hear anything from the chairman's side , you must inform me immediately. Then your future will be guaranteed."

O'Neill reached out to wipe away the excited tears from the corners of his eyes, and blew his nose. The handkerchief was covered with disgusting liquid, making a mess.

"Roger, you and I must be in the same boat. You must help me lead the party through the difficult times ahead. You are Horatius on the bridge The story of Cocles. In the 6th century BC, Rome, which was attacked by the Etruscan army, had to destroy the bridge over the Diberia River to stop the enemy. Horacio stood alone at the bridge and fought until he fell into the bridge with the bridge. River, but he survived.] Ah."

"Francis, I really don't know how to thank you."

"You'll know, Roger, you'll know."

The door slammed shut, and Mortima returned.She hurried upstairs, looking for Urquhart in every room, until she found him standing on the roof terrace, looking out across the London night at the majestic Victoria Tower at the southern end of the Houses of Parliament.The hot streets lifted the upward air, forming a breeze high above, and the Union Jack was waving in the wind.The parliament building looks like a beehive.Urquhart was smoking, which was rare.

"Francis, are you all right?"

He turned around, a little surprised, as if slightly surprised that she had come home.Then he turned again, looking over the rolling roofs of Westminster at the Victoria Tower.

"You called and said something happened and I thought you were sick. You scared me and..."

"They put Charles I's execution order in that tower, as well as the Bill of Rights, and the Act of Parliament more than 500 years ago." He said to himself, as if he didn't hear her words, nor Didn't notice her worry.

"What happened." She approached him and took his arm.It was as if his eyes had been seized by phantoms and visions, and somewhere in the night he saw prospects that he could only see.

"If you strain your ears, Mortimer, you can hear the cries and cries of the excited people outside the gates."

"can you hear me?"

"I can."

"Frances?" Her voice was still shaking with concern.

Only then did he come to his senses and squeezed her hand tightly, "It's good that you came back in such a hurry. I'm sorry for making you worry. I'm not sick, I'm fine. In fact, I haven't felt so well for a long time. "

"I don't get it, you're disappointed that you didn't get transferred."

"Nothing is permanent. Great emperors cannot sit on the throne forever, let alone all weak prime ministers." His tone was full of disdain, and he handed her the cigarette in his hand as he spoke.She took a deep breath and breathed out.

"You need some help," she said softly, handing him the cigarette back.

"I think I've found some people."

"Like that young reporter you mentioned?"

"Maybe."

For a moment she didn't speak.The two stood in the dark, silently sharing the night, the continuous flow of cars downstairs and the muffled voices from the crowd, the air was filled with the smell of conspiracy.

"Will she be faithful?"

"You expect journalists to be loyal?"

"You've got to hold her tight, Francis."

He looked at her keenly, a thin smile appeared on his face, and then quickly disappeared.It wasn't some humorous joke, "She's too young, Mortimer."

"Too young? Too pretty? Too capable? Too ambitious? I don't think so, Francis. A man like you can handle her."

His smile was back, warmer this time, "I owe it to you, as I have done so many times in the past, Mortimer."

Twelve years his junior, she was still full of youth, and although she had gained weight a little with the passage of time, she was more elegant and dignified.She is his closest partner, the only one he can open his heart to, trust and depend on unconditionally.Of course, they both have separate lives.He's doing all the tricks at Westminster, and she's...well, she likes Wagner's music.He has never been very interested.She would sometimes disappear for days, traveling abroad with others to share the ride.He never doubted her loyalty, and she never had any doubts about him.

"It's not going to be easy," he said.

"The taste of failure is even worse."

"Are there any restrictions?" he asked, trying to be as gentle as possible.

She stood on tiptoe, kissed his cheek, and then went back to the room, leaving him in the dark night.

(End of this chapter)