house of cards 1

Chapter 9

Urquhart wondered if Samuel was insinuating him with that remark.But he chose not to care, and immediately accompanied Williams down the stairs.The stairs were already packed with excited office workers.The news of the Prime Minister's imminent arrival spread throughout the building, and the presence of the party chairman and whip on the pavement added to the excitement of the crowd.They cheered in an organized way, and the black armored Daimler, accompanied by a convoy, circled the square and appeared behind the side chapel of St. John.Blinking TV lights and thousands of blinding strobes frantically flickered as professional photographers and budding photography enthusiasts alike sought to capture the historic scene.

The car stopped and Collingridge got out of the back seat and turned to wave to the crowd and the cameras.Urquhart pushed the crowd to the front, trying too hard to shake the Prime Minister's hand, only to get in his way.He backed away apologetically.On the other side of the car, Lord Williams carefully helped the Prime Minister's wife out of the car with the chivalry accumulated over the years and the kindness of an old acquaintance, and gave her a loving kiss on the cheek.From somewhere comes a bouquet of flowers, followed by two dozen party officials and dignitaries, all scrambling to get involved.It is really a small miracle that this large group of people can pass through the revolving door and enter the interior of the building without any casualties.

The interior of the building was equally chaotic and congested.Surrounded by the Prime Minister, the large group made their way upstairs with difficulty, stopping only business-like in the middle to thank the staff as before.This process had to be repeated because the press photographers were not called in time.Despite all the delays, backoffs and noise, the Prime Minister patiently wore his trademark smile.

Upstairs, Lord Williams' suite is relatively safe.But the tension that had been carefully hidden all night was gradually surfacing.The TV in the corner was announcing that the computer had predicted a smaller majority, and Collingridge let out a long, low sigh. "Turn the damn thing off," he ordered quietly.Then a pair of eyes slowly scanned the entire room.

"Is Charles here tonight?" he asked.

"Well, he's been here, but..."

"but what?"

"We seem to have lost him."

The Prime Minister met the Chairman's eyes.

"I'm sorry." The old man said another sentence, which was so light that the Prime Minister almost had to judge the content from the shape of his lips.

"Sorry for what? Sorry for my brother being drunk? Sorry for almost losing this election, sorry for making a lot of my colleagues a shield, sorry for being worse than Goring? Sorry for your muddy waters , rescued us both? Anyway, thank you for your concern, old friend."

The adrenaline in his body suddenly stopped supplying him, and he suddenly felt extremely tired.For weeks on end, he was surrounded by hula-la-la-la-la-la-huge crowds, and he didn't enjoy even a second of being alone.He felt that he urgently needed to be alone for a while.He turned to look for something more quiet and private, but found Urquhart standing beside him blocking his way.The chief whip was sticking an envelope under his nose.

"I thought about the reshuffle of the party," Urquhart said, eyes downcast but a tone that suggested a mixture of frustration and hesitation. "Of course it's not a good time, but I know you can think about it over the weekend. So I've prepared some suggestions. I know you don't like us giving blank papers and want to see some positive thoughts, so..." He handed A note written by himself, "I hope you find it useful." He is asking the Prime Minister to treat him as a VIP, and he feels entitled to such treatment, and he doesn't even need an invitation.

Collingridge looked at the envelope handed over, and something exploded in his heart, and the wall of heart that separated politeness from honesty collapsed.He looked up at his colleague with tired eyes. "You're right, Francis. It's not a good time. Maybe we need to think about how to keep the majority before we fire our colleagues."

Urquhart froze in embarrassment, the sarcasm stabbing him deeply.This was not the Prime Minister's intention, and he realized that he had gone too far.

"Sorry, Francis. I'm a bit tired. Of course you're very right to look forward. Listen, I'd like you and Teddy to come over and discuss this on Sunday afternoon. Maybe you can take your advice now." Give it to Teddy and have a copy delivered to me in Downing Street tomorrow, or later this morning."

Urquhart tried desperately to control his facial expression, not to show the turmoil in his heart.He was a little anxious about the reorganization, and he secretly scolded himself for being an idiot.It's strange that Collingridge is just a "product" of a grammar school. If you are an ordinary person, you can't be socially comfortable, and it's hard to get into any club that Urquhart joined. But when facing the Prime Minister, Urquhart's natural infallibility vanished without a trace.Urquhart was extremely discouraged and disturbed by the role reversal of the two men in the government, and when confronted with the Prime Minister, he found that his words and deeds were not in control.He did make a mistake, but instead of blaming himself, he felt that Collingridge was more responsible.But this is not the time to "reclaim lost ground."He showed his friendly and attentive smile again, and nodded obediently, "It's very good, Mr. Prime Minister. I'll take this to Teddy right away."

"You'd better print a copy yourself, or it won't arrive tonight." Collingridge smiled, trying to bring Urquhart back to the power and conspiracy that hovered over Downing Street forever. "Anyway, I think it's time to go back and get some rest. The BBC will definitely want me to be refreshed for the interview in four hours. I'll be watching the rest of the election results in Downing Street."

He turned to Williams. "By the way, how does the damn computer predict now?"

"It's been 24 seats for half an hour, and I think that's probably it." There was no triumph in his voice.He had just witnessed the worst election result for his party in nearly 20 years.

"It's all right, Teddy. A majority is a majority. That'll give our chief whip something to do; and if it gets over a hundred votes, he'll be sitting on the bench, won't he, Francis?" he said. Walking out of the office while talking, Urquhart behind him squeezed the envelope in his hands miserably.

Within minutes of the prime minister's departure, the crowds inside and outside the building began to visibly diminish.Still hurt by his pride, Urquhart wasn't in the mood to celebrate or join in the fun.He went back to the ground floor where the photocopying office was.However, Room 132A is basically not an office. It is just a closet without a window, less than two meters wide. There are some office supplies in it, and it can also be used for confidential photocopying.Urquhart opened the door, and a pungent smell entered his nostrils before he could find the light switch.Crouching in the narrow gap between the metal shelves was a slumped Charles Collingridge.Even in his deep sleep, he was capable of soiling his clothes.There were no glasses or bottles around, but the strong smell of whiskey was in the air.It looked like Charles had struggled to find the least embarrassing place before getting too drunk and passed out here.

Urquhart groped for his handkerchief and put it over his mouth and nose to keep out the stench.He strode over to Charles, turned him over, and put him asleep on his back.He shook his shoulders, and Charles let out a short, foul-smelling breath.He shook it hard again, but he didn't respond, even a light slap on the face didn't help.

He looked at the drunk guy in front of him with disgust on his face.Urquhart froze suddenly, a deep-seated disdain mingled with the humiliation he had suffered at the Prime Minister.Ah, of course, now is a great time to get revenge.He grabs Charles by the collar of his coat, pulls him up, throws his arms back, ready for the blow, he wants to slap the pathetic bastard in the face so hard, unleash the humiliation he just had, unleash him Anger at the Collingridges.Urquhart shuddered, but made no move.

Then an envelope fell out of Charles' coat pocket. It looked like an unpaid electric bill. It was a final reminder, all printed in alert red.Suddenly, Urquhart realized that there was another way to better balance the “unfair treatment” scale and reshuffle everything in his favor.After all, he certainly couldn't have been rough on Charles, not because he's always been a scrupulous, scrupulous man, and not because Charles is anything but innocent beyond the stink.Urquhart knew that by hurting his brother he could hurt Henry Collingridge, without a doubt.But this kind of physical pain is far from enough, and it can't last long.Anyway, violence is not the answer, this stinking closet is not the place, and this is not a good time.Francis Urquhart was better than that, much better, better than all of them.

He gently lowered Charles Collingridge, who was still sound asleep, to the ground, adjusted the collar of his coat, and left him to rest where he was. "You and I, Charlie, we're going to be very close friends, best friends. Of course not this time. Wait until you get yourself together a little bit, okay?"

He turned around and went to the copier, took out the envelope from his pocket, and made a copy of the letter inside.Then he took the bill from Charlie's pocket and made a copy too.Then he left, letting his new drunken friend get a good night's sleep.

(End of this chapter)