Visitors

Chapter Four

Chapter FourShaw assumed that the Visitors would visit other countries. So in his eyes every moment counted, before they powered off to the States or the East, or anywhere for that matter. He needed bright young men to follow up the Visitors’ ideas, men strong enough to stand against the massed ranks of the vested interest. The Chancellor, that monument to fossilised ability, would do nothing, and the Education Minister was in the pocket of the academics. Dear God, he’d started off with all the usual good intentions. He’d picked the best men: another cabinet of ‘all the talents’. They were the perfect team to set the nation back on course. Now, after barely a year, a major reshuffle seemed unavoidable. Indeed, with the advent of the Visitors, it was essential.

Toby Simpson…the name seemed to come from nowhere. Yes, he was the man, and if the press thought they had an easy prey, he’d soon relieve them of their misconception. The idea propelled him out of bed. A busy day lay ahead.

It had been a stimulating dinner party, with substantial conversation. No gossiping, thank God. The chateau-bottled flowed but it didn’t seem to have the least effect. And that blonde angel that his sister had invited: she was special. A Classics graduate with a name to match: Drusilla, the feminine of Drusus. His schoolboy Latin still glimmered faintly. He yawned, stretched himself and checked the bedside clock again. It was almost 6 am. The phone rang. His hand stretched out sleepily.

‘What is it this time?’ he muttered. ‘Yes, Prime Minister!’

Suddenly Toby Simpson was very much awake.

Toby Simpson, a crinkly-haired, trim-figured man above average height, arrived at Number Ten at 9.30 as requested. Almost at once the Prime Minister greeted him.

‘We’ll talk in the car,’ the PM said briefly.

Cromwell Road and the M4 approach were busy but not impossible. So, sandwiched between two blue-flashing police cars, they reached the M4 quickly. By then the PM had just finished scanning the newspapers. ‘At times I do believe the public are informed by those who know the least! But there it is: part of our strange chaotic system that somehow seems to muddle through! Now, Toby…’

‘Yes, Prime Minister?’

‘I would like you to oversee our dealings with these far off friends. I don’t want their ideas buried by the vested interests of some puffed-up minister’s ego, or that of any pressure group or body. You will have Cabinet rank and you’ll have my backing, provided you’re not some retro-Leninist!’

‘You haven’t seen my tee shirt, Sir!’

‘We’ll get on well, Toby. This morning I’ll be introducing you to “The Captain”. He is a remarkable man … being … I’m not sure how to put it. His remit is to answer questions but not to initiate action. Seems a pretty non-aggressive stance. I trust them but, Toby, be your own man. It’s the truth that matters not some hoary-headed vested interest.’

‘On the economic front, the freehold vested interest will no doubt be the worst. We had the first shot in the Commons yesterday.’

‘What are they afraid of? In the short term they wouldn’t lose much. Even in the long term … anyway, it would take years to implement. Too speedy a change would require a Stalin and you might be pleased to know that’s not my style! And, Toby, I’ve got a feeling they’d be better off by far if this system were in place. For one thing, no death duties!’

‘Have you any other thoughts or advice, Prime Minister?’

‘Their views on education would be helpful. Some of our classrooms seem to be unmanageable free-for-alls, and any hint of punishment sends the PC lobby into orbit. We need ideas! There are drugs of course, but they may not suffer from such self-destructive habits! Toby, the field’s wide open.’

‘You’ve given me quite a task, Prime Minister. Thanks for your trust.’

‘Well, your name came into mind just as I was getting up. The gods directed, as it were! And, by the way, we’ll be meeting Her Majesty this afternoon. Now, Toby, here’s another issue. Whereas the Queen is greatly loved and much respected, the wreckers, though unintentional in the main, do not understand the benefits of our constitutional monarchy. I need ammunition to defend our priceless heritage. The Crown is the focus of excellence and the final guardian of our freedoms. It stands for the values of the spirit and represents humanity in affairs of state. Here is the final hope of mercy and a sympathetic ear. A faded politician tarnished by the hurly burly of political life cannot provide this. The monarchy is an awesome responsibility. If sometimes there are faults, we must remember the importance of the office. That we must protect.

‘This tittle-tattle dominated media world makes the monarch’s role extremely difficult. And here’s another problem: what about the media’s role? Toby, ask whatever comes to mind for we need the wisdom of these people. Indeed, I fear our nation has forgotten much about the richness of its heritage.’

Purring discreetly, the PM’s Jaguar turned off the motorway at Junction 6 and headed for Windsor. Then, bypassing the town, it sped towards Winkfield. After a mile or so they slowed, turning into a rather unpretentious avenue. Once through a line of trees the scene changed dramatically. The Army were everywhere, and before them was a quite substantial mansion. The security check was brief, then on they went to park in front of the ornate entrance. HMG was doing the Visitors proud, Toby Simpson thought, but he made no comment.

Toby watched as the PM was warmly greeted by the Visitors’ leader.

‘I watched your report to the House of Commons. You were very complimentary, Prime Minister.’

‘Deservedly so, Captain. Now may I introduce you to Mr Toby Simpson MP? He’s one of the lucky ones who have a safe seat. Have I caught you?’ Shaw smiled.

‘Not this time. I understand the term.’

‘Toby here has just been given special responsibility for your welfare and comfort. I can assure you that he’ll ask you many questions, though none will cross the borderline of indiscretion.’

‘I think by now tea will be ready. You were, of course, expected.’

Simpson was amazed at the urbanity. It was exactly as the PM described. His eyes, though, had a strangely placid quality. Indeed, all the Visitors shared this feature. Peace was a message not confined to words alone, it was in their very being.

Once in the inner hall, the PM suggested a meeting with the Queen.

‘We would be greatly honoured,’ the Captain responded.

‘And a photograph perhaps, that would be given to the press?’

‘We have no objections.’

The Manor at Winkfield was three stories high, with a small-windowed pilot story at the top. It also had a basement, suitable mostly for storage. It was red brick, well matured with age, with a creeper scaling one of the corners. The garden was substantial but the walled enclosure had gone. Only the outer wall was left, against which a number of fruit trees were arranged. There were several stone-built office buildings – the gardeners and maintenance personnel used these – and there was also ample garage space. Yes, Toby thought, HMG had pushed the boat out.

Simpson had been allocated a small suite at the top of the house and there was an office for his secretary on the ground floor. Clearly it was a living-in job – but what a job! Toby knew he had been amazingly fortunate but, as the saying went, it wouldn’t be all beer and skittles!