The Contract

One morning a week the Member of Parliament for Guildford held open house at his constituency offices.

Ten till twelve on a Wednesday and that was sufficient for him to be able to boast each time that he sought the electorate's support that his door was always wide to those in difficulty. They came in a hesitant dribble to ask whether something could be done about the drain that smelled by the bus stop, whether there could be an additional pedestrian crossing for the school children, whether there could be greater police presence to combat young people's vandalism, whether the transport service could be improved. A telephoned message from the Member of Parliament would motivate the local Council to action. But not many of the class and affluence of Dennis Tweedle availed themselves of the opportunity to meet him at the public 'surgery'. The likes of Dennis Tweedle were private patients, met for lunch in London or for a drink at a club in St James's. But Tweedle had said that he must see his Member of Parliament that day, could not wait for a more socially convenient occasion, and so had waited out in the corridor with the rest, subject to a hard wooden bench and the exhortations of the party slogans on the walls.

When the Member had entered the Mother of Parliaments he had believed that after a shortish apprenticeship he would be invited to the Despatch Box to argue with the authority of ministerial responsibility behind him. But the party had fallen on barren years, long rejected. A team of hard fisted, abrasive tongued men and women now soared in the new order. Time had slipped by the Member for Guildford. The back benches of the House of Commons were his fate. He found a solace now in aspish criticism of his youthful but more senior party colleagues, and prided himself that this was useful to democracy.

The snake sting of his tongue had acquired him a certain notoriety that to be maintained must find frequent replenishment from cause and case history. He was a very suitable candidate for Dennis Tweedle's complaint. 'He repeated it again and again, the boy, the allegation that his father was to be murdered in the German Democratic Republic by members of the British Secret Intelligence Service. They showed intolerable rudeness, these people, just barged into the house, not a word of thanks for what my wife had done, stripped the clothes she'd given him right off the lad and took him out half naked when what he needed was warmth and kindliness.'

He had endured two more of his constituents, fought to concentrate on their worries, and hurried them away. Left to himself he telephoned the headquarters of Surrey County Police and requested an appointment with the Chief Constable.

He reflected afterwards that many would have warned him that this was not a fit matter for his concern. Any number of his colleagues at the Palace of Westminster would have offered that advice.

But such an attitude would have marked the betrayal of the true role of the backbencher. That was the opinion of Sir Charles Spottiswoode, Member for Guildford.

In the sitting room Carter broached the whisky bottle, handed a generous glass to Johnny. The two men alone.

Willi and George away upstairs. Smithson and Pierce not back from a day with their families.

' I think we deserve it, but the day was fine, the pictures will be just right.'

'They'll stir the old man up,'Johnny said thoughtfully.

'Mawby rang while you were in the bath. He's coming down tomorrow, early. He's having dinner with the DUS tonight.'

'That's nice for him…'Johnny looked up, away from his drink and saw the uncertainty in Carter. '… Do we have a problem?'

'Mawby says the DUS is a fraction nervous. The Prime Minister called him in, gave him the acid about not having heard of Willi, the D notice did that for us. He was going on about the need for more consultation between the Service and Downing Street…'

'Will he get that?'

'Shouldn't think so,' said Carter cheerfully. 'The DUS regards politicians as passing ships. But there was a bit more than that. The

PM

was jittery about the defector damaging trade negotiations between us and the DDR. Mawby says that all this bloody government thinks about is export statistics.'

'What does the PM say about DIPPER?'

' I fancy the DUS told him the truth, and nothing but the truth, but I get the impression that the bit about the whole truth might have been mislaid. The PM wouldn't have said anything about DIPPER for the very simple reason that he's rather in the dark about it.'

'What does that mean?'Johnny swigged at his glass.

' It means that it's a bloody good plan, and one that's getting better, and it's not going to be screwed for a turbine engine order.'

' It's a hell of a way to carry on.'

'That's what I was thinking, but it's the usual way.'

Johnny pondered, head resting in his hands, cheeks enveloped. He sat very still, thoughtful, wrapped in himself. Carter stared out of the window into the cloaking darkness.

'I'll want a gun,'Johnny said.