A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) by Edward Wilson

Author:Edward Wilson
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9781910050736
Publisher: Arcadia Books Limited
Published: 2015-07-14T23:00:00+00:00

London: 21 October 1964

It was one of London’s oldest and most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs. Dark oak panelling, leather sofas and armchairs, eighteenth-century paintings – some of which were mildly erotic – and hushed tones. But on one occasion, a crusty Scottish laird had broken the hush by throwing a servant through a bow window. When the club steward had strongly remonstrated, the laird replied: ‘Put him on my bill.’ Conversation is usually about sport, drink and other safe topics. Discussion of trade or business is not allowed. The members and guests who had reserved the billiard room were, however, not obeying the rule. The group consisted of a hereditary peer, a banker, a retired colonel, one serving general and JJ, the retired SIS officer. If someone had accused the five of being a combination of robber baron and imperialist they would not have been offended.

‘Actually,’ said the peer, ‘I’m not worried about Wilson at all. It won’t be long before he fucks up and there’s another election.’

‘The problem,’ said the general, ‘is that Wilson has already put in place plans for withdrawing British forces from all over the world. We’re also going to end up with no aircraft carriers and no Polaris.’

The retired colonel, who had just got back from the civil war in Yemen, was the only one interested in the billiard table. He circled the baize potting reds. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’m not sure we really need official UK forces. We’re seeing off the Egyptians and the Sovs pretty much on our own. I always think that Housman got it spot on with that poem of his, “Epitaph on an Army of Mercenaries”:

Their shoulders held the sky suspended;

They stood, and earth’s foundations stay;

What God abandoned, these defended,

And saved the sum of things for pay.’

The colonel paused to pot another red. ‘Lovely piece, isn’t it? Makes me want to cry. I’ll always put my trust in mercs and private armies.’

The general shook his head. ‘Mercenaries do not come equipped with battle tanks, aircraft carriers and nuclear missiles.’

The retired colonel turned to the banker. ‘Tell them, Mungo, how much we’re getting from the Saudis.’

Mungo told them.

‘A fine sum indeed. But,’ said the general, ‘I do not want to see UK defence and foreign policy dependent upon the whims of the House of Saud – or anyone else with deep pockets.’

‘Or the Kremlin,’ said JJ.

‘Yes,’ droned the colonel lining up another red, ‘that is a worry. But if push comes to shove we’ll get rid of him.’

‘I think,’ said the banker, ‘that what we will be seeing in the future – without a socialist Labour government getting in the way – is the privatisation of British foreign and military policy. We had it in the nineteenth century with the British East-India Company and Cecil Rhodes’ British South Africa Company. Governments are useless.’

‘Governments are not useless,’ said JJ, ‘they are dangerous. We now have a situation where the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom is a Soviet agent who is placing other Soviet agents into positions of power.

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