Publish and Be Murdered by Ruth Dudley Edwards

Author:Ruth Dudley Edwards [Edwards, Ruth Dudley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
ISBN: 9781890208134
Publisher: Poisoned Pen PR
Published: 1997-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

‘I just thought for curiosity I’d check out how Number Ten views the recent Wrangler lurch towards the new Establishment,’ said Amiss to Winterton. ‘I’ve got an old civil service colleague working in there.’

‘And?’

‘Mixed. It was much appreciated that New Labour were getting such surprisingly generous treatment, but Willie’s own behaviour makes it unlikely that he’s going to become a popular pet.’

‘What’s he done?’

‘Apparently over the past few weeks he’s rung up the PM’s private secretary, the press secretary and the chief of staff and demanded a peerage from all of them.’

Winterton chuckled maliciously. ‘You’re kidding. He couldn’t do that.’

‘Well, he did.’

‘Maybe he was sozzled.’

‘They didn’t seem to think so. Though he was when he rang me at home last week.’

‘And me. Long tirade about my iniquities.’

‘Much the same as my call, then. You aren’t the only one under the lash.’

‘And Henry had a few in his time when he was around.’

‘I’ve never seen Willie drunk. Have you?’

‘Not in the flesh,’ said Winterton. ‘Seems to be a recent development. I suppose it might be tension, from all the rows. I think he was nervous for a time that the trustees might come down heavily on him as Henry wanted them to. But of course the other two are spineless creeps who think Willie’s God.

‘It’s all very sad, Robert. He’s going to wreck a great institution and there’s bugger-all anyone can do about it.’ Winterton got up. ‘I’d better go off and find some way of saying what I believe in terms that’ll pass the muster with New Willie. You’ve cheered me up a bit anyway. It looks as though he’s scored a few own goals. I can stand anything except him becoming Lord Lambie of Crump.’

‘I bet he’d drop the “Crump”. Watch this space for Lord Lambie of Mayfair.’

***

‘Where the hell is Willie?’

Amiss looked up in surprise at the unprecedented sight of Phoebe Somerfield crashing into his room angrily and without ceremony. ‘I’m sorry, Phoebe. I’ve no idea. I assumed he was in his room by now. Have you tried his flat?’

‘There’s no answer. I can only guess he was off on one of his nights in the country with toffs and hasn’t got back yet. I could strangle him.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘It’s press day and we’re looking set fair to produce this week a journal with three blank pages unless I fill them full of whatever we spiked last week. Willie was supposed do a leader and an assessment of the latest collapse in the Northern Irish peace process. It’s eleven o’clock and there’s no sign of him or what he was supposed to write. And Dwight’s up to his ears.’

‘You’d better start writing, just in case he doesn’t turn up. I’ll try to locate him.’

‘I’ve already fucking well written half the goddamn journal,’ said Phoebe Somerfield. ‘And we’ve only got an hour and a half left.’

‘What is the leader about?’

‘The government’s U-turn over personal taxation.’

‘I’ll do that and you do Northern Ireland. How many words?’

‘Eleven hundred.’ She turned to go and then looked back.

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