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She paused but he said nothing.
In any event, I think I can persuade you to help on straightforward commercial grounds. Whatever happens, your takeover of United Newspapers is dead. You can either watch it be swept away in the storm which will undoubtedly engulf Urquhart, which means the Establishment will turn on you and you will never be able to raise money in the City of London for a business deal ever again - or you can kill it yourself, help me nail Urquhart, save your business and become the hero of the hour.'
'Why should I trust you?'
'Because I need you.'
'Need me?' his jowls fluttered in surprise.
'I need you to be a good newspaper man and publish the full story. If it's published with the backing of the Telegraph rather than dribbling out over the next few months in bits and pieces, nobody can ignore it. I will give you an exclusive which will blow your patriotic socks off. And once I've done that, I am scarcely going to be able to turn on you.'
'And if I say no?'
Then I shall find an army of Opposition backbenchers who would like nothing more than to take all the ammunition I can provide them with, stand up in the House of Commons where they are protected from the laws of slander, and make accusations against both you and Urquhart which will bring you crashing down together.'
All her cards were on the table now. The game was nearly over. Had he any cards left up his sleeve?
'Urquhart will fall, Mr Landless, one way or the other. The only thing you have to decide is whether you fall with him or help me push him...'
It was early afternoon before Mattie returned to Westminster. The snow had stopped falling and the skies were clearing, leaving the capital looking like a scene from a traditional Christmas card. The Houses of Parliament
looked particularly resplendent, like some wondrous Christmas cake covered in brilliant white icing beneath a crystal blue sky. Opposite in the churchyard of St Margaret's, nestling under the wing of the great medieval
Abbey, carol singers brought an air of tranquillity and Victorian charm to the passers-by, wishing goodwill to all men.
Celebrations were already under way in various parts of the House of Commons. One of Mattie's colleagues in the press gallery rushed over to explain.
'About 80 per cent of Government MPs have already voted. They think Urquhart's home and dry. It looks like a landslide.'
Big Ben tolled; to Mattie it had a new and awesome ring. She felt as if an icicle had dislodged itself from the Palace walls and pierced straight into her heart. But she had to press on.
Urquhart was not in his room, nor in any of the bars or restaurants in the Palace of Westminster. She asked in vain around the corridors after him and was just about to conclude that he had left the premises entirely, for lunch or interviews, when one of the Palace policemen told her that
he had seen Urquhart not ten minutes earlier headed in the direction of the roof garden. She had no idea that any roof garden existed, or even where it was.
'Yes, miss. Not many people do know about our roof garden, and those that do like to keep quiet about it in case everybody rushes up there and spoils the charm. It's directly above the House of Commons, all around the great central skylights which light up the Chamber itself. It's a flat roof terrace, and we've put some tables and chairs up there so that in summer the staff can enjoy the sunshine, take some sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Not many Members know about it and even fewer ever go up there, but I've seen Mr Urquhart up there a couple of times before. Likes the view, I imagine. But it'll be damned cold and lonely today, if you don't mind my saying so.'
She followed his directions, up the stairs past the Strangers Gallery and up again until she had passed the panelled dressing room reserved for the Palace doorkeepers. Then she saw a fire door which was slightly ajar. As she stepped through it she emerged onto the roof, and drew in her breath sharply. The view was magnificent Right in front of her, towering into the cloudless sky, made brilliant in the sunshine and snow, was the tower of Big Ben, closer than she had ever seen it before. Every little detail of the beautifully crafted stone stood out with stunning clarity, and she could see the tremor of the great clock hands as the ancient but splendid mechanism pursued its remorseless course.
To the left she could see the great tiled roof of Westminster Hall, the oldest part of the Palace, which had survived the assault of fire, war, bomb and revolution and which had witnessed so much human achievement and misery. To her right she could see the River Thames, ebbing and flowing in its own irresistible fashion even as the tides of history swept capriciously along its banks. And in front of her she could see fresh footsteps in the snow.
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