Read Online Pray for the Dying by Quintin Jardine - Free Book Online
Authors: Quintin Jardine
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bathroom. She had left her phone there the night before, after brushing her teeth. She switched it on, then checked her voicemail.
There were over a dozen calls. One was from her constituency secretary, one from Alf Old, the Scottish Labour Party’s chief executive, another from her deputy leader . . . Probably cursing that the bastard missed me , she thought . . . several from other parliamentary colleagues, not all of her party, and three from journalists who were trusted with her number. She had expected nothing from her husband.
As soon as she was showered and dressed she called the secretary, an officious older woman with a tendency to fuss. ‘Aileen, where are you?’ she demanded, as soon as she answered. ‘I’ve tried your flat, I’ve tried your house in Gullane. I got no reply from either.’
‘Never you mind where I am,’ she retorted sharply. ‘It would have been nice of you to ask how I was, but I’m okay and I’m safe. Anybody calls inquiring about me, you can tell them that. I may call into the office tomorrow, or I may not. I’ll let you know.’
No reply from Gullane? she mused as she ended the call, but had no time to dwell on the information as her phone rang immediately. She checked the screen and saw that it was the party CEO, trying again. ‘Alf,’ she said as she answered.
‘Aileen,’ he exclaimed, ‘thank God I’ve got through. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m safe, and I’m with a friend. I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night, but things were crazy. The security people got me off the scene, by force, more or less. Even now I have protection officers parked outside, like it or not. The First Minister insisted.’
‘Good for him. Now . . .’
‘I know what you’re going to say. Silence breeds rumours.’
‘Exactly. I’ve had several calls asking where you are, and whether you might have been wounded.’
‘Then issue a statement. Have they confirmed yet that it’s Toni Field who’s dead?’
‘Yes. Strathclyde police announced it a wee while ago.’
‘In that case we should offer condolences . . . I’ll leave it to you to choose the adjectives, but praise her all the way to heaven’s gate . . . then add that I’m unharmed, and that I’ve simply been taking some private time to come to terms with what’s happened. I suppose you’d better say something nice about Clive Graham as well, but not too nice, mind you, nothing that he can quote in his next election manifesto.’
‘Mmm,’ Old remarked. ‘I can tell you’re okay.’
‘I’ll be fine as long as I keep myself busy,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry if I seem a bit brutal, but even without what happened last night there’s a lot going on in my life.’
‘Do you want to take some more time out? Everyone would understand.’
‘They might,’ she agreed, ‘but in different ways. There are plenty within the party who’d think I was showing weakness. I don’t have to tell you, Alf, as soon as a woman politician does that the jackals fall on her. I’ve handled stress before; I’m good at it.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be back in business tomorrow; I have to be. The First Minister will come out of this looking like fucking Braveheart, so we have to keep pace. We need to come out with something positive. You know that Clive and I were planning a joint announcement on unifying the Scottish police forces?’
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘Well, I want to jump the gun. Have our people develop the proposition that what happened in the concert hall illustrates the need for it, that it was a result of intelligence delayed by artificial barriers within our police service that need to be broken down. Then set up a press conference for midday tomorrow. We don’t have to say what it’s about. They’ll be all over me anyway about last night. But I want to be ready to roll with that policy announcement.’
‘Will do,’ Old said, ‘but Aileen, what about your personal
There were over a dozen calls. One was from her constituency secretary, one from Alf Old, the Scottish Labour Party’s chief executive, another from her deputy leader . . . Probably cursing that the bastard missed me , she thought . . . several from other parliamentary colleagues, not all of her party, and three from journalists who were trusted with her number. She had expected nothing from her husband.
As soon as she was showered and dressed she called the secretary, an officious older woman with a tendency to fuss. ‘Aileen, where are you?’ she demanded, as soon as she answered. ‘I’ve tried your flat, I’ve tried your house in Gullane. I got no reply from either.’
‘Never you mind where I am,’ she retorted sharply. ‘It would have been nice of you to ask how I was, but I’m okay and I’m safe. Anybody calls inquiring about me, you can tell them that. I may call into the office tomorrow, or I may not. I’ll let you know.’
No reply from Gullane? she mused as she ended the call, but had no time to dwell on the information as her phone rang immediately. She checked the screen and saw that it was the party CEO, trying again. ‘Alf,’ she said as she answered.
‘Aileen,’ he exclaimed, ‘thank God I’ve got through. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m safe, and I’m with a friend. I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night, but things were crazy. The security people got me off the scene, by force, more or less. Even now I have protection officers parked outside, like it or not. The First Minister insisted.’
‘Good for him. Now . . .’
‘I know what you’re going to say. Silence breeds rumours.’
‘Exactly. I’ve had several calls asking where you are, and whether you might have been wounded.’
‘Then issue a statement. Have they confirmed yet that it’s Toni Field who’s dead?’
‘Yes. Strathclyde police announced it a wee while ago.’
‘In that case we should offer condolences . . . I’ll leave it to you to choose the adjectives, but praise her all the way to heaven’s gate . . . then add that I’m unharmed, and that I’ve simply been taking some private time to come to terms with what’s happened. I suppose you’d better say something nice about Clive Graham as well, but not too nice, mind you, nothing that he can quote in his next election manifesto.’
‘Mmm,’ Old remarked. ‘I can tell you’re okay.’
‘I’ll be fine as long as I keep myself busy,’ she told him. ‘I’m sorry if I seem a bit brutal, but even without what happened last night there’s a lot going on in my life.’
‘Do you want to take some more time out? Everyone would understand.’
‘They might,’ she agreed, ‘but in different ways. There are plenty within the party who’d think I was showing weakness. I don’t have to tell you, Alf, as soon as a woman politician does that the jackals fall on her. I’ve handled stress before; I’m good at it.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be back in business tomorrow; I have to be. The First Minister will come out of this looking like fucking Braveheart, so we have to keep pace. We need to come out with something positive. You know that Clive and I were planning a joint announcement on unifying the Scottish police forces?’
‘Yes, you told me.’
‘Well, I want to jump the gun. Have our people develop the proposition that what happened in the concert hall illustrates the need for it, that it was a result of intelligence delayed by artificial barriers within our police service that need to be broken down. Then set up a press conference for midday tomorrow. We don’t have to say what it’s about. They’ll be all over me anyway about last night. But I want to be ready to roll with that policy announcement.’
‘Will do,’ Old said, ‘but Aileen, what about your personal
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