Read Online To Play the King by Michael Dobbs - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Dobbs
Tags: thriller
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the sermon.'
'Ben, think it through. Put this one behind you. There will be other deals, other interests you will want to pursue, in which I can help. It would be useful to have a friend in Downing Street.'
'That's what I thought when I backed you for Prime Minister. My mistake.' Landless was once again in control of himself, his hands steady, his gaze glacial and fixed upon Urquhart, only the quivering of his jowls revealing the tension within.
'I'm sorry if I've interrupted,' Elizabeth said awkwardly.
'Mr Landless was just about to leave, I think,' Stamper cut in from his guard post beside the radiator.
‘I am sorry,' Elizabeth repeated.
'Don't worry,' replied Landless, eyes still on her husband. ‘I can't stay. I just learned of a funeral I have to attend.'
'Ben, seriously, if there's anything I can do . . .'
Landless offered no reply. He rose and buttoned his jacket purposefully, straightening his tie and drawing back his broad shoulders before striding out to face the cameras.
* * *
‘I won't hear of it, David.'
It was ludicrous. Mycroft was in turmoil; there were so many unformed doubts, half-fears which he could not or dared not realize, which he needed to talk through with the King, for both their sakes. Yet he was reduced to snatching a few words along with mouthfuls of chlorinated water as they ploughed through the waves of the Palace swimming pool. The King's only concession to the interruption in his daily exercise schedule was to switch from the crawl to the breaststroke, enabling Mycroft more easily to match his pace. It was his rigid discipline that enabled the King to maintain his excellent physical shape, and kept all those who served him struggling to keep up.
The King was a fierce defender of the forms of marriage - it came with the job, he would say - and Mycroft had felt it necessary to make the offer. 'It's for the best. Sir,' he persisted. ‘I can't afford to let you become embroiled in my personal difficulties. I need some time to sort myself out. Better for all of us if I resign.'
‘I disagree.' The King spat out a mouthful of water, finally resolving to finish the conversation on dry land, and headed for the marbled poolside. 'We've been friends since university and I'm not going to throw away the last thirty years simply because some reptilian gossip columnist might hear of your private problems. I'm surprised you should think I would consider it.' He ducked his shiny head one last time beneath the water as he reached for the steps. 'You're part of the management board of this firm, and that's how it's going to stay.'
Mycroft shook his head like a dog, trying to clear his vision. It wasn't just the marriage, of course, it was all the other pressures he felt crowding in on him which made him feel so apprehensive and wretched. If he couldn't be completely honest even with himself, how could he expect the King to understand? But he had to try.
'Suddenly everything looks different. The house. The street. My friends. Even I look different, to myself. It's as if my marriage was a lens which gave the world a particular perspective over all these years, and now that it's gone nothing seems quite the same. It's a little frightening . . .'
'I'm sorry, truly, about Fiona. After all, I'm godfather to your eldest, I'm involved.' The King reached for his towel. 'But, dammit, women have their own extraordinary ways and I can't profess to understand them. What I do know, David, is that it would make no sense for you to try to get through your problems on your own, to cut yourself off not only from your marriage but also from what you have here.' He placed a hand on Mycroft's dripping shoulder. The contact was very close, his voice concerned. 'You understand me, David, you always have. I am known by the whole world yet understood by so few. You do, you understand. I need you. I will not allow you to resign.'
Mycroft stared into his friend's angular face. He found himself thinking the King's
'Ben, think it through. Put this one behind you. There will be other deals, other interests you will want to pursue, in which I can help. It would be useful to have a friend in Downing Street.'
'That's what I thought when I backed you for Prime Minister. My mistake.' Landless was once again in control of himself, his hands steady, his gaze glacial and fixed upon Urquhart, only the quivering of his jowls revealing the tension within.
'I'm sorry if I've interrupted,' Elizabeth said awkwardly.
'Mr Landless was just about to leave, I think,' Stamper cut in from his guard post beside the radiator.
‘I am sorry,' Elizabeth repeated.
'Don't worry,' replied Landless, eyes still on her husband. ‘I can't stay. I just learned of a funeral I have to attend.'
'Ben, seriously, if there's anything I can do . . .'
Landless offered no reply. He rose and buttoned his jacket purposefully, straightening his tie and drawing back his broad shoulders before striding out to face the cameras.
* * *
‘I won't hear of it, David.'
It was ludicrous. Mycroft was in turmoil; there were so many unformed doubts, half-fears which he could not or dared not realize, which he needed to talk through with the King, for both their sakes. Yet he was reduced to snatching a few words along with mouthfuls of chlorinated water as they ploughed through the waves of the Palace swimming pool. The King's only concession to the interruption in his daily exercise schedule was to switch from the crawl to the breaststroke, enabling Mycroft more easily to match his pace. It was his rigid discipline that enabled the King to maintain his excellent physical shape, and kept all those who served him struggling to keep up.
The King was a fierce defender of the forms of marriage - it came with the job, he would say - and Mycroft had felt it necessary to make the offer. 'It's for the best. Sir,' he persisted. ‘I can't afford to let you become embroiled in my personal difficulties. I need some time to sort myself out. Better for all of us if I resign.'
‘I disagree.' The King spat out a mouthful of water, finally resolving to finish the conversation on dry land, and headed for the marbled poolside. 'We've been friends since university and I'm not going to throw away the last thirty years simply because some reptilian gossip columnist might hear of your private problems. I'm surprised you should think I would consider it.' He ducked his shiny head one last time beneath the water as he reached for the steps. 'You're part of the management board of this firm, and that's how it's going to stay.'
Mycroft shook his head like a dog, trying to clear his vision. It wasn't just the marriage, of course, it was all the other pressures he felt crowding in on him which made him feel so apprehensive and wretched. If he couldn't be completely honest even with himself, how could he expect the King to understand? But he had to try.
'Suddenly everything looks different. The house. The street. My friends. Even I look different, to myself. It's as if my marriage was a lens which gave the world a particular perspective over all these years, and now that it's gone nothing seems quite the same. It's a little frightening . . .'
'I'm sorry, truly, about Fiona. After all, I'm godfather to your eldest, I'm involved.' The King reached for his towel. 'But, dammit, women have their own extraordinary ways and I can't profess to understand them. What I do know, David, is that it would make no sense for you to try to get through your problems on your own, to cut yourself off not only from your marriage but also from what you have here.' He placed a hand on Mycroft's dripping shoulder. The contact was very close, his voice concerned. 'You understand me, David, you always have. I am known by the whole world yet understood by so few. You do, you understand. I need you. I will not allow you to resign.'
Mycroft stared into his friend's angular face. He found himself thinking the King's
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