To Play the King

'A pity to spoil business with so much pleasure, don't you think, Signor Mondelli?'

The Italian rubbed life back into his buttocks and thighs. 'When God was giving out 'is gifts, Prime Minister, 'e was a little short on musical appreciation when it came to my turn.' His English was proficient, his pronunciation slow and distinctly Soho bistro.

'Then let us make sure we use the interval well before we get drenched in another dose of culture. Straight to it. How can I help you?'

The Italian nodded in gratitude. 'As I think Mr Stamper 'as told you, I am proud to be one of my country's leading manufacturers of environmentally friendly products. To 'alf of Europe I am Mr Green. I employ tens of thousands of people, 'ole communities depend upon my business. A big research institute in Bologna named after me…'

'Very commendable.' Urquhart recognized the Latin exaggeration. Mondelli ran a company which, though significant by Italian standards, was not in the same league as the far more powerful multinationals.

'But now, now it is all threatened. Your Excellence. Bureaucrats who understand nothing about business, about life. They terrorize everything I 'ave built.' Champagne washed over the side of his glass and spilt as the passion built in his voice. 'Those foolish bambini at the European Community and their draft regulations. You know, in two years' time they wish to change the 'ole way we dispose of chemical waste.' 'Why does that concern you?'

'Mr Akat…' He made it sound as if he were clearing his throat. 'These are the chemicals I spend my life taking out of my products. What you wrap your food in, wash in, dress in, the paper you write on. I make them environmentally friendly by taking the wretched…' – he gesticulated with his stubby fingers and screwed up his face as if performing on the stage – 'wretched chemicals out of them. What the 'ell am 1 supposed to do with them now? Governments, you run your nuclear power stations and you bury all your nuclear waste, but that's not good enough for businessmen. We shall no longer be allowed to bury the by-products, or simply burn them, or dispose of them deep in the ocean. Those bastardi in Brussels even want to stop me exporting them to store in the deserts of the Third World, no matter that the people of those countries are starving and are in desperate need for the income. Africans will starve, Italians will starve, my family will starve. It is madness!' He took a huge draught of champagne, emptying the glass.

'Forgive me, Signor Mondelli, but aren't all your competitors in the same position?'

'My competitors are mainly German. They 'ave the Deutsch-marks for such 'uge investments to dispose of the chemicals 'ow the bureaucrats want. I do not. It is a conspiracy by the Germans to force the competition out of business.' 'So why come to me? Why not your own Government?'

'Oh, Mr Akat, do you not know Italian politics? My Government will not 'elp because they 'ave done a deal with the Germans over the wine lake. Italian farmers to carry on producing subsidized wine which nobody wants, in exchange for the new regulations on chemical dumping. There are three 'undred thousand Italian wine producers and only one Mondelli. You are a politician, you know 'ow such numbers add up.'

Mondelli refrained from adding that he had complicated matters notoriously by running off with a young television actress from Naples while still married to the sister of the Italian Minister of Finance. He was now greeted in Rome with as much warmth as a coachload of English soccer fans.

'Very sad, Signor Mondelli, I feel for you. But surely this is an Italian matter.'

'It is a European matter, Signor Akat. The bureaucrats act in the name of Europe. They overstretch themselves. And you and the British are well known for being the best and most strong opponents of interfering bureaucrats in Brussels. So I ask you, for consideration. For 'elp. Stop the directive. The Environment Commissioner in Brussels. 'E is English. Your friend, eh?' 'You might say that…'

'A nice man – a little weak, perhaps. Too easily led astray by 'is officials. But nice.' 'You might say that, too…' 'I understand 'e wishes you to reappoint 'im when 'is term of office expires. 'E will listen to you.' It was true, of course, every word.

'You might conclude that, Signor Mondelli, but I couldn't possibly comment.' 'Prime Minister, I could not describe 'ow grateful 1 would be.'

This was not accurate. Urquhart knew from his Party Chairman that Mondelli had described precisely how grateful he wished to be. He had suggested one hundred thousand pounds, paid to party funds. 'In recognition of a great internationalist', as he had put it. Stamper had thought himself very skilful in bringing such a prize to the party; Urquhart was about to disillusion him. 'I'm afraid I cannot help you, Signor Mondelli.'

'Ah, your British sense of 'umour.' He did not sound as if he appreciated it.

Urquhart's expression suggested he'd been weaned on pickles. 'Your personal problems are really something for the Italian authorities to sort out. You must understand that.' 'I will be ruined…' 'A great pity.'

'But I thought…' The Italian threw a beseeching look at Stamper, who shrugged his shoulders. 'I thought you could 'elp me.'

'I cannot help you, Signor Mondelli, not as an Italian citizen. Not directly.'

Mondelli was tearing at his black tie and his eyes seemed to bulge still further in consternation.

'However, in the serious circumstances perhaps I can share something with you. The British Government, too, is unenthusiastic about the Brussels proposals. In our own interest, you understand. If it were left entirely up to me, I would veto the whole scheme.' The orchestra were beginning to reassemble in the pit, and a buzz of expectation began to rise around the opera house.

'Unfortunately,' Urquhart continued, 'this is one of but a number of issues we have to negotiate with our European partners and with the Commissioners, even the British ones. There will be give and take. And we have so many distractions on the home front. Times are likely to get tough, very distracting.'

'My entire business is at stake, Prime Minister. Either the regulations go under, or I do.' 'As serious as that?' 'Yes!' 'Well, it would be a happy coincidence if my Government's interests were to coincide with your own.' 'I would be so grateful…'

'If I were in your position, Signor Mondelli, facing ruin…' – he paused to sniff the air, like a prowling wolf – 'I think I should be ten-fold grateful.'

Urquhart gave a perfunctory laugh to suggest light-heartedness, but the Italian had understood. Urquhart had led him to the edge of the cliff and made him peer over; now he offered a lifeline. Mondelli stopped to consider for a few moments, and when he spoke there was no alarm left in his voice. They were no longer talking lifeline, but business. The sum represented around two per cent of his annual profit – significant, but affordable. And his accountants might find a way to write it off against tax as an overseas investment. He nodded his head slowly.

'As you say, Signor Akat, I would indeed be grateful. Tenfold.' Urquhart appeared not to have heard, as if he were pursuing his own idea quite separately from the Italian. 'You know, it's about time we had another shot at putting Brussels back in its box. 1 think this might be just the issue to do it on. There are several British companies who would suffer…' 'I would like to 'elp your campaigning activities.'

'Oh, really? Talk to Stamper, he's the man. Nothing to do with me.'

'I 'ave already told 'im that I think you are a great internationalist.' 'Most kind. It really has been a splendid evening.'

'Yes. But I am not a great lover of opera, Prime Minister.' He was massaging his thighs again. 'You would excuse me if I did not stay for the second 'alf?' 'But Stamper here has paid for the tickets…'

' 'E 'as paid for the tickets, but I believe I 'ave paid for my freedom.' The bow tie hung limply down his chest. 'Then goodnight to you, Signor Mondelli. It has been a pleasure.'