Landless's fist closed tight. 'Because they're there, Francis. Because they're there.' He chuckled. 'Talking of which, I have good news of Sally.' Urquhart could only raise mournful eyes in enquiry. 'She's pregnant.' 'Not by me!' Urquhart gasped.
'No, not by you.' The voice, which had patronized, now sneered. 'Seems you're not man enough for anything.'
So he knew about that, too. Urquhart turned away from his antagonist, trying to hide the humiliation, but Landless was in full pursuit.
'She's played you for the fool you are, Frankie. In politics, and in bed – or wherever it was. You shouldn't have used her. All that brains and beauty, and you threw it away.'
Urquhart was shaking his head, like a dog trying to rid itself of an unwanted collar.
'She's got new business, new clients, new capital. And a new man. It's a different life for her, Frankie. And being pregnant, too… well, you know what women are like about things like that. Or rather you don't, but take it from me. She's an exceptional and very happy lady.' 'Who? Who did she…?' He seemed unable to finish.
'Who did she prefer to you?' Landless chuckled. 'You idiot. You still can't see it, can you.'
Urquhart's whole body had shrunk, his shoulders sagged and his mouth gaped open. He couldn't, wouldn't, take it in.
A look of triumph suffused the publisher's rubbery face. 'I've beat you at everything, Frankie. Even with Sally.'
Urquhart had an overwhelming, primal desire to crawl away, to find a dark place, any place, to bury his humiliation as quickly and as deeply as he could manage, but he couldn't depart, not yet. There was one more thing he had to do first. A final chance, perhaps, to buy a little time. He made an attempt at straightening his shoulders and walked stiffly across the room until he was facing the King's back. His face was contorted with the effort and he drew a deep, gulping breath. 'Sir, I have changed my mind. I withdraw my request for a dissolution.'
The King spun round on his heel, like an officer on parade. 'Oh, do you, Prime Minister? Damned difficult that, I've already set the wheels in motion, you see. Prime Minister's right to demand an election, of course, the Constitution's clear about that. Can't for the life of me remember the bit where it says he's allowed to call one off. Anyway, I'm the one who dissolves Parliament and signs the Royal Proclamation, and that's just what I'm going to do. If you find my actions objectionable on constitutional or personal grounds, I'm sure I can rely on your vote during the abdication debate.'
'I shall withdraw my proposals for constitutional reform,' Urquhart uttered in exhaustion. 'If necessary, I shall make a public apology for any… misunderstanding.'
'Decent of you to offer, Urquhart. Saves me and Mr Landless here insisting on it. I would like the apology made when you introduce the Abdication Bill.' 'But there's no need. You win. We can turn the clock back…'
'You still don't understand, do you? I am going to abdicate, whether you want that or not. I am not the right man for this task I was born to, I don't have the self-restraint required of a King. I've come to terms with that. My abdication will protect the Crown and all it stands for much more effectively than if I try to muddle my impatient way through the murky constitutional waters. My son has already been sent for and the regency papers are being drawn up. He is more patient than I, younger, more flexible. He will have a better chance of growing into the great King I shall never be.' He prodded his own chest. 'It's the best thing for me, the man.' The finger turned on Urquhart. 'And it is also the best damned way I can devise of destroying you and everything you stand for.' Urquhart's lip trembled. 'You used to be an idealist.' 'And you, Mr Urquhart, used to be a politician.'
EPILOGUE
There was a knock on the front door, a soft, tentative sort of rapping. Kenny put down his book and went to answer it. The door opened and there, on the darkened doorstep, wrapped in a new overcoat against the blustery rain, stood Mycroft.
Mycroft had prepared his explanations and apologies carefully. With the announcement of the abdication and election, things had changed. The press had new fish to gut and fry and would leave them alone, if Kenny could understand. And forgive. But as he looked up at the other man he could see the pain deep within the startled eyes, and his words deserted him.
They stood facing each other, each afraid of what the other might say, not wanting to expose once again the scarcely healed wounds. It seemed to Mycroft several lifetimes before Kenny finally spoke.
'Are you going to stand out there all sodding night, David? The bears' tea will be getting cold.'