The Complete Short Stories: The 1960s. Brian Aldiss

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      A cold hand with ill-manicured nails wrapped itself round Lady Elizabeth’s heart. She sat down on the chaise-longue. Her coffee stared coolly up at her.

      ‘What remark?’ she managed to ask.

      ‘Sir Herbert said – and Your Ladyship must realise I quote from memory – that after prolonged consideration he had concluded that President Molochev was a disagreeable sight that should be abolished.’

      She made an inarticulate noise in her throat.

      ‘Not, one must admit, the year’s most tactful political utterance,’ Rupert said. ‘As I say, it seems in the present inflamed state of world affairs that it may precipitate hostilities, unless speedily retracted or ameliorated. I would like to ask Sir Herbert if we should offer the Russians a complete denial. Would you, Lady Elizabeth, in view of the emergency, detach him from the embrace of the TUC?’

      Lady Elizabeth sat back, pale with horror. Clearly before her mind’s eye floated the typescript pages of the speech she had prepared for the Guildhall. Page five, dealing with the Berlin question, had had the PM saying that after prolonged consideration he had concluded that President Molochev had historical logic but not contemporary logic on his side in his demand for an East German peace treaty. Such little meaning as this statement possessed had then been obliterated in succeeding paragraphs, into which, by the bottom of the page, a reference to the statues Buster and Nikko and that the two figures confronting each other formed – and here one turned to page seven – a disagreeable sight that should be abolished.

      Beyond a doubt, Lady Elizabeth know what had happened. In the jocular hurly-burly of Guildhall wine and food, Sir Herbert had dropped page six, and read on without noticing the omission.

      ‘Lady Elizabeth, could you get him?’

      The tinny voice of Rupert recalled her.

      ‘Just a minute,’ she said.

      Limply she rose and went to fetch her husband. As she passed the hideous daguerreotype of Gladstone, she heard singing – singing at 10 Downing Street! – but Lady Elizabeth was beyond surprise. Opening with his arms round his two supporters. Their hats were on their heads at a rakish angle, and with verve they executed a few lively unison steps to their own version of ‘Rule, Britannia!’

      Not only that. The Foreign and Home Secretaries were conducting the trio, singing heartily with them as they did so.

       Rule, Britannia, two tanners make a bob;

       Three make one and six, and four two bob.

       No Common Market shall rule the Common Man

       While two bob buys us booze throughout the lan’ –

       I don’t mean maybe –

       Buys us booze throughout the la-a-a-a-n’.

      They went smartly into a reprise; no attention was paid to Lady Elizabeth, beyond a suggestively raised eyebrow from Watts-Clinton. The PM sat feebly by the drinks cupboard, emitting an inconstant smile; here, thought Lady Elizabeth with a gush of sympathy, was a man who had had greatness thrust upon him. She beckoned and he came at once.

      ‘Strike’s off,’ he said, as they went into the corridor, closing the door behind them. ‘Do you know what Brotherhope said to me? “Between you and me, I’m more interested in the power than the glory.” Slipping polyannamine into the sherry did the trick.’

      ‘But Herbert, you’ve given it to Andaway and Watts-Clinton too!’

      ‘Couldn’t be helped – emergency. I had to pour the stuff into the decanter. Of course I refrained from drinking it myself. It’s a pity about Ralph, but after all he is happy; he’s got no worries, whereas we’ve got plenty.’

      ‘You don’t know how many, my dear.’

      ‘It occurred to me that by spraying polyannamine over London and other big cities, we could face the next election with equanimity; I instructed Miller accordingly. Has the fellow gone?’

      ‘Yes, and we are in trouble, Herbert. The British Embassy in Moscow is on the line.’ And she told him what had happened.

      ‘My God!’ he said. They were into the cosy room by now; the jazz version of ‘Rule, Britannia!’ was silenced as Lady Elizabeth closed the door. The PM sank down on the nearest chair and stared unseeingly at Lady Elizabeth’s coffee. ‘How absolutely ghastly! You know, now you mention it I recall thinking that something dropped just as I rose to make my speech. It must have been page six. It must have gone under the table.’

      ‘If only you’d read the speech through first!’

      ‘I didn’t have time.’

      ‘Didn’t you notice what you were saying?’

      He had his face in his hands. She saw, through his thinning grey hair, freckles on his skull.

      ‘You know how it is after a heavy lunch. … I just read in a stupor, I’m afraid – though I do remember everyone clapping and laughing unexpectedly. … Oh, my country!’

      Feeling only compassion, Lady Elizabeth patted his shoulders.

      ‘You’d better speak to Rupert Peters. All is not lost yet.’

      ‘How can I face anyone, after making such a fool of myself?’

      ‘Because it is your duty to,’ she said composedly to his bowed head. She picked up the phone from the side table.

      ‘Rupert, are you there? … Hello, Rupert? … Whitehall, I think we’re cut off. Oh, hello, Rupert; I thought we were cut off.’

      The young secretary’s voice had a new note of tension in it.

      ‘Lady Elizabeth, I’m afraid the situation is more desperate than we at first though. We’ve been cut off from the British Embassy in Moscow; that line is dead. The last word we had was that it was surrounded by an angry mob who were trying to break in. Meanwhile, the Kremlin has come through to us on another line. Is Sir Herbert there?’

      ‘He’s here and he will speak.’

      ‘Praise be. Tell him that I am in a position to switch him straight through to Zagravov, Molochev’s Deputy. The man is in a flaming temper and claims that Sir Herbert has committed an act of personal persiflage that is tantamount to a declaration of war. Impress on Sir Herbert that Zagravov will need very delicate handling.’

      ‘I understand.’

      Her face was pale as she turned to Sir Herbert. He had just finished draining her cold cup of coffee.

      ‘I feel a bit more cheerful for that,’ he said.

      ‘You have need to be.’ Gravely she told him what Rupert had said. The PM got up and paced the room as he listened. When she had finished, she added, ‘You’ll have to explain to Zagravov about page six as tactfully as possible.’

      To her astonishment, the PM СКАЧАТЬ