Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Fifteen

‘SIR ANTHONY RESIGNS’ said the Daily Mail. ‘GRAINGER ILL’ said The Telegraph. ‘PM LOSES CLOSEST ALLY’ said The Times.

Lady Olivia Grainger looked across the breakfast table at her husband. ‘You must eat something, darling.’

Sir Anthony looked gaunt and pale. His usual upbeat demeaner gone. There was a deep frown across his forehead as he read The Times editorial. ‘Just tea this morning, Livvie.’

‘The PM said there was no need for you to resign, darling. No one blames you for what happened.’

He folded the newspaper and dropped it on the floor. ‘No one?’

‘Please, Anthony, eat something.’

He stood up from the table and went to the window. There were still over a dozen reporters and cameramen out in the street. The young police officer just managing to keep them away from the steps in front of the elegant building.

As he looked out she heard him sigh. ‘I’ve been tired of late, Livvie, and thinking of leaving government for some time. This has just been the catalyst, darling. And hardly my finest hour.’

‘For God sake, Anthony, any man would have done the same with their families at risk.’

‘That’s what the PM said.’

‘Well then, why on earth…’

He turned and raised his hand slightly, stopping her in mid-sentence. ‘It’s alright, Olivia. Really, it’s all right.’

‘I’m worried about you, Anthony. You really will make yourself ill’.

He looked at his wife. ‘Well then what’s in the papers will be true.’

‘Darling I…’

‘Please, Olivia, just let it go. Everything is going to be fine.’

He took out the pocket watch from his waistcoat. ‘My car will be here shortly.’

‘Have him come around to the mews entrance. You don’t need to face those people at the front.’

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry, my darling, I’ll be fine.’

He took the jacket from the back of the chair and slipped it on. Turning to the big Ormolu mirror he adjusted his tie and waistcoat. ‘How do I look?’ he said with a smile.

Lady Grainger stood and put her arms around him. She held on for several seconds, then looked up into his eyes. ‘I love you, my darling.’

‘I love you too, Livvie.’

In the hallway he picked up his briefcase and went to the door. He stood for several seconds and then took a deep breath. As the door opened the pack of reporters rushed the steps, pushing aside the young constable. Grainger put his shoulders back and waited until Gary, and his driver forced their way through the mob of yelling journalists. With little regard for the news people the two burly security officers manoeuvred their charge through the clamouring mob and into the waiting Jaguar.

As the big car pulled away from the house Grainger said, ‘Thank you gentlemen and good morning.’

‘Morning, sir,’ said the driver over his shoulder.

Gary turned and smiled. ‘Good morning, Sir Anthony. Last day then, sir?’

Grainger looked out the window and across Green Park. ‘Afraid so, Gary, last day indeed.’

The security officer turned again, the smile gone. ‘I wish you’d let me come to Faslane with you, sir.’