Chapter 59 Law
Lawrence agrees to meet me in the House of Commons, which is a rare treat. He put me off, or his PA did, until I told him it was a private matter that was potentially going to wreck his chance of being a cabinet minister. After that, I received an invitation within the hour.
When he meets me, rather than the taciturn, distant chap I’ve so disregarded at various evenings at Tor’s, I see the pompous, power-hungry politician, using his sweaty palms and smarmy words to get his way.
He tours me through the halls of Westminster with many a well-worn comic anecdote and becomes a little teary at the statue of Margaret Thatcher in the Members’ Lobby.
We sit together in the corner of what looks like a bar. It’s just past midday. Lawrence sips cognac, while I have English breakfast tea. The whole feel of the place is unmistakably male and privileged, and it puts my teeth on edge.
He asks about me, which is kind, and I flatter him with well-chosen words. I praise his recent statement on the radio about the government’s position on badgers.
‘You know, these walls have seen so much, and they never tell tales,’ he says. ‘But out there in this modern Babel, anything can be said and will be said. Our great country was built on reserve, and we need to return to some old-fashioned values.’
‘You sound so regal, Lawrence.’
‘Well, I’m the parliamentary under-secretary for rural affairs and Biosecurity.’
‘And soon will be staking your claim for a cabinet position, no doubt.’
‘I’ve always hoped for such an honour,’ he says, modestly picking his ear. ‘The Cabinet is awash with the over-promoted, or those appointed by positive bias. It needs balance, and people like me have been part of this country’s democratic process for decades.’
‘Hear, hear,’ I say, and sip my tea. ‘Rousing stuff.’
He nods, tells a sexist joke, guffaws loudly, leans forward and before I know it, his hand is on my knee.
‘I like you. I’ve always thought of you as the special one amongst Tor’s coterie. You’re . . . I don’t know, what is it?’ His face is so close to mine, I can almost taste the cognac.
‘Female?’ I suggest.
‘Oh, I don’t mind what you are, as long as you’re game,’ says Lawrence, and he squeezes my knee, then downs his drink. I reassure myself that it’s nothing personal, just a deeply ingrained disregard for other people’s personal space and integrity.
‘So, has Tor got herself into a muddle?’ he says, picking up a napkin and wiping his mouth.
‘A little, yes.’
‘Fucking around, is she? Excuse my French. I tell her to be careful, you know. What’s she done now?’ His face seems to freeze as he stares at me.
‘Got herself a toy boy.’
‘Well, she’s obsessed with anti-ageing products!’ Lawrence waves his jowls at me, pulls the two sides of his old-fashioned suit jacket together around his large middle, takes a sausage with his fingers and pushes it between his lips.
‘The problem is that the young man is blackmailing her,’ I say, trying to ignore the grease emerging from the crease at the side of Lawrence’s mouth.
‘The shit! Really, do these people have no morals?’
‘He secretly filmed their trysts,’ I say.
‘Oh God Tor, you silly ass!’ says Lawrence with loud laughter. ‘Is he a foreigner?’
‘He’s not.’
‘I thought he might be Russian for a moment.’
‘He’s quite establishment, actually. Harrow, Cambridge, civil service, then opportunist sexual blackmailer.’
‘Oh, well, Harrow, there’s your problem right there. Chip on his shoulder.’
‘He wants fifty thousand,’ I say, and give him a sympathetic expression.
‘Bloody hell, fifty? Will this money get rid of the problem? Such a thing could ruin my chances, you know?’ he says and looks really quite upset.
‘And that would be a great shame and a terrible loss for this country,’ I say.
‘Wouldn’t it?’ he says.
‘Tor doesn’t know I’m here, Lawrence. She’d be embarrassed if she knew I’d spoken to you.’
‘Of course. Once more, I’ll just have to bear the consequences of my wife’s indiscretion.’ He sighs. It’s comforting, like the sound of a wood pigeon in a copse.
‘I’ve been her go-between with this scurrilous individual,’ I say, smiling conspiratorially.
‘So you want money to pay him, is that it?’
‘Tor’s paid him already, actually, but the thing is, he wants another fifty thousand.’
‘Well, it’s cheaper than a divorce, I suppose. But why does he want paying twice?’ he says.
‘Oh, no, this is for another tape altogether,’ I say, and gently remove his hand from my thigh.
‘What do you mean?’ Lawrence doesn’t change his expression, but fear shows in his eyes.
‘There’s a tape of Zac Estall with a man wearing nothing but cowboy boots and a leather waistcoat, who looks the spitting image of you.’