The call came on a Saturday afternoon, just after four o’clock. It quickly became clear that the Sunday People had an exclusive, although Giles accepted that by midnight most editors would be resetting their front pages.

“I assume you’ve seen the photographs we have in our possession, minister?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Do you wish to make a statement?”

“No, I do not.”

“Will you be resigning from the government?”

“No comment.”

“How has your wife reacted to the news? We understand she’s gone to stay with her parents in Wales.”

“No comment.”

“Is it true you’re getting divorced?”

Giles slammed down the phone. He couldn’t stop shaking as he looked up the chief whip’s home number.

“Bob, it’s Giles. The story will break in tomorrow’s Sunday People.”

“I’m so sorry, Giles. For what it’s worth, you were a damned good minister and will be sorely missed.”

Giles put down the phone, only one word ringing in his ears—were. You were a damned good minister. He took a sheet of House of Commons paper from the letter rack in front of him and began to write.

Dear Prime Minister,

It is with great regret …

*   *   *

Giles entered the Privy Council office on Whitehall so he could avoid the scrum of Fleet Street hacks waiting for him in Downing Street, or at least those who didn’t know about the back door entrance to No.10.

One of the memories he would regale his grandchildren with was that as he entered the Cabinet room, Harold Wilson was trying unsuccessfully to relight his briar pipe.

“Giles, good of you to drop in, considering what you must be going through. But believe me, and I speak with some experience in these matters, it will blow over.”

“Possibly, prime minister. But it’s still the end of my career as a serious politician, which is the only job I’ve ever really wanted to do.”

“I’m not sure I agree with you,” said Wilson. “Just think about it for a moment. If you were to hold on to Bristol Docklands at the next election, and I’m still convinced you can, the electorate would have expressed their views in the ballot box, and who am I to disagree with their judgement? And if I’m back in Downing Street, I wouldn’t hesitate to ask you to rejoin the Cabinet.”

“Two ifs, prime minister.”

“You help me with one, Giles, and I’ll see what I can do about the other.”

“But, prime minister, after those headlines…”