LOCAL CONSERVATIVES TO DECIDE FATE OF MP. SEE LEADER, PAGE ELEVEN.

He turned to page eleven. He and the editor had always been on good terms, so he had rather hoped … but he didn’t get beyond the headline.

DO THE HONORABLE THING, MAJOR.

He tossed the paper aside and didn’t turn on the light as the sun disappeared behind the highest building.

The phone rang at twelve minutes past ten. He grabbed the receiver, and immediately recognized the voice of the local party chairman. “Good evening, Peter.”

“Good evening, major. I won’t beat about the bush. I’m sorry to say that the committee didn’t support you.”

“Was it close?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Maynard. “It was unanimous. So it might be wise for you to write a letter offering your resignation rather than waiting for the executive committee to formally deselect you. So much more civilized that way, don’t you think? I am sorry, Alex.”

No sooner had he put the phone down than it rang again. It was a reporter from the Post asking him if he wanted to comment on the unanimous decision to call for his resignation. He didn’t even bother to say “No comment” before slamming the phone back down.

In an alcoholic blur, he walked unsteadily through to his study, sat down and placed his head in his hands while he thought about the wording of the letter. He took a sheet of House of Commons paper from the letter rack and began to write. When he’d finished, he waited for the ink to dry before he folded it, sealed it in an envelope, and placed it on his desk.

He leaned down and opened the bottom drawer of his desk, took out his service revolver, put the muzzle in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.

Chapter 43

43

THE COURTROOM was packed, the two combatants ready. All that was needed was for the bell to ring so the first punch could be landed.

On one side of the ring sat Mr. Trelford, who was going over the order of his questions for the last time. Giles, Emma, and Seb sat behind him, talking quietly, making sure they didn’t disturb him.

Giles looked up as a police constable entered the courtroom, walked across to counsel’s bench and handed Mr. Trelford an envelope. The word URGENT was written below his name. Trelford opened it, extracted a letter, and read it slowly. Giles learned nothing from the expression on the barrister’s face, but he recognized the familiar green portcullis crest at the head of the paper.

Sir Edward sat alone with his client on the other side of the ring, delivering his final instructions. “Be calm, take your time before answering each question,” he whispered. “You’re not in a hurry. Face the jury, and never forget that they are the only people in the room who matter.”