‘I’m with you, Prime Minister – sorry, Derek. We’re a nation of moderates, and whatever the polls say, when the chips are down, we don’t like extremists. I say, stand your ground. Besides, everyone knows that the right message at a time like this is one of unity – the very opposite of what he’s trying to promote.’

Farmer gave an almost inaudible grunt of reproach.

Garvey glanced at her watch. ‘We need to cover security arrangements for Friday.’

The prime minister was clearly glad of a reason to get shot of Farmer. ‘Sorry, Derek, let’s pick this up later.’

Farmer gathered up his papers and got to his feet. ‘So you’ll give it some thought? Only we’re inundated by press enquiries about where you stand . . .’

Garvey knew this was a bridge too far. When the PM flipped he turned an alarming heart-attack red, reminding her of an angry tomato.

‘I’m not going to be pushed around by some Oswald Mosley wannabe with delusions of grandeur. Make it go away, Derek. Do your job.’

Farmer collected up his papers and shuffled out of the room. The PM shook his head as the door closed. ‘He may be right. A handshake would probably suffice. He can be invited to some low-level do or other and they can get their picture – but I’m buggered if I’m going to give him a personal audience. You know, they’ve got the same problem in the US, the rising tide of bigotry. The President and I compared notes.’

There was a wistful look in the PM’s eye, as if he was remembering a romantic weekend, before he’d had to come home to his wife.

‘Yes, and on that note, I really must give you a run-down on the security for the summit.’

The PM groaned. ‘Must you, Sarah? I’m sure you’ve got it marvellously under control.’

What was wrong with the man? He was hopeless on detail. Besides, she was going to tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not. Then if anything went wrong, God forbid, he couldn’t say she’d kept him out of the loop.

‘Basically there’ll be a total exclusion zone around Number Ten and Whitehall for the whole day. All the roads will be closed around the ambassador’s residence in Regent’s Park for his motorcade, or if he’s delayed he can helicopter in from Stansted, once they’ve parked Air Force One, and land in St James’s Park. Any hiccup at all, we have the place secure. Every pedestrian within a mile will be stopped and, if necessary, searched. The police have authorization to turn away anyone they don’t like the look of. We will also be closing Westminster, Charing Cross and Victoria tube stations and rerouting the buses. The only press invited will be ours and theirs, staff only, no freelances.’