‘Thank you, Steven,’ said the PM. ‘Ben, you’ve made this request before. I fully support Steven’s operational judgement and I don’t believe our citizens are made safer by filling the streets with soldiers. I think it’s vital that we send a message that it is business as normal.’ A couple of junior ministers muttered agreement.

‘With all due respect, Prime Minister,’ said Thomas deliberately, displaying anything but respect, ‘I’m afraid I cannot disagree more fully. I can see why Steven is squeamish about tightening up armed security on the street – after all, the Isobel Harris inquiry wounds are still very deep.’ He smiled patronisingly. ‘But I’m not sure why you…’

‘Your views are noted, Home Secretary.’ The PM cut him off.

The Deputy Prime Minister interjected. ‘Back to the job in hand, if I may? Are you speaking to his family? And are you looking for his computer equipment?’

Well, thought Tennant, that wins the ‘No Shit Sherlock’ prize for the most inane question of the meeting.

‘We are doing everything we can, Deputy Prime Minister,’ he said politely.

#

Cabinet Office, Whitehall

As COBRA ended and the civil servants, security experts and politicians filed out, Ben Thomas sidled up to Lesley Hogarth.

‘Time for that coffee now, Lesley? Upstairs in the cafe?’

Hogarth smiled. ‘Perfect, Ben. I’ll need to pick up my spad on the way.’

The pair walked through the security pod into the lobby. Nina O’Brien, her special political adviser, or spad as the job was known, was sat in the lobby outside the COBRA suite dressed in a beige jacket which, with her red-dyed hair, made her stand out among the throng of black suits scuttling past her, like a jay among blackbirds.

The three walked through four double doors and into a coffee bar in the basement of the Cabinet Office. Hogarth and O’Brien sat next to a window, bathed in the rays dragged down into the depths of the building by the skylight above, while Thomas fetched the coffees.

O’Brien was one of those women who exude invisible beams of reassurance. Hogarth had noticed this the first day they’d met at the People’s Party fundraiser four years ago. Even then she’d been impressed not just by O’Brien’s intelligence but by the way she handled people. Within four days Hogarth joined the People’s Party and within four months O’Brien had persuaded her to stand for leader. Her nickname in the party HQ was O’Brains. But never to her face.

The People’s Party had been in existence less than five years and for most of that time, its influence had been minuscule. But in the last two years, since Hogarth had become leader, it had seen extraordinary growth in popularity and it had transformed the political landscape. Hogarth knew much of that surge was down to her easy charm. She had risen to prominence as an iconoclast newspaper columnist and occasional chat show guest, who spoke for the ordinary folk. She liked a pub and a pint. She came from Immingham. She rode a motorbike. And she had a public disdain for the Westminster elite, despite the fact that she was now part of it. The contradiction didn’t lose her sleep.