They huddled quietly in the living room of Georgia’s flat at Number 11: Georgia, Heaton, and Burnlee. She was adamant that the call for a vote on this referendum had to wait. It was too damn soon, and things were in too precarious a state. She had put her foot down, called them over this late on a Saturday night to let them know she wasn’t in any place or shape to be pushed on this.
“We are not in the clear here. You both need to understand that. This has become a leviathan, a landmass of its own that we’re heading straight toward at a reckless speed. I’m begging you here. Not for us, not for our necks, but for the sake of country. This is a disaster. It could tear things apart at the fabric. I don’t need to spell this all out to you two.”
“What is it that’s got you so rattled, Georgia?” Heaton had his cool and calm voice on. He was trying to remain as unruffled as he could, hoping to make her see that her agitation was unfounded. “The way I see it, things are fine. Loose ends have been tied down. Roland is healing nicely, happy in his hospital bed and planning to go home to Belgravia in a week or so. The country’s moved on. A sudden referendum could be the sideshow it needs—a new story for the papers to lead with.”
“People suspect. We’re being watched. I have to warn you.” She addressed Burnlee now, hoping for some seasoned sanity to flow. He was quietly listening, assessing as usual. “We can’t thunder through, not now.”
Heaton pressed back. “Who suspects, Georgia? Who has you rattled?”
“I think Darling knows. At least he suspects that I’m somehow involved. He probably assumes you are as well, David. I’m not sure who else he thinks may be on board.”
Heaton rose, walked to the front window, looked out across Downing Street, over the low floating fog to the Treasury. He turned back when he was sure it was time to turn the screws.
“How about your lover? Does Inspector Steel know? Is that why Darling ‘suspects’?”
Georgia’s face deflated, her breath tucked in.
“Oh come on, Georgia, you think it’s a big secret? Half of Whitehall knows you’re eating this little thing’s pussy.” Georgia’s eyes flared at him with a dark intensity. “If you haven’t yet, you’re dead set on doing it.”
Georgia turned away now, no longer able to look him in the eye.
“Come down off it. You’re the prime minister, for damn sakes. Nothing you do isn’t good for a tongue rattle.”
Burnlee averted his gaze, not enjoying this bit, in directly inverse proportion as to how much Heaton was loving it.
“Is she our problem?… Is she our problem? Because if you say yes, then I swear to you, Georgia, we’re all going to hell in a handbag unless we fix it.”
Georgia still hadn’t answered the accusations. She hadn’t said a word. She was embarrassed and enraged, on the verge of an implosion. She fought with all she had not to break into tears. It would be all too perfect for Heaton if she were to start crying, like dealing him a fourth ace, so she said nothing, her head bent low, like a schoolgirl who had been caught cheating on a test.
“You are in as much deep water as we are, Georgia, no less. If you think you’re somehow closer to the shore, then you’re sadly mistaken. You know the course, and you will goddamn stay it! I won’t be back here again and hammer out this same rotted dialogue for the fifth time. Do you hear me? You push me and I will have this house tumble down with a sex scandal the likes of which has never been seen.”
She wanted to bark back, tell him off, tell them both off, but to what end? What could she say? What kind of bite did she really have to deliver? She was weary. She just wanted to go to bed. She didn’t want a slug-out now with Heaton. She still needed a plan to come together in her mind, something concrete, something to growl back at him when he attacked her.
She needed sleep. She needed pills.
“Fine, David.… Okay. Yes. Yes. We’ll do it your way.”
* * *
SHE WAS DEEP asleep, in her bedroom. She had the strangest dream: Jack Early was there. He led her up from and out of her bed. There was another man; she didn’t know him. He was bald, with a goatee. It was all so odd. Early took her nightgown off and helped her step into a business suit. It was strange to be naked in front of Jack and a stranger like this, but she didn’t mind. The other man just watched. She smiled at him in a groggy stupor. She kept telling Jack she needed to go back to sleep.
She woke up suddenly. Seated at her desk downstairs at Number 10. Jack Early was across from her. He was, it seemed, in the middle of taking notes for correspondence, staring at her. Her vision was blurred. She waited for things to come into view.
“Are you okay, ma’am? Can I get you anything?” She was startled. It had happened again—another jump cut. This time the dream seemed so real. She was sleeping in her bed, then Jack was dressing her, and now, here she was, at her desk in the course of the workday. She had fallen asleep by the look on Jack’s face in the middle of writing a note. She was embarrassed and shocked, sadly bewildered. This was getting worse, not better. Was she losing her mind?
“Should we go on, ma’am?”
“Go on with what? What were we doing?”
“You were writing a letter.”
“I was? To whom?”
“To the press. Telling them what had happened with the bombing. How it had all gone down. Setting the record straight.”
“Setting the record straight?… I was writing a letter?”
“Yes, ma’am, you were going to write out the whole truth.”