Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [31]
It was then, however, that Matthew Hatch made the first big mistake of his life. He picked the wrong side. The losing side. It took Hatch five years of grovelling and the dedicated support of the back benches, but at the previous election he had been given what he had always craved: a safe government constituency, and a job in the Cabinet.
„Pleased to see you, Matthew,‟ the Prime Minister had said, standing as Hatch entered his office with a handsome smile.
„Prime Minister,‟ said Hatch respectfully as they shook hands.
They sat, and talked about the election, and the implementation of manifesto commitments.
„There is a feeling in the party, is there not, that you can‟t entirely be trusted?‟ the Prime Minister had said suddenly.
„That there is something of the night about you.‟
„I think that‟s a little harsh,‟ countered Hatch. He‟d had this discussion many times on doorsteps and in television studios. „I felt strongly I had to follow my convictions when it would, perhaps, have been easier to have remained silent.‟
„Of course,‟ the Prime Minister had noted. „A new beginning. I share your hopes, Matthew. That is why I fought to have you in the parliamentary party when others would have cast you to the wolves. But I admired your stand. We believe
in
similar
things.
Education.
Opportunity.
Community Spirit. Choice. We‟re two of a kind...‟
„Indeed.‟ And, in that moment, Matthew Hatch knew that he had achieved everything.
„How do you feel about defence?‟ the Prime Minister had asked.
Hatch had smiled, nodding slowly. „I have always been interested in defence...‟
Hatch shook the memories from his head as he made his way into the school‟s plush reception area.
Hatch had rather enjoyed his time here. He was King of the World inside these walls, a modern-day Flashman. He didn‟t bully people - he got others, chiefly Phil Burridge, to do that -
and the teachers were in awe of him. Some were plain terrified.
„Morning, cousin Matthew,‟ came a woman‟s voice, and Hatch turned to find himself looking at a girl in her early twenties in a bright summer dress.
„Which one are you?‟ he asked with a handsome-devil smile, and she tittered coyly behind her hand.
„Belinda.‟
„Ah, Josie and Michael‟s girl.‟ Hatch nodded. Like most of this village, she was distantly related to him. It took a bewildering form of mental dexterity to keep tabs on the entire family tree, but it did make business easier. Trevor Winstone, for instance, wasn‟t just his business partner, but was also his second (or was it third?) cousin. And, in Hexen Bridge, business and family most certainly mixed.
Matthew engaged in pointless small talk with Belinda for a few moments, then made his excuses and headed for the library in the west wing. The coolness of the room was in sharp contrast to the atmosphere outside. Hatch found himself alone in the echoing circular chamber. He headed towards the section devoted to nineteenth-century history, and removed the copy of The Peninsular War and Its Causes from the top shelf, depressing a hidden button set into the case.
The tunnel behind the bookcase was narrow, and Hatch had to stoop to prevent his head banging on the wooden ceiling. After twenty yards the floor beneath him gave way to four stone steps cut into rock the colour of bleached bones, the tunnel widening as it continued downward. Despite the gloom, Hatch could see the rough footprints beneath his feet.
Ever since he had first come to this place, as a fourteen-year-old, he had been aware of following his ancestors.
Then came the still incongruous sight of an ornate, seventeenth-century, gold-trimmed mirror set in the rough rock. Hatch stood before it. He remembered the terror he had felt when he had faced his own reflection in this place as a boy.
„„Tis I,‟ he said, his voice no longer Oxford-and-London English, but rich and filled with West Country inflection.
„Where art thou?‟
In the mirror, Hatch‟s reflection had gone, replaced by swirling mist, from out of which stepped a tall figure in the rough clothing of long-dead