London Calling - James Craig [61]
Carlyle felt a familiar vibrating feeling against his chest, and pulled out his phone. Seeing that it was Joe, he hit the receive button.
‘How’s it going?’
‘There’s not a lot to report, boss,’ Joe replied. From the sounds in the background, he had either gone home already or he was watching the Cartoon Channel in the office. ‘Did you speak to Simpson?’
‘Still waiting. Anything new in the media?’
‘No, it’s all gone quiet.’
‘Good. I’ll give you a call right after the meeting.’
‘OK.’
‘Give my best to Anita and the kids.’ Carlyle ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket. Lucky sod, he thought. I wish I was at home, too.
Of course, neither brother has ever worked in the real world, moving seamlessly from Cambridge to safe seats, one in London, one in the country, after a few years spent travelling and setting up their respective families. At that time, Edgar spent a year at the Society for Freedom, Progress and Innovation, currently the party’s favourite policy think-tank. Colleagues at the time have suggested that he was a stranger to the concept of a five-day working week, but he still managed to be credited as the co-author of a pamphlet called ‘Heading South: The case for internal migration in the UK’, which argued that northern cities like Liverpool and Newcastle have ‘lost much of their raison d’être’, their private sector economy and their ability to generate wealth. It argued that the citizens in such godforsaken places should head south to places like Oxford and Cambridge, offering better job prospects. Needless to say, this paper caused a storm of protest. The idea has now been disowned and it is not expected to appear in the party’s election manifesto.
His phone went again. This time it was a text from Helen: We’ve eaten, so you’re on your own for tea. x
Carlyle ignored his rumbling stomach and focused on finishing off the article.
With the election looming, it seems that nothing can stop Edgar and Xavier Carlton from realising their political ambitions. According to a former colleague: ‘There was never any doubt that they were ultimately going to run the country.’ A bold statement, but an accurate one. If there ever was any doubt before, there isn’t now.
He closed the magazine and let his gaze lose focus. Nothing he had read made him feel any happier. What the hell was he going to do with these people? The Carltons wouldn’t want to be seen anywhere near his case, even if it turned out that they were right in the middle of it. People like that didn’t get to where they were by worrying about little things like a murder enquiry. At best, they would ignore him. At worst …? Well, who knew?
It was the ultimate no-win situation.
Having been made to wait for more than an hour, it was almost 7.45 p.m. when he was finally invited to enter Simpson’s office. The assistant had put her coat on and was ready to leave. This time round, she did not grace him with a smile, merely pointing in the general direction of her boss, while grabbing her bag and heading in the opposite direction.
As he walked through the door, he realised that he had never been inside this particular office before. However, if he had been looking for clues as to the content of her character, he would have been sorely disappointed. Aside from the furniture, it was spectacularly bare save for a photograph of a middle-aged man who Carlyle assumed was her husband. Sitting at her desk, scribbling some notes on a pad, she gestured him to sit with a curt wave of the hand, without even looking up. Prim, proper and poised, Carlyle thought she had the air of someone who had already done a full day’s work, thank you very much, and now had a top-notch dinner party to go to, offering