Bertie and the Kinky Politician by Mike A Vickers Page B

so magnificent an intellect could manage to miss his lips with such astonishing regularity.
    â€˜Just have a nose around. Use the van, but I’m confident Captain Dull is incapable of harbouring anything damaging and since there are other more pressing demands on our services, I don’t want to waste too much energy in that direction.’ He nodded at a tiny data stick on his desk. ‘That’s the official record. I’ve added a few notes of my own at the back.’
    â€˜Sure.’ Pritchard was halfway through the door when Hugo called him back. ‘You might like to start in Greenwich.’
    â€˜Oh?’
    â€˜It’s all in the file.’
    James staggered into Angela’s office on gelatine legs. There was no doubt his overall state of mind could best be described as confused. She stared at him with a concerned expression on her face. ‘You OK?’
    â€˜Do I look OK?’
    â€˜No, can’t say as you do.’
    â€˜Then I’m not. Want to know what happened?’
    â€˜You got the sack.’
    â€˜Your frankness is refreshing, but entirely inaccurate. Try again.’
    â€˜Well, with the others gone, you must now be the Secretary of State.’
    James collapsed in a chair and smiled wryly. You had to get up early to beat Angela. Her analytical skills were faultless. ‘I note you’re using the exact same tone of disbelief as I did.’
    â€˜Mr Timbrill, may I be honest?’
    â€˜Go ahead, and for God’s sake call me James. I could do with talking to a person who has a grip on reality.’
    â€˜Why on earth did you accept? You’re not cut out for this kind of pressure.’
    â€˜I was given little choice.’ James paused, frowning as he recalled the interview. ‘Actually, I was given no choice at all. The PM expressed his complete confidence in me.’
    â€˜He would have to.’
    â€˜Thank you, Angela.’ James enjoyed her sarcasm and decided to tell her straight away. He had an embryonic plan forming in his head and wanted to hear her opinion. ‘Since I am now in charge, I’m going to do something no one has anticipated.’
    â€˜Invade Poland?’
    â€˜Sorry, but some painter with a major personality disorder beat me to it.’ He liked her spontaneous humour. ‘No, what I was going to say is that firstly, I want you to move with me.’
    There was a stunned silence. ‘Me? But I’m not qualified to be a Parliamentary Private Secretary.’
    â€˜You are now. Call it a battlefield promotion.’
    â€˜Well, OK, thank you. You’ll need all the support you can get if you’re going to take on that lot.’ She waved dismissively in the general direction of the upper floors, areas brimming with staff whose actual function seemed to be unknown but whose job descriptions inevitably incorporated the word ‘secretary’. Frankly, there were more secretaries in the building than soldiers; Private Secretaries, Principal Private Secretaries, Under Secretaries, Assistant Secretaries and Assistant Under-Secretaries. There were legions of Deputy Secretaries, Deputy Under-Secretaries, Permanent Under-Secretaries, Parliamentary Private Secretaries, Parliamentary Under-Secretaries and Parliamentary Private Under-Secretaries. Rumour had it there was, somewhere in the vast building, a Permanent Principal Private Parliamentary Deputy Assistant Under-Secretary, but the unfortunate who held the post had long since been crushed under the weight of his ID badge.
    All James needed was an honest-to-God, down-to-earth, tell-it-how-it-is, no-nonsense, politically incorrect secretary. One who could type. Like Angela, for instance.
    â€˜Like I said, leave it to me. I’m in charge now, although it pains me to say it.’ He leaned forward, suddenly serious. ‘Listen, I know why I got the job. If it’s obvious to you I’m fairly useless then it’s certainly so to Downing