may God send us victorious,’ Colville whispered, finishing the last of his warm champagne.
‘So how was he?’
Winston Churchill looked up from the letter he was writing to inspect the man who had just burst in upon him. A pall of cigar smoke hovered across the room in the Admiralty.
‘His Majesty was as ever charming. A little awkward, perhaps. Dressed in his uniform as Admiral of the Fleet.’
Unbidden, his visitor helped himself to a large whisky from the tray that sat beside the Prime Minister. The splash of soda was brief, no more than a gesture.
‘You know,’ Churchill continued, ‘I do believe His Majesty would willingly give up all the splendours and circumstances of his role in order to return to the duties of his career in the navy.’
‘He’s out of his depth.’
‘No, I think more out of his experience,’ Churchill growled. ‘Rather like us all at this moment.’ He thrust his own empty glass in the direction of his visitor, silently demanding it be refilled. As on almost every occasion in the seventeen years since they had met, Brendan Bracken complied with his older friend’s wishes. Bracken was a man often derided as an outrageous fantasist by those who knew him slightly, and no one could claim to know him well, not even Churchill. But for all his faults and legendary confrontations with the truth, he had remained loyal to Churchill when more respectable political colleagues had deserted him. All his life Churchill had been a man of few friends, and this friend he valued more than most.
‘Still, must have been awkward for you. For both of you, given the past,’ Bracken continued.
Ah, the past … Churchill wanted to believe that all his past life had been but a preparation for the trial that lay ahead, yet in truth it had been a lifetime of uneasy adventures thrown together with outright failures. During the last war, for instance, he had been hurled from office – not simply resigned as his father had done before him, but thrown out by those who thought him inadequate for the job. Many of them had still not changed their minds, the King included. No, it wasn’t success that had brought him here, only the still more monumental failures of others. Churchill looked up once more from his blotter. ‘He covered it with a little joke. Asked me if I knew why he had summoned me. I replied that I simply couldn’t imagine. So he offered me a cigar and asked me to form a government. Of which, I suppose, you expect to be a member. Along with many others.’
‘The joy of it!’ Bracken threw his arms around in excitement. ‘After all these years, the chance to even the score. To do unto others …’ He clapped his hands. ‘You know, I’ve just been over to Downing Street. Thought I’d take a look. Went by the back gate into the secretaries’ rooms. Rushing around bundling everything into sacks and waste-paper baskets, they were, even had a fire roaring in one of the grates. Several in tears. It was as though the enemy had arrived.’
‘You don’t understand, Brendan: in their eyes, he has.’
Bracken lit himself a cigar using a petrol lighter that threw an immense flame, adding to the aerial confusion. ‘So – who is to be in this government of ours?’
‘My War Cabinet,’ Churchill responded, ‘will consist of four men, apart from myself.’ He cleared his throat as if making an official proclamation. ‘There will be Mr Attlee and Mr Greenwood from the Labour Party.’
Bracken shifted uneasily in his chair.
‘Lord Halifax.’
An eyebrow arched in disapproval.
‘And Mr Neville Chamberlain.’
Bracken gasped, momentarily brought to silence. ‘You cannot be serious.’
‘In most deadly earnest. Our lives may depend upon it.’
‘But …’ Suddenly the energy was upon him once more, his body contorting in exasperation. ‘They’re the four most bloody-minded men in the country. Two socialists with whom you’ve got nothing in common, the former Prime Minister who’s devoted most of his limited talents to keeping you at the outer edge of the universe, and …’ He wondered for a moment how best to sum up Edward Halifax, Churchill’s chief rival for the post. ‘And an Old Etonian.’
‘You’re right.’ Churchill smiled. Throughout all the years of drought Bracken had had an unquenchable talent for making him smile. ‘You are absolutely right. We need more Harrovians.’
‘Seriously, Winston, how can you include Chamberlain after everything that’s happened?’
‘Can’t you see, Brendan, it’s because of everything that has happened that I must embrace him? He is still the leader of the majority party in the House of Commons, and if I am to build a truly national government I must include him as well as the socialists.’ He picked up his pen and resumed his work. ‘That is what I have had to insist to Mr Attlee, who, I’m afraid, rather shares your opinion about Mr Chamberlain.’
‘But you’ve nothing in common with any of them.’
‘I can count on the claws of a chicken’s foot the number of men you and I can trust. It’s not enough. We need more.’ He finished off the letter with a flourish. ‘Which is why I have just written to the Kaiser enquiring whether, before the Wehrmacht arrives, he would wish to exchange his exile in Holland for a suitable small establishment in this country.’
Bracken choked on his drink, spluttering, when at last he could, ‘You expect the old Kaiser, the man who started the last bloody war, to help you in this one?’
‘No, I don’t expect that. But I would like it. I know him, of course. Attended manoeuvres with him in 1909. An odious and ill-formed man. But useful. If by any chance he would agree, oh, how it would distract Hitler. Take his eye off the ball. Kaiser versus the Fuehrer, German against German.’ He sealed the envelope he had been addressing and rang a hand bell. ‘I would do a deal with the Devil if only he would part company with Hitler for a moment. We do so desperately need some distraction. We have enemies enough without creating more. Which is why we must have Neville, and Edward Halifax, too. And all the rest.’
He rang the bell again, more impatiently.
‘And for me?’
‘For you, Brendan? Minister of Information, I thought. My own private Goebbels. Waging war with words. You’re good at that. And we have so little else with which to wage war.’
‘Thank you, Winston. With all my heart. But – no. I think I should be here, by your side. At least until you have the show up and running.’
‘You would refuse your own ministry?’
‘There are so few who know you, understand your ways.’
Suddenly Churchill rose to his feet and flung open the door behind his desk. It led to a corridor, and at its end, deep in conversation, stood two male secretaries. Churchill’s shoulders heaved in irritation.
‘Have you both been deafened by the blast of some enemy bomb?’ he shouted at them. ‘Can there be any other reason why you have failed to respond to my bell?’
Bemused, they looked towards him and started to approach.
‘Fly! Fly! Or shall I call the guard to encourage you at the point of a fixed bayonet?’
The first man broke into a hurried shuffle; the second, seeking salvation, ducked into an open office door. It was Colville who arrived, his face a cauldron of embarrassment and anger.
‘I’m sorry, Prime Minister. A little confusion in responsibilities. We were rather expecting you to arrive at Downing Street this evening.’
‘Downing Street is still the home of Mr Chamberlain. I have offered it to him and Mrs Chamberlain until they can make suitable alternative arrangements. In the meantime you are to attend upon me here.’
‘I’m sorry, sir. As I said, a matter of confusion.’
‘And