I couldnt see the problem -- at first. Ive not had all that much experience with the French. Bernard could see it all too clearly.
When the Queen visited France three years ago, Prime Minister, she presented him with a Labrador puppy. And now hes bringing one of its puppies to present her with in return.
Humphrey sank into his chair, aghast. No! he gasped. Thats what Id heard! So its true!
Im afraid so, Sir Humphrey. Bernard was using his funereal voice.
I knew it, said Sir Humphrey, fatally. I knew theyd do something like this.
I still couldnt see the problem. It seems rather a nice gesture to me.
Its a gesture all right. Humphrey smiled a sour smile. But hardly a nice one.
Why not?
Because Her Majesty will have to refuse it. And there will be repercussions!
The problem, it seemed, was quarantine! Dogs cant just be imported. This puppy will have to spend six months in quarantine at Heathrow.
It still didnt seem particularly tragic to me. The French will understand that, wont they?
Of course theyll understand it. Privately. Thats why theyre doing it. But theyll refuse to understand it officially.
I suddenly saw the problem. The French were creating a diplomatic incident to get their own way over the sovereignty of the Channel Tunnel. I explained this to Humphrey and Bernard, who seemed grateful for the insight. Then, decisively, I sent for Peter Gascoigne, the Foreign Affairs Private Secretary. What do we do? I asked.
I dont know. Hed already heard the news and had apparently been struck down by depressive illness as a consequence. He had the look of a desperate man about him.
I hardly expected such a hopeless response. The Civil Service can usually think of something to do. But youre my Foreign Affairs Secretary, I informed him. I expect some positive suggestions.
Im sorry, Prime Minister, but the Home Office is responsible for quarantine.
I think he was passing the buck. Or the puppy. I sent for Graham French, the Home Affairs Private Secretary. While we waited for him I explored with Peter the possibility of getting the French to withdraw the gift.
Weve tried everything, Peter told me desperately. Weve suggested an oil painting of the puppy. A bronze. A porcelain model. Not a hope.
Cant you get them to stuff it? I asked.
Humphrey intervened. Theres nothing wed sooner oh, taxidermy? No chance.
Graham hurried in. Graham, I said, tell your chums at the Home Office that theyve got to find a way around these quarantine regulations.
He reacted rather stiffly. Im afraid thats out of the question, Prime Minister.
I wasnt expecting to be contradicted. I asked him to explain himself.
In the first place, he said, blinking at me nervously, we enforce the regulations rigorously with all British citizens and all foreign nationals. Without exception. And in the second place, the Quarantine Act is signed by the Sovereign. She cant be the only one to break her own laws. It would be quite wrong ethically and for health reasons, and is completely out of the question.
At that moment the intercom buzzed. The French Ambassador had arrived. Things were all happening too fast. Yet nothing can be postponed because the funeral is only three days from now.
So while the Ambassador waited a moment in the little waiting room next to the Cabinet Room I told my staff that we have to find a way out of this. I told Peter to get back to the Foreign Office at once and tell them to talk to the Home Office. Graham was to do the same at the Home Office. Both were to keep in touch with Bernard, who would liaise with the Palace. Humphrey was to talk to the law officers in the hope of finding legal loopholes (they all shook their heads firmly at this suggestion), and I told Humphrey hed be responsible for co-ordinating the whole thing.
What whole thing? He seemed confused.
Whatever whole thing we think up to deal with this French plot, I explained.
Oh, that whole thing. Sometimes Humphreys a bit slow. Certainly, Prime Minister. Ill set up an operations room in the Cabinet Office.
I seemed to be the only one with any ideas. I asked Humphrey if he had any suggestions. He suggested that I didnt keep the French Ambassador waiting any longer. So I sent for him and I asked Humphrey to stay and give me support.
Do I need any papers? asked Humphrey, flapping a bit at the thought of the impending confrontation.
Just a sponge and a towel, I told him grimly.
The French Ambassador spoke almost perfect English as he slipped elegantly into the room. Prime Minister. You are most kind to give me your time. He is small, slim, and utterly charming.
I told him it was a pleasure.
I understand you are anxious to finalise the agreement for the Channel Tunnel?
Yes, very much so I began, but out of the corner of my eye I saw Humphrey shaking his head slowly, almost imperceptibly, an unmistakable cautionary signal. I backtracked rapidly. But, on the other hand, no real hurry, I said. Im sure the Ambassador didnt notice.
In fact, he seemed eager to help. But it would be nice if we could reach some conclusions, wouldnt it?
Nice? I glanced at Humphrey. He shrugged. Nice, I agreed. No question.
And, continued the Ambassador, my Government feels that if we were to take advantage of the funeral -- my condolences, by the way, a tragic loss --
Tragic, tragic! I echoed tragically.
take advantage of the funeral for you and our President to ave a few words
Of course, of course, I interrupted. The only thing is, I shall be host to a large number of distinguished guests, and Im not sure
His Excellency took umbrage. You do not wish to speak to our President?
Of course I do. I smiled reassuringly. Yes. No question. Since my conversation with Humphrey a couple of days ago, Im well aware of the dangers of my becoming directly involved in negotiating with the French. So I tried to explain that Id rather simply speak than negotiate. I tried to imply that actual negotiations were slightly beneath me.
He understood that kind of arrogance. But he wouldnt let go. Dont you think that these little quarrels between friends are best resolved by just talking to each other, face to face?
Between friends, yes, I replied. Humphrey blanched.
But the Ambassador was unperturbed. I think otherwise our President would be very hurt. Not personally, but as a snurb to France. I think he meant snub. It sounded like snurb, but I dont know what a snurb is.
Anyway, I reassured the excellent Excellency that we had no intention of snurbing France, and that I regard the French as great friends.
He was pleased. I hoped hed leave, but no. He had quite a considerable agenda of his own, and we moved on to item two.
He claimed that he was concerned about his Embassys security during the Presidents visit. This was rather surprising. I looked at Humphrey. Was there any reason for concern? But no, I could tell from Humphreys expression that this was just another French ploy. Together, we assured the Ambassador that the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police has everything absolutely under control.
The Ambassador was not satisfied. My Government requests that the French police be permitted to guard our Embassy.
Humphrey was flashing me the clearest possible warning signals. His look said Say no at all costs. So I told the French Ambassador that it was impossible to grant such a request.
He pretended indignation. It is surely not impossible.
I decided to go on the attack. Are you saying that you dont trust the British police?
My Government makes no comment on the British police, he replied carefully. But the President would be happier if the French police were in charge.
I could see that Humphrey was itching to get at him. So I let Humphrey off his leash and sat back in my swivel chair.