'You can't do this,' the Special Branch officer was stating, emphatic to the point of shouting.
'You cannot stop me, my dear Corder,' Urquhart responded with complete equanimity. 'There are no security arrangements in place.'
'Our security is in the surprise. No one expects me.'
'There are thousands of your opponents out there, Prime Minister. They've travelled from all over the country for the specific purpose of letting you know how much they dislike you. And you want to walk right into their midst?' 'Right into their midst. Exactly.'
'No!' Corder's vehemence was genuine. 'This is crazy.' 'This is history, Corder.' 'May I talk as an old friend, Prime Minister?'
Urquhart turned to face him. 'So far as I am concerned, Corder, you always have.'
'You've been under an immense strain recently. Might this have…' – an awkward pause – 'clouded your judgement?' 'Gently put. Thank you.' Urquhart moved to place hands of reassurance on the shoulders of the other man. 'But on the contrary, old friend, the immense strain about which you talk has brought great clarity. You know, the prospect of being hanged and all that? I know what I'm doing. I absolve you of any responsibility.'
'They'll have me issuing parking tickets after this. You know that, don't you?'
'In which case you will be the first knight of the realm to be doing such work. I have already written out my resignation honours, Corder. I'm a Scot, not given to undue generosity, but you should know that you are on my list.'
Corder blinked, shook his head to free himself of what was clearly a distraction from his purpose and returned to the attack. 'I have to stop you.' 'Corder, you cannot.'
'Mrs Urquhart,' he appealed, changing tactic, 'will you stop him?'
Elizabeth had, like Urquhart, been examining her appearance in the mirror, brushing away a few imaginary creases from her jacket. 'I can scarcely do that, Corder.' 'Why not?' 'Because I'm going with him.' 'Are you, by God?' Urquhart exclaimed, challenging her.
She moved over to him, with care and great tenderness enfolded him in her arms and looked closely into his eyes. 'Yes, Francis, I am. I have come with you this far, I'll walk with you a few steps further, if you don't mind. And even if you do.'
His face began to move in agitation, trying to find some words of contradiction, but she placed a finger upon his lips to still them.
'It's only a little walk down the road' she whispered. 'I won't hold you back.' He stood on the front step of Number Ten, hand in hand with Elizabeth. Above him white clouds hung like gunsmoke in the summer sky, while behind him Corder was ranting into his personal radio. Urquhart turned in rebuke.
'No, Corder! No great posse of police. I want no human wall to hide behind, no excuse for confrontation with the crowd. I'll not have it.'
The tone was severe, brooking no argument. Corder muttered something into the radio and put it aside.
'Then may I accompany you, Prime Minister? As a family friend?'
Urquhart smiled. 'In that capacity you have always been welcome.'
They began walking down the street. As they approached the tall stressed-steel barriers at its end, a uniformed policeman outside the guard booth saluted while another jabbered excitedly down the telephone. But it was too late. The great gate swung open, and they were in Whitehall.
Large numbers of people were still trying to squeeze into the square, crowding pavements, beginning to clog the approach roads. The Superintendent had need of his extra serials, and more. And as the Urquharts made their way up Whitehall, recognition of them had an immediate effect.
'F.U. too! F.U. too!' barked one youth with the appearance of having been lifted from the front half of a dry cleaning commercial, but Elizabeth turned to launch a look of sharpest feminine rebuke directly at him and he subsided, his voice faltering like a slipping fan belt. His chant was not taken up, instead, a ripple of attention ran through the crowd at the sight of the great opponent, normally only seen through television screens and surrounded by the trappings of power, who to all appearances was enjoying a weekend stroll in the sun with his wife. Cries of recognition the Urquharts received with a civil nod of acknowledgement, chiding rewarded with one of Elizabeth's most devastating stares. As they made their way the five hundred yards up Whitehall, past the mounted sentries at Horseguards, a tremor of interest rather than intolerance ran before them like a bow wave, heralding their arrival. By the time they had reached the crowded edges of the square, the tremor had become a shock wave which began to force its passage through the mass of bodies ahead. Urquhart was coming! Urquhart was coming! And many, particularly those who did not have a good view of Makepeace speaking on the far side of Nelson's Column, turned to face their adversary.
Urquhart's timing was providential – or pestilential, depending on the viewpoint. As Makepeace was about to begin his peroration, he sensed a distinct loss of interest amongst a substantial part of his audience. He looked out across the sea of upturned faces in front of him, through which a turbulent cross-current seemed to be sweeping past and dragging their eyes from him. Caught by their interest, Maria walked to the edge of the raised speaking platform to inspect the source of the disturbance; the look of alarm and confusion which took hold of her was enough to make Makepeace himself falter, serving only to fuel the distraction.
Superintendent Housego was there to meet them. At the first hint of the Urquharts' imminent arrival, relayed through the Information Room at Scotland Yard, he had uttered curses both profuse and profane. Then he had summoned the Tactical Support Group, his reserve of specially trained officers who were on stand-by in coaches parked in nearby Spring Gardens. But he hadn't enough; he wished he had a hundred more. 'I cannot allow this, Prime Minister.' 'You cannot stop me, Superintendent.'
'But I don't have enough men to force a way for you through the crowd.'
'I want no force,' Urquhart responded sharply. Then, more softly: 'Please. Ask your men to stand aside.' Housego, bewildered, subsided.
Urquhart was still grasping the hand of Elizabeth when he crossed the roadway and came face to face with the crowd. From this point on he knew he would lose all control, becoming little more than another pawn in the great game upon which he had embarked. The faces confronting him were impassive, frozen by surprise. He nodded, smiled and took two steps towards them.
The British are cynics, always willing to believe in human weakness and bathe in the oils of collective scepticism which seep from their daily press. Yet on a personal level they are civil to the point of deception, hiding their real feelings behind a cloak of wooden etiquette in much the same way as they ask for the News of the World to be delivered wrapped between the sheets of the Sunday Telegraph. Had Hitler flown to London rather than requiring Chamberlain to come to Berchtesgarten, the entire country might have queued to shake his hand. The British are bad at personal confrontation. So the crowd in front of Francis and Elizabeth Urquhart began to shuffle back, to make way and allow them through. Many even smiled in automatic reflex. And thus the Urquharts, slowly and arm in arm like a couple stepping out onto a ballroom floor, made their way towards the rostrum.
The impact of these matters on Makepeace was devastating. He knew he had lost the attention of the crowd, now he could see it parting like concubines before the Khan. With a half-joke about the arrival of unexpected reinforcements, Makepeace himself turned to the edge of the platform to inspect the cause of the disruption. He found Urquhart and his wife, with Corder a pace to the rear, at the bottom of the steps to the podium and already beginning to climb. 'Tom, good afternoon,' Urquhart greeted. 'This I did not expect.'
'Forgive me, I did not mean to disrupt you. But the deed is already done, you have won. I am tired of the fight, Tom.'