‘Well – I can regroup. Hit me with the least of the bad news.’
‘Trainee Farrell’s hair is still not benefitting from the adoption of a regulation hairstyle.’
‘I thought he’d been specifically instructed . . .’
‘He was, ma’am, and he did. Last Thursday.’
‘Are you sure? I saw him this morning and couldn’t see any difference. Did the barber actually have the nerve to charge him for that?’
‘I doubt it, ma’am. He has it done at St Mary’s.’
‘That accounts for a lot. Who does it?’
‘A Miss Lingoss.’
‘Isn’t she the weird one?’
‘We are discussing St Mary’s, ma’am. You will have to be more specific.’
She sighed. ‘Tell him to put it up.’
‘Er . . . put it up what, ma’am?’
‘All female officers with long hair must wear it either up or back. Offer him a choice. Pigtail or ponytail. Tell him his benevolent leader recognises the importance of employee autonomy and therefore it is his choice. Up or back. Just make it very clear there is no third way and ribbons are not an option.’
‘Yes, ma’am. If you have no objections, I will relay your instructions to Major Ellis for onward transmission to Trainee Farrell. As team leader, the appearance of his crew is his responsibility.’
‘As you wish, Charlie. Just let me know which option he chooses, will you?’
‘Happily, ma’am.’
‘There – that wasn’t so bad, was it? Next.’
‘The reorganisation is not proceeding without problems, ma’am.’
‘Challenges, Charlie, challenges. The Time Police do not have problems. We have challenges. To meet and overcome. Please can you draft an all-staff memo to the effect that if a great deal more meeting and overcoming doesn’t start taking place PDQ then I will be forced to leave the safety and security of my office and mingle.’
He grinned. ‘Steady on, ma’am.’
‘Exactly, Charlie. I suspect the prospect of rounding a corner and finding themselves face to face with me will induce levels of challenge-meeting-and-overcoming my people did not know they possessed.’
‘As you wish, ma’am.’
She moved a file across her desk. ‘Well – so far so not too bad. What’s next? What’s the big one you’ve kept for the end?’
‘Raymond Parrish has withdrawn his opposition to the parliamentary bill, ma’am. The one curtailing Time Police powers and responsibilities. Apparently, since his son has chosen to go his own way, Mr Parrish has no further interest in the future of the Time Police. We are, it would seem, on our own.’
She shrugged. ‘I suspect the price of his support would have increased exponentially over the years. Looking on the bright side – we have escaped that partnership unscathed.’
‘Not quite unscathed, ma’am. We are still the proud owners of his son. Luke Parrish, despite all forecasts to the contrary, is not only still with us but is actually on the verge of completing his gruntwork.’
‘Yes, interesting, isn’t it? Between you and me, Charlie, I’m rather hoping that bad business with Officer Smith has taught him a far more effective lesson than anything we could have done. Short of shooting him, that is.’
‘It may yet come to that.’
‘You see, Charlie – it’s not all bad – something for us to look forward to. I shall implement a new strategy. Every Friday morning, I shall select someone at random and shoot them. To encourage the others. You know, I could really see that working.’
‘I’m not sure shooting random staff would send quite the right message, ma’am.’
‘All right. I’m not unreasonable. Forget the random bit – I’ll shoot a specifically selected member of staff instead. A much better idea. It will make them feel valued to know they’ve been specially chosen. And with the additional bonus of encouraging the survivors to think more positively about our upcoming reorganisation. Genius, Charlie.’
‘I’m happy to think my poor abilities have contributed to your unique solution to our difficulties, ma’am.’
‘Yes, sometimes I don’t know what I’d do without you. Anything else?’
‘Actually, yes. The Rt Hon Patricia Farnborough has requested a private meeting.’
‘The cabinet minister?’
‘At 1400 hours this afternoon.’
‘I feel sure I’m busy at that time.’
‘I feel equally sure that you are not, ma’am.’
She sighed. ‘You always manage to get your own way, don’t you?’
‘Only sometimes, ma’am.’ He stood up. ‘I shall go and look out the best crockery.’
The Rt Hon Patricia Farnborough was punctual almost to the second.
Captain Farenden collected her from the downstairs atrium and personally escorted her to Commander Hay’s office.
Patricia Farnborough was the long-serving MP for South Rushfordshire. She was popular with neither her fellow members nor the public. So far, she had consistently refused to participate in any of the political activities so beloved of her colleagues. She had, for instance, refused to live in a jungle, or become embroiled in a sex scandal on a popular ballroom-dancing programme. Nor had she ever been compelled to apologise, photogenically tearful, for not having completely understood the really very complex rules pertaining to the claiming of what were almost perfectly legitimate expenses. Nor had she, for any reason, been obliged to welcome the opportunity to spend more time with her family.
‘Much to her family’s relief,’ as one of the whips had once remarked.
She was, however, respected and known to be a safe, if unimaginative, pair of hands and a strong upholder of traditional values. Not family values, as she always made very clear – those frequently being a kind of shorthand for bigotry, intolerance and prejudice – but the traditional values of honesty, hard work and loyalty.
‘Definitely in the wrong job,’ the same whip had remarked to the same confidant.
Patricia Farnborough halted on the threshold of Commander Hay’s office and turned to Captain Farenden. ‘Thank you, Captain, but I think I can find my way from here.’
Captain Farenden raised an eyebrow at Commander Hay, who nodded and said, ‘Thank you, Charlie.’
‘And I shan’t require any refreshments, either. What I do require is an uninterrupted thirty minutes with your commander.’