The Final Cut Read Online Free PDF

companions from their vantage point in the First Gallery, above and to the right of where the Urquharts were taking their seats.
    'Fair? Can we possibly be talking about the same Francis Urquhart, Tom? The man who took the professional foul and set it to Elgar?'
    Thomas Makepeace offered no response other than a smile of reproach. He knew Brynford-J ones, the editor of The Times, was right. He was also clear that Brynford-Jones knew he knew. Lobby terms. But there were limits to what a Foreign Secretary could say in a public place about his Prime Minister. Anyway, Urquhart was his friend who had repaid that friendship with steady promotion over the years.
    'Still, you have to admire his footwork, a true professional,' Brynford-Jones continued before offering a wave and a smile in the direction of the Urquharts who were turning to acknowledge those around them. 'There's not a man here without the marks of your Prime Minister's studs somewhere on his anatomy. Good old F.U.'
    'Surely there's more to life than simply providing you with copy, Bryan.' On Makepeace's other side a third man joined in. Quentin Digby was a lobbyist, and a good one. He not only had an involvement in professional politics but, in his own quiet way, was also something of an activist, representing many charities and environmental concerns. Makepeace didn't know him well but rather liked him.
    ' I wondered which of us three was going to play the moralizing toad tonight,' Makepeace mocked.
    The house lights dimmed as the Managing Director of Matasuyo stepped forward onto the stage to claim his place before the public eye and offer a speech of welcome. The light thrown onto the stage bounced up onto the faces of Makepeace and his companions, giving them a shadowy, conspiratorial look, like witches attending a cauldron.
    'Seriously, Tom,' Brynford-Jones continued, anxious to take advantage of the Cabinet Minister's presence, 'he should have gone on his tenth anniversary. Ten bloody years at the top is enough for anyone, isn't it?'
    Makepeace made no comment, pretending to concentrate on the Japanese gentleman's homily which was attempting to establish some form of spiritual connection between culture and car bits.
    'Wants to go for the record. Outscore Thatcher,' Digby offered. 'I wouldn't mind, but what's the point? What's he trying to achieve? We've got half the country's dustbins crammed full of Harrods wrapping paper which local councils can't afford to collect while the other half go begging for something to eat.'
    'You lobbyists always spoil your case with exaggeration,' Makepeace rebuked.
    'Funny, I thought that was a politician's prerogative,' the editor came back.
    Makepeace was beginning to feel penned in. He'd felt that way a lot in recent months, sitting beside editors or standing before his constituents with a pretence of enthusiasm when there was only weariness and disillusionment inside. Something had gone stale. Someone had gone stale. Francis Urquhart. Leaving Makepeace with much that he wanted to say, but little he was allowed to.
    'He's had a good run, Tom, the country's grateful and all that, but really it's time for some new blood.'
    'His blood.'
    'A fresh start for the Government.' 'For you, Tom.'
    'We all know the things you hold dear, the causes you stand for.' 'We'd like to help.'
    'You know the country isn't what it was. Or could be. This country has too big a heart to be beholden for so long to one man.'
    'Particularly a man such as that.'
    'Hell, even the illegal immigrants are leaving.'
    'It should be yours, Tom. Makepeace is ever as good a man as Urquhart.'
    Respite. The man from Matasuyo had subsided and the play was about to begin; Makepeace was grateful. His head was spinning. He wanted to dispute their claims, play the loyal hound, but couldn't find the words. Perhaps they were right about Urquhart. Without doubt right about himself. They knew he wanted it, enough that at times his mouth ran dry like a man lost in a desert who