Where Serpents Slither

Chapter Two

A/N: Leave campaigners Boris Johnson and Gisella Stuart MP with the Brexit Battle Bus promulgating the untruth that Britain's membership fee to the EU is £350m/week. The true figure after rebates and allowances is closer to £120m

A crisp, cultured voice came to them from the double doorway into the Pillared State Room.

'Gambler would describe him better Henry, and it's our job to see he wins. The future well being of the nation depends upon it, if not the nation's medium to long-term future per se. Good evening gentlemen, thank you for coming at such short notice.'

The Permanent Secretaries rose to their feet to greet Sir Gilbert Strang, the Cabinet Secretary and head of the Home Civil Service.

'Good evening Sir Gilbert,' they chorused in formal unison.

Strang walked to stand facing his colleagues, keeping his back to the fireplace and beckoned towards the double doors to the Pillared Room through which he had entered.

'Number Ten's' butler came into the room followed by four waiters. Between them they swiftly and expertly dressed the coffee table between the sofas in a linen tablecloth on which they laid up a tray of petits-fours, two decanters of red wine, water and the essential silverware, glassware, napkins and plates for a genteel refreshment. The waiters stood aside while the butler poured wine into four Bordeaux wine glasses. In a silent request to take his leave, he nodded politely to Sir Gilbert. The Cabinet Secretary nodded his agreement in return and waited until the butler and his staff had left the room and the doors to the Pilllared State Room were firmly closed behind them before he addressed his colleagues.

'The PM bids you greetings gentlemen. A little something from him as a token of his esteem.' Strang waved his right hand towards the wine. Bamforth seized, and buried his nose in his glass, inhaling deeply to capture the wine's exquisite bouquet, and gasped in amazement. "Good Lord Gilbert, this is Pomerol. And unless I am much mistaken it's a Petrus, and from a very good year to boot.'

The Cabinet Secretary laughed pleasantly. 'There's no fooling you when it comes to wines Giles. It is indeed Petrus, and the vintage is 1982.'

Gasps of surprise and pleasure came from Moore and Armitage as they too sampled the wine's bouquet.

Sir Arthur Moore's brow wrinkled with incomprehension. 'I thought we had the last of the Petrus '82 in the Foreign Office cellar and stocks are already down to three bottles. Wherever did you get it?'

Armitage grunted. 'At £5000 a bottle, and I see two bottles on the table in front of us, the PM must want something extraordinary in return to shower us with such largesse.'

Strang waggled a finger at Armitage. 'Indeed he does.' Strang walked around the back of a sofa to sit next to Sir Arthur Moore.

'Gentlemen, we have known and worked with each other for a great many years. In fact ever since we entered the service together when we came down from Oxford in 1982: just in time to assist Mrs. Thatcher wage her war in the Falkland Islands and the wine we are drinking tonight was no more than fruit ripening on its vines.'

He waited until the murmurs and grumbles of awakened memories subsided before he continued.

'In the years since, we have grown in respect, and dare I say it, admiration of each other's achievements. We have become trusted and dear friends. It is as trusted friends that I wish to conduct this little get together.'

'Hear Hear.'

'Absolutely'

'Without question.'

The three Permanent Secretaries waited, poised in silence for Strang to continue. The Cabinet Secretary paused to allow the expectant quietness to build tension. When he judged the moment right, Sir Gilbert placed a knuckle over his lips, cleared his throat and continued.