House of Cards

There are men - I count myself amongst them - who cannot bear to be idle.

I could reveal that the Prime Minister and his brother are both implicated

in an outrageous piece of insider dealing.

But I think we'll let that one mature a little first.

But we need to keep Charles and Henry Collingridge in the public eye, if possible.

And the press are grateful for anything in the silly season.

Now, the Prime Minister usually takes the precaution

of packing his embarrassment of a brother somewhere well out of sight

until the end of September.

Some rural French slum in the Poitou-Charentes this year, I gather,

where Charlie could get peacefully blotto

while the Prime Minister saves his money and holidays at home,

posing as a country gentleman at Chequers.

So it was most unfortunate when someone tipped off the tabloids

about Charles's holiday address.

Bastards. What the hell has poor old Charlie done to deserve that?

Just has the bad luck to be my brother.

Most families have someone who can't make it on their own.

Right.

You're right.

If I stick by Charlie, people will respect me all the more for it.

I'd like to think you did it for him, not just for the opinion polls, Hal.

Well, of course.

Duty and self-interest happily coinciding.

For once.

Then comes the conference season.

Good morning. Opposition did rather well this year.

Abandoned their usual tactic of shooting themselves in the foot.

Had a go at us instead. Especially the Prime Minister, I'm sorry to say.

Most unsporting.

Good morning, Teddy!

It's important that our Party Chairman gets his fine-tuning right

before we all sally off to Brighton.

The essential thing is to present a totally united and confident front.

Avoid any impression of complacency.

The natural party of government,

but at the same time, a listening government.

- Roger. - Thank you, sir.

The big banner, and that's the spirit and the theme of this year's conference,

prompted by the PM's last speech,

is "Finding the right way."

- Patrick? - I don't mind "the right way".

"Finding" is a bit bloody silly.

We should have found the way by now.

Are we the natural party of government or the babes in the bloody wood?

I take your point, but market research shows us to be too sure of ourselves.

So we bloody well should be. People aren't going to vote for "don't knows".

- Perhaps "Going the right way"? - Implies that someone in the party

is on the way out, don't you think, with the greatest respect.

Going, going, gone.

Thank you, Francis. A good point.

Out! Out! Out!

- He's arrived. - Who?

- Our leader, Elizabeth. Who else? - The broken reed.

The man of straw.

"Good things of day begin to droop and drowse."

A party conference can be many things.

A show of confidence.

An agonising reappraisal.

Or, as in this case, a series of auditions by pretenders to the throne

while the lost leader withers before our very eyes.

Michael Samuels, Environment.

Intelligent, sensitive, caring - all in the same sentence, I bet you.

Not a return to subsistence farming.

What it means is sensitive exploitation of natural resources,

intelligent self-interest to motivate long-term gains

in a caring, capitalist concept.

Told you.

Peter McKenzie, Health.

Ease the pressure on the state system,

enabling our professionals to do a better job

for those unable to fend for themselves financially.

So that now we can say with real confidence,

"Carry on, nurse."

God, what an idiot that man is.

Harold Earle, Education.

We've made schools accountable. We've grasped the nettle and taken it on board.

It's not always been comfortable.

One thing I do know. Time will prove it.

It's the right way. It's the right...way.

And Patrick Woolton, Foreign Secretary.

No one's more admiring than I am

about the strides taken by our friends in Eastern Europe.

But hold on. I mean, sorry, tovarich.

If I'm going into the conference chamber to have big hugs with Russian bears,

I'd rather not leave my six-guns at the door.

Dear old Patrick. Likes to sound like a buccaneer.

But he's behind Henry Collingridge all the way. He'll tell you so himself.

Roger, have you got a moment? I won't deprive you for too long.

Glad to be rescued. Like being in a loose maul with the French pack.

Don't get me wrong, Francis. Loving every minute.

How's it coming across?

You can see. The press aren't buying it.

They saw Patrick Woolton having a go. "Leadership crisis" is the story they want.

We do our best with what they give us.

Your assistant's doing sterling work.

- That girl is like gold, Francis. - I'm sure.

She's your mistress as well, I take it. Is that a privilege exclusive to yourself?

- What? - Do you enjoy her body exclusively?

Or is she available to others as well?

Now, hold on, Francis. I don't think that's really the kind...

Don't be coy with me. I could have you in the gutter. Answer my question.

Well, me and Penny go back a long way.

In some ways, we're more like brother and sister.

We allow each other a little time off now and then, if you follow me.

Now listen, Francis, it's not simple. She's not a... You can't just...

I'm sure she'd be flattered to think... If you ask her really nicely...

Shut up. Did you think I wanted her?

- Oops. Sorry, my mistake. - Didn't you lend her to Patrick Woolton?

That was research. He wanted a bright girl for a bit of research in a hurry.

Where would the House be without bright girls

I think he may want to borrow her again. More urgent research needs.

Would she be available, do you think?

It's not impossible.

- I'll broach it gently. Leave it to me. - I have another task for you.

Just a small delivery job.

- Morning, sir. - Morning.

Come on, come on, Sleeping Beauty.

Bloody hell, Rog. What do you want?

To drown in your eyes and hide in your arms, darling.

I've only just set eyes on the bloody thing.

It's very bad.

The poll was taken before the conference.

I'm sure you'll turn it round this week.

We've seen it all before, after all.

You're a good fellow, Francis. But 30% is a hell of a lead to pull back.

Right, speak to you soon.

Do you know, Elizabeth, I believe our leader is starting to worry.

It's a major story. Greville will want to know about it.

All right, who's dead?

Henry Collingridge. Well, not literally.

Grev, I've got hold of the secret poll. The Tories' own one.

Sensational. 30% behind. Collingridge is about as popular as Captain Hook.

And who decided to make you a present of this secret Tory poll?

I don't know. It was left outside my door. All right, I know it sounds weird.

- But it's genuine. I'm convinced. - You've been set up, you silly cow.

Don't let me hear any more about this unless you have proof it's kosher.

Don't ever wake me again unless it's adultery in the royal family with photographs!

Pig!

Right...

K.J.S.

Kevin Spence, Central Office, Research.

Damn!

Lovely. Nothing can beat you.

- I wish you really meant that. - I do, I do, truly.

- Lovely girl. - No. No, Rog...

Don't... Oh!

Oh, Rog!

Got a little surprise.

What? What are you up to?

Oh, Roger. Taking cocaine at eight a.m. at the Conservative Party Conference?

Don't you think I have fantastic style?

- I think you're barmy. - Nonsense.

This is brilliant stuff.

Know where I got it?

Grosvenor Square.

This stuff is usually only available to the CIA. Yum-yum!

What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?

Rubbish. Not a bit of it.

Just been a tense week, that's all.

I could kick this stuff any time I liked.

I tell you what. Get this week over.

We'll go to a health farm for ten days.

No drugs.

No drink.

Shag ourselves silly. How about that?

That would be lovely. If only you really meant it.

I do. You'll see.

- Listen, Pen. - Now what?

It's a bit delicate, this.

Remember you had that thing with Pat Woolton?

I'd hardly forget that, would I? What a character

- You liked him, though, didn't you? - What a maniac. He was all right.

- Really good fun. - He's still carrying a torch for you.

Torch? Is that what he calls it now?

He was wondering if you'd have dinner with him. He's shy about asking you.

Shy? Him?

He put his hand in my knickers in Langan's.

Yeah, well...

I said I'd pass it on.

Pimping now, is it?

Jesus Christ, Roger!

Don't you care about me at all?

Ah, Pen. Of course I do. I didn't think you'd be upset. I thought you liked him.

I went with him because I wanted to, not because you promised him a favour!

Listen, Pen, it's not like that at all. I wish I didn't have to ask you.

I wish I could be everything to you, but I can't.

You know I'd never ask you to do a thing like this unless my arse was on the line.

And it is.

It truly is.

I don't know what I'm going to do, and that's the truth.

- You do believe me, don't you? - Yes, I do believe you. It's that stuff!

Partly.

I mean, it's...it's not as though you hate the man, Pen. You liked him.

You know if it was me, I'd do anything for you. Don't you?

- I love you, Pen. You know that. - Just shut up, Rog.

Why?

What's the matter? What have I said?

Kevin Spence?

Oh.