‘It’s all extremely important, but it stopped being interesting eight hours ago. I’m lost in Euro-speak. But I’ll get there.’
‘I do. The PM tried to invoke the royal prerogative to trigger our departure. Her whole “Brexit means Brexit” thing. We rather care how the royal prerogative works. But in this case, Brexit means . . .’ He indicated the two-foot high pile of papers on his desk. ‘I’m not sure anyone knows exactly what it means at the moment. Meanwhile, the PM’s secretary rang. She wants to talk. This is ominous.’
‘Because it means she’s been thinking over Christmas.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘Not necessarily, no. Prime ministers with too much time on their hands tend to have bad ideas and discuss them with the wrong people, thus rendering them infinitely worse.’
‘I’d have thought the rest and relaxation would do her good,’ Rozie ventured.
Sir Simon scoffed. ‘If she rested or relaxed, I might agree with you. But they never do. Or at least, not since Macmillan. They call in their special advisers for table suppers and sometimes their supporters for grand dinners, though I’m not sure how much of the latter she does. They game every scenario and overthink everything. If the Boss had her way, she’d take each one out fishing so they could kick back and get a little perspective.’
‘I can’t see Theresa May fishing,’ Rozie said with a grin.
Sir Simon nodded and sighed. ‘That’s the trouble. Neither can I. I sense this pile of papers is going to get higher over the next few weeks. I need to have some clue what I’m talking about.’
‘Do you want me to read them for you? Or some of them at least?’
‘No, I’ll do it. I have a few meetings lined up in town next week. I might as well look as if I know what I’m talking about. You go home.’
He gave her a friendly smile. Rozie smiled back, but she felt excluded. She had enjoyed her brief moment at the top of the Private Office food chain, when she got to read all the international intelligence. Now her job felt more mundane. She couldn’t even entertain herself with Henry, who had rotated duties with another officer for a couple of weeks. She wished Sir Simon goodnight and headed out.
Rozie’s accommodation was in a Victorian lodge a fifteen-minute walk from the house. It had been used to house kings, queens, dukes and mistresses over the years, and most of them, Rozie thought, must have found its dark walls and heavy furniture as oppressive as she did.
