The Sins of the Fathers

Chapter Fourteen

The President's Office

Buckingham Palace

London

"Ralph Winstanley has entered a monastery in the Scottish highlands." President Nicholas Symonds informed his guests as a starting point for a difficult conversation. "It is a closed order...secure and strict...and his offences will not make him particularly popular with the other monks...I hope. It is not a holiday camp."

"It is a penal institution?" Charles Montague asked for clarification, glancing at Sebastian Osborne in surprise. "Without a trial?"

"He confessed his many sins, Charles...his father suggested it...and behave, please...there was never going to be a trial?" Symonds sighed, sitting back in his chair as if he was already slightly bored with the proceedings. And irritated by them. "We are not going to risk public confidence in the Order because of the depravity of one man...and your enquiry must not air any damaging details either...when we announce your recommendations, your grace, we will be talking about the positives...not reflecting any concerns from the past...is that clear? It is the only way this works?"

"Behave, Mr President...your attitude is...unhelpful?" Osborne suggested, making a note in his diary as he spoke. Montague stifled a grin. "I get it...you heartily disapproved of my intervention at the Priory...and that I helped the men who have embarrassed you...and hurt your father...but as he was guilty as charged...by his own admission...and you let President Fletcher fool you, I think you should be able to move on...don't you? Lessons learned; I hope?"

"Damage limitation is prudent," Montague added, taking a more conciliatory line. "I really am very glad that Drew and Michael took my advice...and now you get the chance to look like a modern statesman, improving our great national institutions for the greater good...you will come out of this even stronger...and as we old fogies slip away into the sunset, you can be the new broom that sweeps clean? What are we telling the public?"

"As far as the great unwashed is concerned, Ralph has a health issue...and your enquiry is not going to be announced...the next archbishop will have to approve your suggestions, after I rubber stamp them all, of course...and parliament, too." Symonds stated, not behaving at all, much to Bishop Osborne's annoyance. "Michael's decision to retire will be announced soon...and the people will mourn his departure like a death, I am sure? But the link between state and church is going to be much closer from now on."

"Nicholas...really...I would not have accepted the job if it had been offered to me...and I am sorry that Michael has lost his son...but we have both had our day and it is time for a new man to run the ship." Osborne responded dismissively, putting his pen down and sitting up in his seat, his eyes boring into the younger man. Symonds was fifty-four, and Osborne had Christened him, back in the day. "And my recommendations will be ratified and implemented or the public will find out a lot more than you are bargaining for...which reminds me, I have not heard any mention of a pardon for Miss Hamilton and a compassionate release for Lady Forbes? I am assuming that you forgot to mention them?"

"Nothing will be announced until the non-disclosure agreements are drafted and signed...it will take a few days, I would imagine...you know what lawyers are like?" Symonds said, as his phone beeped on the table beside him. He glanced down at the screen. "Your son will be dealing directly with Fletcher, Charles?"

"Excellent...safe hands then...common sense really is prevailing here...but you must give the Americans enough to stop them digging into Wuhan anymore," Montague said, trying to make the most important point, before the meeting descended into a slanging match, because he could tell that Osborne was itching for a fight. Nick Symonds had a right to be thoroughly pissed off with everyone. He had no idea about his father's involvement with Covid, or Ralph Winstanley's perversions, or what had been going on inside the Order, and the whole lot had been dumped in his unsuspecting lap from a very great height in the shape of a smouldering international incident. But he needed to be really sensible about the next moves, for all their sakes. "If they ever find out that Hycanil was already in use here in twenty-twenty-one, this furore is going to feel like a storm in a teacup?"