Yes Minister

It was around seven on a November evening when I came home from work. I didn't notice the two blokes in a big black car parked across the street, but if I had, the tinted windows would have precluded my seeing that one of them was checking my appearance against the photos on his iPad. I walked through the front door and hung-up my jacket as I called out a greeting to my wife Kate; there was no reply.

Turning to hang my keys on their hook in the hallway, I saw a note spiked onto it; that's long been a method of communication between Kate and I: Write it down while you remember and spike it on the key-rack so the other can't miss it. Rather than just a bare note, tonight's was in a sealed envelope with 'Jack' emblazoned across the front; not a regular occurrence, but it's happened before... when it's really been private.

Intrigued, I opened it there in the hallway and by the time I'd read it, I was even more intrigued: 'Gone to help-out at the Arts & Crafts Club, then on to Jolly's Wine Bar with Anna. Back around 10:30, BUT NOT BEFORE TEN' Those final words were not just capitalised, but underlined too.

Kate's concluding sentence was rather more perplexing: 'It's absolutely fine with me and I won't ask; EVER.' No underlining this time, but it was the cartoon-drawing between those two sentences which was especially intriguing me. An ink sketch which you or I might've spent an hour over and still not rendered half so well, but which my graphic-artist wife would've dashed-off in under three minutes and while quite possibly focusing her attention to something else entirely.

The picture was of a woman, with her knees half-bent as if dancing, or giving a shimmy. The lady was wearing heels, dressed in a smart jacket and skirt with a blouse beneath, though that was unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a spectacular pair of breasts clad in a lacy-bra. In a similar vein, the woman's hands were grasping the hem of her skirt and had rucked it up her thighs to expose stocking-tops, suspenders and a glimpse of her lacy panties.

Intriguing and erotic too, perhaps exacerbated by the depiction only showing the woman from her shoulders down; I couldn't tell who she was, though I knew that it wasn't a self-portrait. Kate's got an altogether slimmer, more athletic figure, besides which, she wouldn't be seen dead in any outfit that could be described as formal or smart. Returning the note to it's envelope, I dropped it on the hall table and headed for the lounge, in search of the answer.

I'd seen that the lounge lights were on as I walked up the path, I also thought I'd seen the shadowy outline of someone moving behind the curtains. When I'd come into the hallway I'd heard the sound of the TV, but that had gone silent while I was perusing Kate's note. If my wife was at the Arts & Crafts Club, then it was someone else in our lounge and logic suggested that it may likely be the woman Kate had sketched.

I stepped through the doorway to find Deb waiting for me and immediately chided myself for not guessing from Kate's truncated drawing. Deb figure was a perfect match to the sketch, heavy breasts, wide hips and a narrow waist between, all carried on a cracking pair of legs; fit as a butcher's dog! Deb's clothing too was exactly as sketched and while I'd not seen those until now, it was hardly a stretch, that's how Deb was invariably attired.

Deb is the eldest of five five siblings, whilst Kate's by far the youngest; there's a sixteen year age gap between them and Kate's often mentioned that Deb's 'always felt more of an indulgent aunt than a sister'. Kate's earliest memories of her sister began only after Deb had started University, so she always saw her 'as a grown-up' from the 'older generation'. That age difference along with her job is no doubt why we see Deb so rarely, I didn't really know her at all.

While Kate's big sister is Deb/Debs/Debo amongst the family, she is more widely known as 'The Honourable Deborah Campbell, Member of Parliament for South Bedfordshire' and currently a Cabinet Minister in the UK Government. Kate and Deb speak on the phone every month or so and Deb attends major family functions -- she came to our wedding -- but even at those we'd rarely exchanged more than a smile and a raised glass across the room; too many people more eager than I to speak with the family's celebrity crowded around her.

In addition and indeed with Kate too, I have little time for politicians of any stripe and those who're in Deb's party most especially. To be fair though, The Honourable Deborah and her husband Duncan before her, do fall into the small group whom I'm prepared to listen to and... tolerate; with Debs that's perhaps in part because she's not a 'real' politician, only entering the vile profession as a result of Duncan's death.

Deb had been politically active at university and immediately after graduating she went to work for the party in the lead-up to a general election; it was only intended to be a short-term gig before she went travelling in the autumn. Deb was allocated to assisting a more senior and substantially older apparatchik in his efforts to get elected, or more precisely, to test/show his mettle in contesting what for the party was an unwinnable constituency in a working-class area of South Yorkshire.

Duncan lost his election bid, but gained praise from the party's hierarchy by placing second; something the party hadn't managed there in twenty years. Duncan had also proved a vote winner with one of the young assistants on his election team too, Deb was pregnant and her airline ticket to Australia got cashed-in to help pay for a hastily arranged wedding. Even then she and Duncan were politically astute, with her pregnancy it'd have been a political scandal had they not got married before the papers got onto the story.

A couple of years later Duncan got offered the candidacy for a by-election in South Bedfordshire; this too was seen as something of a lost cause, though not to the extent that the Yorkshire constituency had been. Duncan threw himself into the campaign with his young and very attractive wife by his side, the camera liked Deb and the baby often to be seen in her arms went down well with the voters too; their second child which Deb was now pregnant with often got a mention too.

It's often been suggested that Deb and the kids were what tipped the balance when Duncan scraped home with a majority of only a hundred-odd votes in fifty thousand. The party and no doubt he and Deb too were ecstatic at the result, even more so when Duncan not only retained the seat, but increased his majority at the next election. Duncan went on to retain the seat through three more elections, each time increasing that majority further; by the time he died, South Bedfordshire was considered a 'secure' Tory seat.

Despite his success in South Bedfordshire, Duncan never rose to high office in national politics, forever a 'back bencher'; with those two facts very likely being connected: Duncan was first, foremost and always a constituency MP, protecting the best interests of the residents of South Bedfordshire, irrespective of their political leanings or party-policy. The mantra 'I'm not a Conservative, but I always vote for Duncan' was often heard in Bedfordshire and Duncan's loyalty to 'his' voters too often put him at odds with the party's Grandees; Duncan could never be trusted to toe the party-line.

Deb meanwhile kept the home fires burning, maintaining their house, raising their kids and providing a back-stop to Duncan's career. In his efforts to serve his constituents, Duncan accepted any and every invitation that he received, quite often Deb would attend with him and when Duncan couldn't attend, Deb would always be there in his stead. Deb's profile in South Bedfordshire was every bit as high as Duncan's and her popularity perhaps even greater; the ladies loved the dedicated wife and mother, while men of all ages appreciated the hot-babe.

Deb's political career arose from that profile and popularity: Duncan was twelve years older than Deb, but still only fifty-five, so his death was as unexpected as it was sudden; a brain hemorrhage whilst sat in the garden on a sunny Sunday afternoon. It was almost a year until the next general election was due and during Parliament's summer recess too; a by-election would have to be held, but none of the political parties were prepared, nor had a serious candidate in mind to contest it.

I don't think anyone 'knows' whose idea it was, but like all good ones, both in life generally and politics especially, there are no end of people who claim it was theirs: With her sons both now away at university, Deb could fight the seat and just tide things over until the following year's general election, by when the conservative party and indeed all the others, would have time to properly prepare. It was a shoe-in for Deb's with only a couple of parties even putting up a candidate and even those were half-hearted attempts.

That Deb was to be just the stop-gap MP was how Deb saw it too, just looking out for the interests of Duncan's electorate until a 'real' politician took over the following year; though Deb did make -- 'just because I can' - a well received maiden-speech in the House of Commons and indeed was a regular attendee. That might well have been the extent of Deb's political career had someone in the opposition party not also had a good idea:

Deb had been invited to take part in a regional TV debate regarding a local development issue and was expecting to share the platform with a labour MP from the adjacent constituency. However, a senior Labour MP's had been getting some bad press of late and as he was their spokesman for transport, it was decided to put him forward instead, no doubt intending to garner a bit of positive publicity by running rings around the novice/stop-gap MP for South Bedfordshire.

That good idea was not one that people subsequently queued-up to take credit for: Deb ripped the guy to shreds and in doing so branded him a 'bare faced liar'; which is not the sort of thing that 'real' politicians call each other in a public forum. The Labour MP tore off his microphone -- unfortunately not before he'd voiced a stream of sexist, misogynistic, profanity - and stormed off the set; what had started as a regional news programme made it onto national news by the following morning.

By that same evening, TV researchers had proved that the chap was a indeed a bare faced liar and the story was the headline item on national news; overnight, Deb had garnered a national political profile, the career of the MP she'd crossed swords with never did recover. The media loved Deb, she was attractive, sassy and always happy to comment; more especially, her comments were from the hip, her own opinion rather than simply quoting the party line.

This of course made Deb little more popular with her own party as she was with the opposition, but there was nothing they could do about it; Deb's reaction to any threat of sanction was to shrug her shoulders and say 'fine, I'll be gone by the summer anyway'. What Deb hadn't perhaps appreciated, but her party no doubt had, was the power of the media; there was never a week went by without her appearing on some TV or radio show and barely a day when she wasn't being quoted by some newspaper or another.

Deb managed to shoehorn such appearances around the work she tirelessly did in her own constituency and by that summer, she had a profile that went far beyond politics and was already in negotiations to become a political analyst and presenter for a national TV station after she stood down as an MP. But that of course didn't happen: Her voters didn't want a new/different MP, they wanted Deb to continue representing them and they made their feelings known.

Deb was by then no doubt enjoying being an MP in general and looking out for Duncan's constituents too -- even today Deb refers to the electorate as 'Duncan's voters' - so in response to the ever increasing calls both via the media and in person, Deb agreed that provided the party approved her to continue as their representative for South Bedfordshire, she would stand again at the upcoming election.

I'm sure that the party would've been glad to see the back of Deb, but they knew damned well that they either went with Deb or lost the seat in the backlash which would follow her de-selection. Deb went out on the campaign trail in May, her two sons took time out from college to support her and by mid-June she was back in Parliament, elected with a larger majority than Duncan had ever managed.

That election was three years ago and while Deb's energy is still primarily focused on her own constituency, she now sits on the front bench in Parliament as a Cabinet Minister; I'm not sure Deb wants to be there and I'm bloody certain the powers that be, behind the party would prefer her not to be -- she still can't be trusted to say the right thing -- but public acclaim, as spun by the media -- Deb remains their go to girl for a juicy quote -- gave them no option but to promote her.

With that all said, my suspicion is that despite Deb's political/party conflicts, she's actually quite popular with her immediate colleagues: Deb's clearly very good at her job and a vote winner, she never seems to undermine her colleagues and perhaps most importantly to them, Deb's not competing with them for the highest offices in the land, Deb has no ambitions to be Prime Minister, indeed she'd happily return to being simply the MP for South Bedfordshire.

Which brings us back -- eventually, I'm sorry it took so long -- to Tuesday evening: Deb might've been dressed the part, but her uneasy stance and the stuttering way in which she greeted me were far from the confident MP that you saw on the TV.

I grinned and responded pretty much as I do with any visitor "How goes it Deb? I've not seen you in ages; I'm ready for a beer, do you fancy one?" Deb didn't look any more comfortable, but she managed to nod her assent.

A quick trip to the kitchen and I returned with two cold ones; in deference to Deb's station in life, I even poured hers into a glass and told her so as I passed it over; that at least garnered a weak smile. Deb took a sip and smiled properly "I can't remember the last time anyone offered me a beer, G&T, white wine and occasionally champagne, but it's most often sherry; horrible stuff, but one can't decline."

"I could rustle up some white wine or gin if you prefer, though I'm not sure if we've got any tonic water." When Deb declined with a smile and a shake of her head, I concluded: "So, what can I do for you Debo?"

Deb's smile immediately wavered and her eyes dropped as in little more than a whisper she began: "I do want a favour Jack and I know Kate left you a note, did she not explain in that?"

"Afraid not, it outlined Kate's approval but was cryptic beyond that."

"Bugger! I hoped she'd give you an inkling at least, though Kate did say that I'd have to do my own dirty work."

"Just ask me. I know Kate's OK with my helping out, so provided that you don't want me to kill anyone, or cast a vote in favour of your cabal of bloodsucking vampires, I'm up for it." That got me another and this time real smile, so I added: "Actually, I could even be flexible on the murdering bit, you have more than a few colleagues I'd happily kill for you Deb; but voting Conservative, that is an absolute red-line."

That scored a genuine laugh, Deb's first of the evening. "God but you're incorrigible Jack, you never fail to show why Kate chose to marry you."

"Ah, but do you approve? Your own sister... married to a long haired, pot-smoking, leftie; the absolute shame of it."

"You missed out happily... Kate's happily married to Ealing's answer to Che Guevara; then again, what girl wouldn't be happy snuggling up to Che of an evening?"

Now it was my turn to lose the power of speech, I recalled Kate's note, both the words she'd written and that drawing of Deb; WTF! Was Deb coming on to me; suggesting what I thought she was? That thought process obviously showed on my face, so Deb put me out of my misery: "Yes, exactly that... I'm looking to get laid and was hoping that Ealing-Che might see his way to helping me out."

I was fucking gobsmacked, but eventually managed to mumble something along thee lines of "while I found Deb very attractive, I was married and to her sister and surely she must have some closer friend than me to have an affair with?" That said, gobsmacked or not, I was aware of my erection growing as I spoke.

Deb shook her head firmly: "I'm not looking for a relationship, I just need to get laid; it's been more than four years since Duncan died and there's a limit to what my bedroom toys can achieve. Despite his age Duncan was a very... ardent in the bedroom and I've missed that attention more with each passing day."

"I'm not allowed friends any more, or at least not like that. My life revolves around Westminster nowadays, the world of politicians and civil servants; where colleagues and 'friends' might well stab you in the back, never mind the bloody opposition!."

"Those of my own... seniority are either gay, married or both, while the few that aren't score at least two from three out of overweight, balding and downright odious; of the approaches that I've received those from the women have been the more appealing."

"As for turning my eye toward any of my younger colleagues, that opens a whole other can of worms. We might all like to pretend that it's a modern, emancipated world, but while a man can take a much younger lover or even wife, as Duncan did, the reverse is still frowned upon by the voters... especially those in the age-group that provides the core of my support."

"Beyond that of course, is the in-house strife: Word of any liaison would soon get around and if the young man I was sleeping with got any sort of promotion, there'd be an outcry that it's only because he's sleeping with me. If however, his career didn't sky-rocket - and why else would he choose to sleep with his boss? - then he'd be the one crying foul and the fall-out from that would be even worse"

Having kept silent and nodded my understandingly through Deb's monologue, I ventured that she must meet some men from outside the political circle, or as a last resort... maybe pay a gigolo or a male escort?

"The first is a minefield, in much the same way as any dalliance with a younger and more junior staffer. The only businessmen that I come into regular contact with nowadays are Company Chairmen and CEOs, so any comment I make or vote I cast will be judged on the basis of whether or not it helps my fella's company. Either his competitors will complain or he will and as a bonus, those spats would probably be played out in the media."

"As for using an escort, that's just political suicide, most especially as a woman: Any fee the young man earned from me would be just the icing on the cake, the real money would be from selling his story to the newspapers. It'd be worth thousands and if he got a few juicy photos, or got forbid, a video clip -- all too easy nowadays! - then you're talking tens of thousands!"

We were both silent in our own thoughts for quite a while; I could now understand why Deb was here. "So, what you need to find is a virile young... fuck-buddy, with no political or commercial axe to grind, who you'd trust not to sell you out to the media." I smiled as I said it.

Deb nodded and then allowed a smile onto her own face: "That's the bottom line... though it would be better still if the young man adjudged me perhaps not his favourite politician, but undoubtedly the most fuckable." Deb's smile widened and I couldn't help but join in. If I needed any assurance as to Kate's approval, that was it; Kate was the only one I'd made that comment to and I'd done so more than once.