Chapter Text
Everyone knew what sort of parties were held in Downing Street. And everyone looked forward to any occasion, whether it was Christmas or Christmas Day, to visit the private island of ministerial bastards who were willing to stain their snow-white shirts with powder as white as snow every month.
Liz crossed the distance from the door to her seat almost at a run, landing quite elegantly on the dark green pavement. A wave of cheers, or mockery (the blonde hoped that at least her co-partners were in the former category) swept through the room. Truss was not in the habit of being deliberately late, but on such a special day she was late for a good reason: her new shoes were too tight to fit, squeezing her feet; the hard edges were rubbing her skin raw, making her wrinkle every step.
The disgruntled Mordaunt glanced boredly at her colleague before turning back to her folder, and Starmer smirked haughtily, waiting for the speaker to give him the floor. The others were quite engrossed in the discussion of current affairs, interrupting each other in audible whispers. Hoyle waved his hand in the direction of the Conservatives, allowing the Prime Minister, who had become bored, to speak.
— Thank you, Mr Speaker. I would like to remind you that the incident of anti-Semitism in the Labour Party has not been thoroughly investigated, – the Tories expressed their support with a synchronised howl, after which the palm of primacy was passed to the opposite bench.
— Are we still on? – Liz shivered in surprise, but didn't turn towards the whisper, only bowed her head slightly. - There had been some changes to the guest list, there would be a few uninvited, but that wasn't a problem?
'Sure, as long as one of them doesn't burn themselves to the press, it's fine,' thought Liz.
The blonde put her pile of papers into a stack without delay, grudgingly answering Mordaunt:
- Be there by nine o'clock tonight, hopefully the old people won't fall asleep right after we start, – painting something like a smirk on her face, the younger woman still glanced at Penny, who winked back lightly, being the first to leave the room.
***
One of the most famous dwellings in Downing Street was slowly filling up with a motley assortment of gentlemen. In the huddle of people there were flashing dresses that were clearly not meant for work, shoes with heels more than ten centimetres high, and even mini-skirts.
Unfortunate, but vulgarly distinguished owners of long stilettos after fun drinking became regular visitors of the nearest private trauma centre. Doctors, as it is supposed to be, kept quiet, not spreading the word about the occasional antics of ministers. Doctor-patient confidentiality was backed up by a large sum of cash, which suited everyone just fine.
- Hey, Liz, what the hell is Maybot doing here? She's retired and bored of sitting around and decided to have some fun with the young ones? - The blonde turned sharply in the direction of the voice that had called out to her.
Priti Patel glanced up at her colleague, but Truss's sudden laughter made her look down at the voice. The woman, dressed in an epic pink suit, calmed down after a few seconds of amusement and shoved her hands into her trouser pockets.
- God, leave me alone, Priti! How do I know why Theresa May would want to go to a celebration of my imminent retirement? It's not like she wanted to try out a couple of young MPs... Or on a field of wheat, - the blonde interrupted her speech and grabbed a glass of cognac from the table, taking a sip, shuddering slightly at the strength of the dark drink.
- You look like you'd like to have some fun with her, don't you? - Penny came round the corner, clearly eavesdropping on the incipient discussion of May's predilections, which Patel thought was the only worthy one of the others.
Liz immediately opened her arms to her sides, inviting her colleague into a welcoming embrace. The older woman snuggled up to her, giving her an inadvertent peck on the cheek, to which Truss only smiled briefly, returning to the subject at hand.
- Did you even see May about five years ago? All those shoes, those Thatcher-esque suits? I think I would have been with her.... - A hard kick to the ribs from Priti caused Liz to fold in half, moaning in pain.
Clutching her nails into the jacket of the uncomprehending Mordaunt, the blonde, still reeling from the poke, looked up to see a familiar figure wearing an unusually short dress, but the usual ridiculous shoes with some incomprehensible pattern and rhinestones. After counting exactly fifteen brightly coloured stones, glittering in the light of the lamps, framing the shoes of the former British leader, Liz deigned to assume her original position, struggling to straighten her stiff back to Patel's quiet laughter.
Theresa, who had decided to attend a gathering of drunken and inadequate but cheerful colleagues for the first time, looked at the blonde somewhat puzzled, giving her the sweetest smile she could muster. Mordaunt gave the woman her hand, which May immediately shook enthusiastically.
- Mrs May, we were just remembering you! - The Leader of the House of Commons said, jerking Theresa's hand up and down. - You have decided to accept my invitation after all, it is so marvellous!
There was an instant silence, interrupted only by the murmur of the other guests' voices. Priti opened her mouth, wanting to comment with the most unflattering epithets, but she couldn't utter a sound and closed her lips back into a thin line.
- I am pleasantly surprised by your visit, right, at last you have visited us.....
- In the middle of a forgotten village? - Rees-Mogg appeared out of nowhere behind Priti's back and gave a nod of greeting.
The quotation from Eugene Onegin did not make a proper impression on the ungrateful audience, who in unison fixed their eyes on the local aristocrat. Instead of the usual attribute in the form of tea in the bony hand of the man rested a glass of wine, which could well be older than the late Queen herself. A well-known Taylor Swift song was playing in the background, and the barely audible tapping of Truss's heels was in time with it.
- I suggest we drink to our diverse company, - the blonde raised the bottle of cognac again, filling the others' glasses without delay. Rees-Mogg, who was now drinking a concoction of Isabella wine and cognac, was not particularly upset and tasted the cocktail in the manner of a professional sommelier, raising his bushy eyebrows approvingly.
Theresa shifted awkwardly from foot to foot and clasped her hands together, noticing her lack of any container.
- You'll have to drink right from the bottle, - Priti said knowingly, sensing that in a minute or two everyone would be, to put it mildly, in the most favourable mood possible.
- Why, ladies don't do that! Set your mouth, Lady May, and taste this drink from the hands of the Prime Minister herself!
The face of the older woman, who was already quite unsure of her decision to come for imaginary entertainment, instantly turned purple. Suppressing an all too noticeable and unseemly twitching of her eye, she wordlessly cradled the bottle, insistently yanking it out of the noticeably tipsy Liz's hand.
- Thank you, darling, I'll deal with this on my own!
Penny, who was watching the scene unfold as a bystander, was the first to react. The woman immediately coughed as if she'd choked on alcohol rather than laughing hysterically at the dialogue between drunken Truss and very sober May. Theresa, however, was not to be outdone, and drew her lips to the bottle, sipping greedily at the salutary liquid.
- You shouldn't drink so much, Mrs May, a woman of your age shouldn't be behaving so immaturely... - said Jacob, who had already been forgotten.
May rolled her eyes dramatically and gave the man a long, scrutinising stare, then continued to pour the cognac into herself even harder to the shocked gasps of the younger women.