《No, Minister.(存一下英文版)》用其他笔名

3、[Interlude] S01E00.5 Cyril's Diary and Memos (1980.1.19-21)

　　[Interlude] S01E00.5
　　Cyril Astley’s Diary and Memoranda (19-21 January 1980)
　　Saturday, 19th January, 1980 | Pimlico, London | Cold and grey, thin mist
　　A Saturday morning should have been a rare moment of peace.
　　However, just past eight, the doorbell rang.
　　A Cabinet Office messenger handed me a sealed envelope, the flap bearing the conspicuous seal of the Cabinet Office.
　　Inside was a secondment order. The wording was concise, efficient, and carried an unquestionable authority:
　　“Mr Cyril Astley is hereby temporarily seconded to the Preparatory Unit of the Department of Synergy Coordination (DSC) to assist with framework establishment and initial operations. Effective immediately. Reporting to: Alistair Cavendish.”
　　The Department of Synergy Coordination.
　　The name had been whispered in the corridors of Whitehall for a day now, a newborn of a hung parliament's compromise, its name as awkward as an academic thesis. And I, a young man who had only recently climbed to the rank of Principal on the Civil Service □□, was being seconded directly to its core preparatory team, reporting directly to him.
　　The legends surrounding him were many among the younger civil servants. Not because of his distinguished surname—though that was certainly a topic—but because of his dizzying pace of ascent and the widely circulated stories: how, in an Energy Department budget review, he had reversed the direction of an entire project with a single, logically watertight memorandum; how, in a thorny inter-departmental coordination, he had persuaded several Permanent Secretaries of far greater seniority to concede, with their full agreement; and that ever-present sense of calm, precise, almost omniscient presence.
　　And, of course, the talk of how he burnished his silver spoon. There were always those who sourly believed his promotions were due to his birth, selectively ignoring that his every step was founded on irrefutable merit. I knew he was not fond of the title; I had learned a little on the quiet, it seemed to be related to the invisible ostracism he encountered in his early years due to his aristocratic status. In Whitehall, a silver spoon that is not polished into gold by one's own hand becomes a burden. He was clearly well versed in this art and had tempered it into a weapon.
　　During a brief rotation at the Treasury, I was fortunate enough to work for a short time in a department subordinate to his team. I had observed him chairing meetings from a distance on several occasions. Quiet, sharp, no wasted words.
　　Perhaps it was even earlier, at Balliol, Oxford, when I was still an undergraduate, that I first witnessed his calibre. He must have been an official from the Treasury responsible for reviewing education expenditure, visiting the college for an informal consultation, a hearing on the education budget. A small secret, but it was that session I audited that finally made me decide to apply for the Civil Service.
　　But admiration is one thing; apprehension is another. To be seconded to build the framework of an entirely new department? The responsibility far exceeded my current grade.
　　But the order was "effective immediately."
　　The weekend was forfeit. Pack up, report for duty.