August 16th 1971
He loved the feeling of just lying there, watching his lover sleep, content in himself that all was well with the world. It was a quiet Tuesday morning and little needed to be done until later in the day, and even then, who would notice? He felt a stirring, looking outside the window listening to birdsong. At this point, he nudged his lover over. “Jeremy” he whispered, quietly in his ear. “Jeremy, you’d best get up. You’re expected at the local party meeting.” “Not now“, Mr Thorpe snapped, leaning over, kissing the young man tenderly on the lips, and with a smile said "I have far too much to do here..”
The journalist in the flat across the street could barely believe his eyes. The very openness of it all. They hadn’t even bothered to draw the curtains. The photographs taken would be banned under the obscene publications act if he had even attempted to put them in the paper. It was all he needed though. Even without printing the pictures, it was the evidence that would bring down the political career of Jeremy Thorpe.