On reflection, Priti Patel would probably have preferred almost anyone but Michael Gove to defend her reputation in the commons. A junior home office minister would have been so much better. Someone who could be bullied into taking the hit of a 45-minute punishment beating while under instructions to say nothing of any interest whatsoever.

Mikey is an entirely different proposition, however. A politician mistrusted by everyone who has ever met him. Especially those who know him well. A man rejected by the Tories as their leader on two separate occasions, principally because no one could be sure he wouldn’t stab himself in the back. Give him a knife and he just can’t help himself. There will be blood. So the home secretary’s heart must have sunk when she saw that the Govester had been put up to answer Labour’s urgent question about her bullying allegations and the resignation of permanent secretary Philip Rutnam.

What followed was an absolute master-class of duplicity. He began in honeyed tones. Patel was a superb minister whom he admired almost as much as he admired himself. No one does self-love quite like Gove. Then again, perhaps it’s just as well he loves himself, for no one else does. He is the bagman who inspires only fear and loathing. And just as he had lured Patel into believing she had the wholehearted confidence of both him and the prime minister, he announced – just for the hell of it – that he was opening an independent inquiry into her behaviour.

Back in the Home Office, Patel held her head in her hands. She’d just been thrown under a bus. There had been no need for any of this. Boris had promised that the official line would be a full support with no comment on any of the allegations due to the impending employment tribunal. But Mikey just hadn’t been able to resist making trouble for her. Now all sorts of other allegations would inevitably tumble out of the cupboard and she was living on borrowed time. Her job was no longer nearly as safe as she had imagined. Predictably enough, another bullying claim – this one linked to a £25,000 payout – materialised a couple of hours later.

Even Jeremy Corbyn seemed rather taken aback by the ease with which Gove had washed his hands of the home secretary. He contented himself with asking why the prime minister hadn’t appeared in person to answer questions on the conduct of one of his ministers and if Patel had made illegal demands of her own officials. He ended by calling for her dismissal. Gove shook his head but his eyes sparkled. There’s nothing he would like more. It was nothing personal between him and Patel. Just that he can never pass up a chance for duplicity. Treachery is his Pavlovian response.

Labour MPs tried to press for a few more details. How many allegations against Patel were there? The numbers seemed to be increasing by the hour. How much had the permanent secretary been offered to keep quiet? Was Gove actually aware that bullying could be quite nuanced? That someone could be quite nice to you one day, and unpleasantly aggressive and vindictive the next?

Mikey nodded with faux sincerity and humility. Westminster’s very own Uriah Heep. No one took bullying as seriously as him. No one loved Priti more than him. Now that he had undermined her, he could afford to appear more gracious. “I’ve always been happy to admit when I’m wrong,” he insisted. Cue a moment’s silence. It has never once occurred to Gove that he might be wrong about anything. Not even the odd coke binge.

With the de facto deputy prime minister having effectively disowned the home secretary, it was left to Tory backbenchers – all of whom were reading off a crib sheet handed out by a lone government whip – to belatedly come to Patel’s rescue. Mark Francois and Bill Cash who had been first to complain about John Bercow’s alleged bullying behaviour were now adamant that a spot of light bullying was fair game, and that civil servants ought to man up a bit. Most bizarre, though, was new Tory Dehenna Davison, who said that her constituents didn’t give a toss about bullying just so long as the government clamped down on immigration. So as far as she was concerned, Patel could do whatever she liked.

The intellectually-challenged Tim Loughton rather agreed. The prime minister had more than enough on his hands not doing anything much about the coronavirus, floods and Brexit – the ante-natal refresher courses were taking up a lot of his time – so it was entirely appropriate that he should do nothing much about bullying.

Mikey smiled. He’d done enough damage already; he could afford to be ingratiating. “We’ve got a good deal,” he oozed. “We’ve got Brexit done.” He was going to get a hell of a shock when he got back to his office and discovered the trade negotiations had only just started, and Boris was actively planning for a no deal.