Mandy Lords It Over Mps With Irony By the Handful

After only two weeks, Peter Mandelson is still finding his feet. Well, we all know how slippery the polished wood deck of a billionaire's yacht can be. But he is also trying to keep his balance as the new business secretary in the cabinet.

Yesterday he appeared in front of the Commons committee for his first grilling and they got straight to the point.

As the current scandal swirls around his name, and the hacks pursue the boat like cawing seagulls seeking scraps of leftover lunch, the chairman asked what odds were William Hill offering on him completing this term of office?

"I am sure I shall enjoy the total confidence of the bookies," said Lord Mandelson silkily. It was his birthday. "I cannot think of a nicer group of people to spend it with," he told the committee. Irony? Almost certainly. He uses irony like a skilled fencer uses an épée - you don't know you've been hit until the blood starts gushing out.

It can't have been a happy time for him. But he managed a rigid smile.

Next to him was his permanent secretary, Sir Brian Bender KCB. Sir Brian may be a jovial soul and his Father Christmas a much-loved treat for neighborhood children, but yesterday he looked miserable. Glum, gloomy, grey and gutted. It was as if he was channeling all his boss's fears and anxieties - the permanent secretary of Dorian Gray.

Mandelson began by complaining about the press, which is hardly surprising, given how much the press complains about him. "I have had to put up with a media narrative that has owed more to lifestyle journalism than to business or finance," he said.

"The only thing missing is sex, drugs and rock'n'roll; no doubt that will be rectified in the Sunday papers." He decided to suck up relentlessly to the committee. Someone pointed out that it had been ages since he had appeared before them. (In 1999, as a matter of fact.) "It has been a long time," he agreed. "It makes my return all the sweeter." A bit later he said that "if I can satisfy you, I will satisfy myself". He offered a little smile, in contrast to Sir Brian, who looked ever more miserable.

I began to notice the Mandelson hands. They are constantly in motion, working around as if he were engaged in a complicated piece of macrame work. Sometimes they make cat's cradles. Sometimes the fingertips meet pensively. On occasion he would begin stroking one finger with the other hand, as if it hadn't been getting the attention it deserved.

The message seemed to be, "you lot might not like me, but my hands adore me." A female colleague whispered: "I bet he wears gloves in bed, just to keep moisturizer off the sheets."

He was asked about some aspect of government policy. "You are asking me to comment on decisions that are way above my pay grade!" he said.

The chairman, Peter Luff, said sarcastically: "Nothing could be way above your pay grade."

"Well," he conceded, "higher than my pay grade." Again he offered a slight little smile.

He left off being wonderful about the committee to be wonderful about Gordon Brown. How great was his sense of urgency, his decisiveness! Nobody was going around the houses or up the garden path.

At a National Economic Council meetings there were screens showing the latest state of all the markets. "I wish I could smuggle you in!" he said to Mr Luff, like a boy offering to show a friend his sister in the shower.

Then there was one of those Mandy moments. He was asked about yesterday's Guardian revelation that Lloyds TSB still intended to pay fat bonuses. "You're ahead of me, I haven't read the Guardian, I haven't read any newspapers today as I was at cabinet."

Yet the front page of the Times was all about his friend and seagoing host Oleg Deripaska, and was widely believed to be Mandelson's revenge on George Osborne for leaking his disobliging reflections on Gordon Brown. The paper had hinted as much.

And he hadn't had time to read it?

Oh, pull the other one. Lord Mandelson tugged at a fretful finger.