The Inside Tories

THE BIG surprise about David Davis is his sex appeal. David Cameron is billed as the blue rinse brigade's pin-up boy. Davis is a bruiser with the broken nose and scars to prove it. Both candidates have the height, hair and tan which are as much a prerequisite of modern leadership as policy initiatives and soundbites, but Davis, 56, exudes raw, alpha-male sexuality in a way that Cameron, 39, does not. There is something Clintonesque about him.

We meet after a press conference in Perth - the only Scottish hustings in the Tory leadership campaign. Cameron has made a sharp exit but Davis has hung around to press the flesh.

When we retire to his dressing room for a hurried interview he is clearly enjoying himself but absolutely shattered. His eyes have almost disappeared. He is much more cordial about Cameron (who has the bigger entourage, the prettier girls, and polls that put him ahead by a ratio of 2:1) than Cameron is about him. It's a nice touch, smacking of magnanimity. But Cameron has it in the bag, doesn't he? "Not at all," says Davis. "The polls are all internet polls and whatever our party is, it's not an internet party." It is certainly true that the 600 Tories who shuffle into the Perth Concert Hall give the impression that they still consider the twin-tub new-fangled.

"Tories don't want to see Tories tearing lumps out of each other," says Davis. Except perhaps in Scotland, where it seems to be something of a national compulsion. What does he make of the Scottish Conservatives? "I'm sad about what happened to David McLetchie. I believe in a very high degree of autonomy for the Scottish party."

What if, as has been mooted, they were to join an alliance with the Scottish National Party after the next Holyrood election? "I'd look at everything on its merits," he says, giving the impression he would kill it stone dead. "I'm not a fan of coalitions. What I'd like to see is the Scottish Tories becoming the most effective opposition they can be."

The Barnett formula, he says, is "pretty sacrosanct," and he is "very happy" with the idea of the Scottish Tories campaigning on lower income tax. "I'd love to see a low tax economy working in Scotland before I take over as prime minister," he says. Even if it meant the disintegration of the union? "It won't mean that. The United States hasn't disintegrated and the states there have different tax regimes."

By this stage in the campaign, the two contenders have their hustings routine off-pat. Davis jokes that he is seeing more of Cameron than his wife, Doreen, from Ayrshire, with whom he has three grown-up children. It is an uncomfortable gag. In an interview last week Doreen Davis spoke of her loneliness. Even when her husband is at home, he will be on the phone, he rarely sits down to a leisurely dinner with her and he unwinds by watching "a film with a lot of shooting in it" while she irons in another room. He sleeps in the spare room if he comes home late. "Days go by and we don't speak," says Mrs Davis. "There was passion in our marriage to start with but I suppose some of that goes with 32 years of marriage."

Outwith a Graham Greene novel, it is the most poignant portrait of a neglected wife you are likely to read. "That's not how she sees it," he says. "I don't regret her doing it. I just told her to be herself, to tell the truth. It was very honest." She calls him selfish and inconsiderate. Is he? "No more than anybody else," he says. "I've had a large number of female voters who have said to me, 'that's a true portrait of family life'... and being an MP is a very demanding job." Being a husband is also a demanding job. Did it not make him think he must spend more time with his wife?

"No," he says. And that is not how she sees it. He last sent her flowers he says, "seven or eight weeks ago".

Mrs Davis has no worries about her husband's fidelity. Is she right? "Look I'm not going to do a rerun of her interview," he says tetchily. "She is a lovely lady. We are very fond of each other." Whatever the state of his marriage, There is certainly no lack of passion in his life. Politics consumes him. There is a sense of urgency and conviction which is appealing. He is hungrier than Cameron. If he loses this battle, as looks likely, he will go down fighting and he will relish the scars.

• DAVID CAMERON

THE charge against David Cameron is that he is all style and no substance. It is disconcerting, then, to see him in an outfit Mr Pooter might find dull. The suit is Paul Smith - "a bit expensive. I'm quite mean about clothes". His coat is 25 from Portobello Market, his tie a monotone green affair, and, although his shirt is white, it is hardly crisp.

He has, however, a good excuse for this unpromising combination. (You sense that Cameron has a good excuse for most things). At 5am, his three-year-old son, Ivan, who has cerebral palsy and is severely disabled, had been having seizures. Cameron planned to rush him to hospital before heading off for the plane to Scotland. Then he discovered that Ivan's night carer had forgotten to give him his diazepam. Cameron administered the medication and his son fell asleep. "There I was up and dressed at 5am," he says.

Not surprisingly, he has a sense of perspective that other politicians' lack. He is not one of life's worriers. "I sleep very well". Despite his son's condition, he is an optimist and it is this upbeat, cheerful effortlessness which has endeared him to the Tory faithful. He is the embodiment of bright, young hope. The two questions that come up as he travels round the country, he says, are how will he appeal to young people and to women?

Not by his dress sense, that's for sure. Cameron talks about the idealism of youth and punts a sort of consensus politics which would see him backing Labour reform of health and education. David Davis says his rival would prop up an ailing Blair Government. Isn't the job of opposition to oppose?

"The opposition is a Government in waiting," he says. "We have to stand for what we believe in. If we say we believe in school autonomy, even modest school autonomy has to be supported, otherwise we will be seen as opportunistic. It's about what's right, what's wrong and what we do in response."

We are travelling by car between Edinburgh and Perth and Cameron is munching on a Granny Smith. "Will you tell your readers if I throw the core out the window?" he asks and then does it anyway.

His father, a stockbroker, comes from Huntly in Aberdeenshire and the Camerons holiday at his wife's family pad on Jura. Although he backs England at rugby, he "always backs Scotland next". He's happy to let the Scottish Tories get on with it, whatever it may be.

"The Scottish Tories need the flexibility to make their own decisions." But what if they make decisions which sit uncomfortably with his leadership? "Well that's what happens with devolution. We don't all have to do the same thing at the same time. I believe in devolution, heart, head and soul."

I ask him about the Barnett formula and he sweeps me aside. "We've got four years to look at these things." It wouldn't come as a surprise if we discovered discover he thinks the Barnett formula is a kind of hair tonic. "I'm not rewriting policy on the hoof." Isn't that just an excuse for ducking the issues? "Frankly, yes, it is," he says. "What this is about is judgement and principle. You have to concentrate on the big decisions."

Surprisingly, it is Cameron who first mentions drugs. The accusation that he took them in his youth has dogged his campaign. "I think people are entitled to know how you live today, which is why I talk about my disabled son, but your past should be private," he says.

Everyone now assumes he took drugs at university, but a more serious charge would be if he took them while working for the Tory Party. He joined Conservative Central Office at 21. Can he give a categorical assurance that he didn't? "I think the line I've drawn is perfectly reasonable," he says. "Why did I ever bring this issue up?"

He smokes Marlboro Lights and gave up for seven months last year, then relapsed on holiday. He does not agree with the smoking ban but believes it is inevitable. He is in favour of liberalising the licensing laws but wants it done "sensibly".

His wife, Samantha, the step-daughter of Lord Astor, is creative director of Smythson, the paper and leather retailer. "All of my wife's salary goes on paying for carers for my son," he says. Ivan goes to a special school. Nancy, who is two, will go to a state primary in London. A third baby is due in February.

Leadership of the party with a view to occupying 10 Downing Street is a lot to put a young family through. "My wife is behind me. She is determined that we have a family life and so am I," he says. Is he tough enough for the job? "I think I am," he says. "What is required is not brutality but strength of character and judgement." Substance abuse is no longer an issue, he believes. Style abuse is a whole other matter.