Leading article: Greek tragedy or Whitehall farce?

The Greek islands form a suitable setting for a drama that might have been plotted by the gods. The story conforms to the three unities of classical theatre: time, place and mood. The cast is small. The action takes place on yachts, villas and tavernas in two similar locations over a few days in the summer, and the mood is one of hubris.

First, the gods play with a precocious young man, who thinks he is cleverer than he is and who is enjoying the adoration of the chorus. George Osborne – for it is he – decides that it would be great sport to embarrass his mighty enemy, the grim-faced king. He let it be known that, on holiday, an exiled prince "dripped pure poison" in his ear about the king.

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Then the gods persuade the king that he should defy his reputation for dullness by making a dramatic gesture of reconciliation with this long-estranged "prince of darkness". Mr Osborne's anonymous mischief suddenly becomes a public quarrel. The prince, now elevated to a lord, takes his revenge. No one sees him do it, but it looks as if he has persuaded a friend, who is as rich as Croesus and who played host, to tell tales of what Mr Osborne was up to on that holiday. Something to do with selling his soul to a foreign potentate, Oleg Deripaska, who is even richer than Croesus.

Now it looks as if Lord Mandelson's own cleverness has recoiled against him, just as Mr Osborne's did. Yesterday, his silky words tried to camouflage with condescension an admission that he had misled people. "Some people formed the reasonable view, therefore, that my first meeting with him [Deripaska] was in 2006," he wrote. "This is not the case."

Fortunately for him, the audience is a little lost by now, and no one can remember whether this is a detail that matters, and, if so, why.

But our report today does matter. It seems that Lord Mandelson has been cavalier about the possibilities of conflicts of interest in his role as European Commissioner. The significance of his holiday with, among others, Mr Osborne at the court of Mr Deripaska is that he has accepted hospitality from super-rich businesspeople whose interests are touched by European laws that he helped to frame. In Mr Deripaska's case, those interests include most of Russia's aluminium industry. Yesterday, Lord Mandelson protested that the top commission bureaucrat had confirmed that "I made no personal intervention to support the commercial interests of Mr Deripaska" when the EU lifted tariffs on aluminium three years ago.

But in the last speech he gave before he was reshuffled back to the British Cabinet, Mr Mandelson advocated further liberalisation of the raw materials trade, specifically including aluminium.

Of course, free trade is a broad principle and one that this newspaper strongly supports. And it would seem that, as Trade Commissioner, Mr Mandelson was not required to disclose any hospitality that he received. But we cannot help feeling that none of this would be known to hoi polloi if it had not been for Mr Osborne's impetuousness that unwittingly sprung the whole dramatic trap.

This is a morality tale of people being too clever by half. Its main effect has been to give the impression that the world is ruled by eight people – to the cast listed above we should add David Cameron, who accepted free flights in private jets to see Rupert Murdoch, his daughter and his son-in-law – who were all on a yacht in the eastern Mediterranean in August.

It looks as if this is the way that power politics and international business are conducted, and it is jarringly at odds with the public face that politicians like to present of considered decisions made by properly minuted committees in boring offices in Whitehall.

As ever, openness is the key. It may well be that Mr Osborne stared politely into the middle distance from the terrace of Nat Rothschild's villa and pretended not to hear Mr Rothschild suggest that his friend, Mr Deripaska, could make a donation to the Conservatives through a British company.

It may well be that Mr Cameron feels no more indebted to Rupert Murdoch for having accepted his invitation to drinks on his yacht and dinner on his daughter's than he would anyway in pursuit of his media favour. And it may well be that Lord Mandelson is a sea-green incorruptible in his pursuit of the shining and impartial principle of free trade.

The point is that, if any of the players had had their way, without the intervention of fate or the gods, then we would not have been in a position to decide for ourselves.