First Among Equals (13 page)

Charles did not
care much for Kerslake. He had once told Fiona that he was one of the new breed
of Tories who tried a little too hard, and he had not been displeased to see
him embarrassed over the Gould resignation. Not that he expressed his true
feelings to anyone other than Fiona.

Simon watched
Charles sit down and wondered how much longer the Party could go on electing
Etonian guardsmen who spent more time making money in the city and then
spending it at Ascot than they did working in the House-not that it was an
opinion he would have voiced to anyone but his closest confidants.

The discussion
over the lunch table centered on the remarkable run of by-election results the
Tories had had with three key marginal seats. It was obvious that most of those
around the table were eager for a General Election, although the Prime Minister
did not have to call one for at least another three years.

Neither Charles
nor Simon ordered coffee.

At two
twenty-five Charles watched the Chief Whip leave his private table in the comer
of the room and turn to walk toward his office. Charles checked his watch and
waited a moment before leaving as his colleagues began a heated discussion
about entry into the Common Market.

He strolled
past the smoking room before turning left at the entrance to the library. Then
he continued down the old Ways and Means corridor until he passed the
Opposition Whip’s office on his left. Once through the swinging doors he
entered the members’ lobby, which he crossed to reach the Government Whip’s
office. He strode into the secretary’s door. Miss Norse, the Chief’s invaluable
secretary, stopped typing.

“I have an
appointment with the Chief Whip,” said Charles.

“Yes, Mr.
Hampton, he is expecting you.

Please go
through.” The typing recommenced immediately.

Charles walked
on down the corridor and found the Chief Whip blocking his own doorway.

“Come on in,
Charles. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you,” replied Charles, not wanting to delay the news any
longer.

The Chief Whip
poured himself a gin and tonic before sitting down.

“I hope what
I’m about to tell you will be looked upon as good news.” The Chief Whip paused
and took a gulp of his drink. “The Leader thinks you might benefit from a spell
in the Whip’s office, and I must say I would be delighted if you felt able
tojoin us....”

Charles wanted
to protest but checked himself. “And give up my Environment post?”

“Oh, yes, and
more, of course, because Mr. Heath expects all whips to forgo any outside
employment as well.

Working in this
office is not a part-time occupation.”

Charles needed
a moment to compose his thoughts. “And if I turn it down, will I retain my post
at Environment?”

“That’s not for
me to decide,” said the Chief Whip. “But it is no secret that Ted Heath is
planning several changes in the period before the next election.”

“How long do I
have to consider the offer?”

“Perhaps you
could let me know your decision by Question Time tomorrow.”

“Yes, of
course. Thank you,” said Charles.

He left the
Chief Whip’s office and drove to Eaton Square.

Simon also
arrived at two twenty-five, five minutes before his meeting with the Party Leader.
He had tried not to speculate as to why Heath wanted to see him, in case the
meeting only resulted in disappointment.

Douglas Hurd,
the head of the private office, ushered him straight through to the
Conservative Leader.

“Simon, how
would you like to join the Environment team?” It was typical of Heath not to
waste any time on small talk, and the suddenness of the offer took Simon by
surprise. He recovered quickly.

“Thank you very
much,” he said. “I mean, er... yes... thank you.”

“Good, let’s
see you put your back into it, and be sure the results at the dispatch box are
as effective as they have been from the back benches.”

The door was
opened once again by the private secretary; the interview was clearly over.
Simon found himself back in the corridor at two thirty-three. It was several
moments before the offer sank in. Then, elated, he made a dash for the nearest
phone. He dialed the St. Mary’s switchboard and asked if he could be put
through to Doctor Kerslake. As he spoke, his voice was almost drowned by the
sound of the division bells, signaling the start of the day’s business at two
thirty-five, following prayers. A woman’s voice came on the line.

“Is that you,
darling?” asked Simon above the din.

“No, sir.
It’s the switchboard operator.

Doctor Kerslake’s
in the operating room.”

“Is there any
hope of getting her out?”

“Not unless
you’re in labor, sir.”

“What brings
you home so early?” asked Fiona as Charles came charging through the front
door.

“I need to talk
to someone.” Fiona could never be sure if she ought to be flattered, but she
didn’t express any opinion. It was all too rare these days to have his company,
and she was delighted.

Charles
repeated to his wife as nearly verbatim as possible his conversation with the
Chief Whip. Fiona remained silent when Charles had come to the end of his
monologue. “Well, what’s your opinion?” he asked anxiously.

“All because of
one bad speech from the dispatch box,” Fiona commented wryly.

“I agree,”
said
Charles, “but nothing can be gained by tramping over
that ground again.
And if I turn it down, and wewin the next
election...
T’

“You’ll be left
out in the cold.”

“More to the point, stranded on the back benches.”

“Charles,
politics has always been your first love,” said Fiona, touching him gently on
the cheek. “So I don’t see that you have a choice, and if that means some
sacrifices, you’ll never hear me complain.”

Charles rose
from his chair saying, “Thank you,
my
dear. I’d better
go and see Derek Spencer immediately.”

As Charles
turned to leave, Fiona added,

“And don’t
forget, ‘Fed Heath became Leader of the party via the Whip’s office.”

Charles smiled
for the first time that day.

“A quiet dinner
at home tonight?” suggested Fiona.

“Can’t
tonight,” said Charles. “I’ve got a late vote.”

Fiona sat alone
wondering if she would spend the rest of her life waiting up for a man who
didn’t appear to need her affection.

At last they
put him through.

“Let’s have a
celebration dinner tonight.”

“Why’-,” asked
Elizabeth.

“Because I’ve been invited to join the front-bench team to cover
the Environment.”

“Congratulations,
darling, but what does ‘Environment’ consist of?”

“Housing, urban
land, transport, devolution, water, historic buildings, Stansted or Maplin
airport, the Channel tunnel, royal parks...”

“Have they left
anything for anyone else to do?”

“That’s only
half of it-if it’s out-of-doors, it’s mine. I’ll tell you the rest over
dinner.”

“Oh, bell, I
don’t think I can get away until eight tonightand we’d have to get a baby-sitter.
Does that come under Environment, Simon?”

“Sure does,” he
said, laughing. “I’ll fix it and book a table at the Grange for eight-thirty.”

“Have you got a
ten o’clock vote?”

“Aftaid so.”

“I
see,
coffee with the baby-sitter again,” she said. She paused.

“Simon.”

“Yes, darling.”

“I’m very proud
of you.”

Derek Spencer
sat behind his massive partner’s desk in Threadneedle Street and listened
intently to what Charles had to say.

“You will be a
great loss to the bank,” were the chairman’s first words.

“But no one
here would want to hold up your political career, least of all me.”

Charles noticed
that Spencer could not look him in the eye as he spoke.

“Can I assume
that I would be invited back on the board if for any reason my situation
changed at the Commons?”

“Of course,”
said Spencer. “There was no need for you to ask such a question.”

“That’s kind of
you,” said Charles, genuinely relieved. He stood up, leaned forward and shook
hands rather stiffly.

“Good luck,
Charles,”
were
Spencer’s parting words.

“Does that mean
you can no longer stay on the board?”
‘ asked
Ronnie
Nethercote when he heard Simon’s news.

“No, not while
I’m in Opposition and only a Shadow spokesman. But if we win the next election
and I’m offered a job in Government, I would have to resign immediately.”

“So I’ve got
your services for another three years?”

“Unless the
Prime Minister picks an earlier date to run, or we lose the next election.”

“No fear of the
latter,” said Ronnie, “I knew I’d picked a winner the day I met you, and I don’t
think you’ll ever regret joining my board.”

Over the months
that followed, Charles was surprised to find how much he enjoyed working in the
Whip’s office, although he had been unable to hide from Fiona his anger when he
discovered it was Kerslake who had captured his old job at Environment. The
order, discipline and camaraderie of the job brought back memories of his
military days in the Grenadier Guards.

Charles’s
duties were manifold, ranging from checking that members were all present in
their committees to sitting on the front bench in the Commons and picking out
the salient points members made in their speeches to the House. He also had to
keep an eye out for any signs of dissension or rebellion on his own benches
while remaining abreast of what was happening on the other side of the House.

In addition he
had fifty of his own members from the Midlands area to shepherd, and had to be
certain that they never missed a vote. Each Thursday he passed out a sheet of
paper showing what votes would be coming up the following week. The main
debates were underlined with three lines.

Less important
debates, those with two lines under them, made it possible for a member not to
be present for a vote if paired with a member from the opposite party, as long
as the Whip’s office had been informed. The few that had only one line
underneath were not mandatory.

Charles already
knew that there were no circumstances under which a member was allowed to miss
a “three-line whip,” unless he had died and even then, the Chief Whip told him,
the Whip’s office required a death certificate.

“See that none
of your members ever misses one,” the Chief Whip warned him, “or they’ll wish
they did have a death certificate.”

As whips are
never called on to make speeches in the House at any time, Charles seemed to
have discovered the role for which he was best cut out.

Fiona reminded
him once again that Ted Heath had jumped from the Whip’s office to Shadow
Chancellor. She was delighted to see how involved her husband had become with
Commons life, but she hated going to bed each night and regularly falling
asleep before he arrived home.

Simon also
enjoyed his new appointment from the first moment. As the junior member of the
Environment team he was given transport as his special subject. During the
first year he read books, studied pamphlets, held meetings with national
transport chairmen from air, sea and rail, and worked long into the night
trying to master his new brief. Simon was one of those rare members who, after
only a few weeks, looked as if he had always been on the front bench.

Peter was one
of those noisy babies who after only a few weeks sounded as if he was already
on the front bench.

“Perhaps he’s
going to be a politician after all,” concluded Elizabeth, staring down at her
son.

“What has
changed your mind?” asked Simon.

“He never stops
shouting at everyone, he’s totally preoccupied with himself, and he falls
asleep as soon as anyone else offers an opinion.”

“They’re being
rude about my firstborn,” said Simon, picking up his son and immediately
regretting the move as soon as he felt Peter’s bottom.

Elizabeth had
been surprised to find how much time Simon had put aside for his son, and she
even admitted, when interviewed by the Littlehampton News, that the member
could change a diaper as deftly as any midwife.

By the time
Peter could crawl he was into everything, including Simon’s private briefcase,
where he deposited sticky chocolates, rubber bands, string and even his
favorite toy.

Simon once
opened the briefcase in full view of a meeting of the Shadow Environment team
to discover Teddy Heath, Peter’s much battered bear, lying on the top of his
papers. He removed the stuffed animal to reveal his “plans for a future Tory
government.”

“A security
risk?” suggested the Opposition Leader with a grin.

“My
son,
or the bear?” inquired Simon.

By their second
years, as Peter was feeling confident enough to walk, Simon was beginning to
have his own views on the issues facing the Party.

As each month
passed, they both grew in confidence, and all Simon now wanted was for Harold
Wilson to call a General Election.

All Peter
wanted was a soccer ball.

Talk of a
General Election was suddenly in the air. Just as it looked as though the
Conservatives were gaining in the opinion polls, the Labour Party had a string
of by-election victories in early 1970.

When May’s
opinion polls confirmed the trend to Labour, Harold Wilson visited the Queen at
Buckingham Palace and asked her to dissolve Parliament. The date of the General
Election was set for June 18, 1970.

The press was
convinced that Wilson had got it right again, and would lead his party to
victory for the third time in a row, a feat no man in political history had
managed. Every Conservative knew that would spell the end of Edward Heath’s
leadership of his party.