First Among Equals (16 page)

“Maybe it’s an
open-and-shut case,” she smiled.

Raymond
returned the smile before joining his colleagues as they flooded out of the
dining room down the corridor toward the Commons chamber. He didn’t have time
to explain to Stephanie that he only had six minutes to get himself into either
the “Ayes” or “Nos” division lobby.

When he
returned to the strangers’ dining room after the vote he found Stephanie
checking her face in a compact mirror-a small round face with green eyes,
framed by dark hair. She was replacing the trace of lipstick.

He suddenly
felt conscious of being a little overweight for a man not yet forty. He was
totally oblivious to the fact that women were beginning to find him attractive.
A little extra weight and a few gray hairs had given him an air of authority.

Once they had
reached the flat, Raymond put on an Ella Fitzgerald record and retired to the
small kitchen to prepare coffee.

“Well, it sure
looks like a bachelor flat,”

Stephanie
remarked as she took in the one comfortable leather chair, the pipe stand and
the political cartoons that lined the dark walls.

“I suppose
that’s because that’s what it is,” he mused, setting down a tray laden with a
coffee urn, coffee cups and two brandy balloons generously filled with cognac.

“Don’t you get
lonely?” she said.

“From time to
time,” he said as he poured the coffee.

“And between times?”

“Black?” he
asked, not looking at her.

“Black,” she
said.

“Sugar?”

“For a man who
has served as a Minister of the Crown and who, it’s rumored, is about to become
the youngest Queen’s Counsel in the country, you’re still very unsure of
yourself with women.”

Raymond
blushed, but raised his eyes and stared directly into hers.

In the silence
he caught the words “Your fabulous face. .
, .
“

“Would my
Honorable friend care for a dance?” she said quietly.

Raymond could
still remember the last time he had danced. This time he was determined it
would be different. He held Stephanie so that their bodies touched, and they
swayed rather than danced to the music of Cole Porter.

She didn’t
notice Raymond taking off his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket.
When he bent over and kissed her neck, she gave a long sigh.

Lucy sat on the
floor and started to cry.

She sat because
she couldn’t yet walk. Once again Peter dragged her to her feet and commanded
her to
walk,
sounding convinced that his words alone
would be enough to elicit a response. Once again Lucy collapsed in a heap.
Simon put down his knife and fork as he realized the time had come to rescue
his nine-month-old daughter.

“Daddy, leave
her alone,” demanded Peter.

“Why,” asked
Simon, “are you so keen that she should walk?”

“Because I need someone to play football with when you’re away at
work.”

“What about
Mum?”

“She’s feeble,
she can’t even tackle,” said Peter.

This time Simon
did laugh as he picked Lucy up and put her in the high chair ready for
breakfast. Elizabeth came into the room with a bowl of porridge just in time to
see Peter burst into tears.

“What’s the
problem?” she asked, staring at her distraught son.

“Daddy won’t
let me teach Lucy how to walk,” said Peter, as he ran out ofthe room.

“He means kill
Lucy,” said Simon. “I think he has plans to use her as a soccer ball.”

Charles studied
his chart of 330 Conservatives. He felt confident of 217, not sure about 54 and
had almost given up on 59. On the Labour side, the best information he could
glean was that 50 members were expected to defy the Whip and join the
Government’s ranks when the great vote took place.

“The main fly
in the ointment,” Charles reported to the Chief Whip, “is still the bill
curbing the power of trade unions. The left is trying to convince those
Labourites who still support the Common Market that there is no cause so
important that they should enter the same lobby as those ‘Tory trade-union bashers.”‘
He went on to explain his fear that unless the Government was willing to modify
the Trade Union Bill, they might lose Eu rope on the back of it.

“And Alec
Pimkin doesn’t help matters by trying to gather the waverers in our party
around him.”

“There’s no
chance of the Prime Minister modifying one sentence of the Trade Union Bill,”
said the Chief Whip, draining his gin and tonic. “He promised it in his
campaign speech, and he intends to deliver by the time he goes to Blackpool at
the end of this year. I can also tell you he isn’t going to like your
conclusions on Pimkin, Charles.” Charles was about to protest. “I’m not
complaining
,
you’ve done damn well so far. Just keep
working on the undecided fifty. Try anything-threaten, cajole, bully, bribe-but
get them in the right lobby.

Pimkin
included.”

“How about
sex?” asked
Charles.

“You’ve been
seeing too many American films,” said the Chief Whip, laughing. “In any case I
don’t think we’ve got anyone other than Miss Norse to offer them.”

Charles returned
to his office and went over the list once again. His forefinger stopped at the
letter P. Charles strolled out into the corridor, and looked around; his quarry
wasn’t there. He checked the chamber-no sign of him. He passed the library. “No
need to look in there,” he thought, and moved on to the smoking room where he
found his man, about to order another gin.

“Alec,” said
Charles expansively.

The rotund
figure of Pimkin turned around.

May as well try bribery first, thought Charles.
“Let me get
you a drink.”

“That’s good of
you, old fellow,” said Pimkin, nervously fingering his bow tie.

“Now, Alec,
what’s this about
your
voting against the European
bill?”

Simon was
horrified when he read the initial document. Its implications were all too
evident.

The report of
the new Boundary Commission had been left in the red box for him to study over
the weekend. He had agreed at a meeting of Home Office officials that he would
steer it through the House expeditiously so that it would make the basis for
the seats to be contested at the next election. As the Secretary of State
reminded him, there must he no holdups.

Simon had read
the document twice. In essence the changes made sense, and, because of the
movement of families from urban to rural areas, it would undoubtedly create
more winnable seats for the Conservatives overall. No wonder the Party wanted
no
holdups. But what could he do about the decision the
commission had come to on his own constituency, Coventry Central? His hands
were tied. If he suggested any change from the Boundary Commission’s
recommendations, he would rightly be accused of rigging matters in his own
favor.

Because of the
city’s dwindling population, the Commission had recommended that the four
constituencies of Coventry become three.

Coventry
Central was to be the one to disappear, its voters distributed among Coventry
West, Coventry East and Coventry North. Simon realized this would leave one
safe seat for his sitting colleague and two safe Labour seats. It had never
been far from his mind how marginal a seat he held. Now he was on the verge of
being without one at all. He would have to traipse around the country all over
again looking for a new seat to fight for at the next election, while at the
same time taking care of his constituency in the moribund one; and at the
stroke of a pen-his pen-they would pass on their loyalties to someone else. If
only he had remained in Environment he could have put up a case for keeping all
four seats.

Elizabeth was
sympathetic when he explained the problem but told him not to concern himself
too much until he’d spoken to the vice-chairman of the Party.

“It may even
work out to your advantage,” she comforted. “You might find something even
better.”

“What do you
mean?” said Simon.

“You may end up
with a safer seat nearer London.”

“I don’t mind
where I go as long as I don’t have to spend the rest of my life tossing coins.”

Elizabeth
prepared his favorite meal and spent the evening trying to keep up his spirits.
After three portions of shepherd’s pie, Simon fell asleep almost as soon as he
put his head on the pillow. But she stayed awake long into the night.

The casual
conversation with the head of gynecology at St. Mary’s kept running through her
mind. Although she hadn’t confided in Simon, she could recall the doctor’s
every word.

I notice from
the roster that you’ve had far more days off than you are entitled to, Dr.
Kerslake. You must make up your mind if you want to be a doctor or the wife of
an MP.

Elizabeth
stirred restlessly as she considered the problem, but came to no conclusion
except not to bother Simon while he had so much on his mind.

At exactly the
time Raymond was ready to stop the affair Stephanie began leaving a set of
court clothes in the flat.

Although the
two of them had gone their separate ways at the conclusion of the case, they
continued to see one another a couple of evenings a week.

Raymond had had
a spare key made so that Stephanie didn’t have to spend her life checking when
he had a three-line whip.

At first he
began simply to avoid her, but she would then seek him out.

When he did
manage to give her the slip he would often find her back in his flat when he
returned from the Commons.

When fie
suggested they 136 should be a little more discreet, she began to make threats,
subtle to begin with, but after a time more direct.

During the
period of his affair with Stephanie, Raymond conducted three major cases for
the Crown, all of which had successful conclusions and which added to his
reputation. On each occasion his clerk made certain Stephanie Arnold was not
assigned to be with him. Now that his residence problem was solved, Raymond’s
only wony was how to end the affair.

He was
discovering that getting rid of her would prove more difficult than picking her
up had been.

Simon was on time
for his appointment at Central Office. He explained his dilemma in detail to
Sir Edward Mounijoy, vice-chairman of the Party, who was responsible for
candidates.

“What bloody
bad luck,” said Sir
Edward.

“But perhaps I
may be able to help,” he added, opening the green folder on the desk in front
of him.

Simon could see
that he was studying a list of names. It made him feel once again like the
ambitious Oxford applicant who needed someone to die.

“There seem to
be about a dozen safe seats that will fall vacant at the next election, caused
either by retirement or redistribution.”

“Anywhere in
particular you could recommend?”

“I fancy
Littlehampton.”

“Where’s that?”
said Simon.

“It will be a
new seat, safe as houses. It’s in Hampshire on the borders of Sussex.” He
studied an attached map.

“Runs proud to Charles Hampton’s constituency, which remains
unchanged.

Can’t think you
would have many rivals there,” said Sir Edward. “But why don’t you have a word
with Charles? He’s bound to know everyone involved in making the decision.”

“Anything else
that looks promising?” asked Simon, 137 only too aware that Hampton might not
be so willing to help his cause.

“Let me see.
Can’t afford to put all your eggs in one basket, can we?
Ali,
yes – Redcom, in Northumberland.”
Again the vice-chairman studied the
map.

“Three hundred
and twenty miles from London and no airport within eighty miles, and their
nearest main line station is forty miles. I think that one’s worth trying for
only if you get desperate. My advice would still be to speak to Charles Hampton
about Littlehampton. He always puts the Party ahead of personal feelings when
it comes to these matters.”

“I’m sure
you’re right, Sir Edward,” he said.

“Selection
committees are being formed already,’ said Sir Edward, “so you shouldn’t have
long to wait.’

“I appreciate
your help,” said Simon. “Perhaps you could let me know if anything else comes
up in the meantime.”

“Of course, delighted.
The problem is that if one of our
side
were to die during the session, you couldn’t desert
your present seat because that would cause two byelections. We don’t want a
by-election in Coventry Central with you being accused of being a carpetbagger
somewhere else.”

“Don’t remind
me,” said Simon.

“I still think
your best bet is to have a word with Charles Hampton. He must know the lay of
the land in that neck of the woods.”

Two clich6s in
one sentence, thought Simon. Thank heavens Mounfloy would never have to make a
speech from the dispatch box. He thanked Sir Edward again and left Conservative
Party headquarters.

Charles had
whittled down the fifty-nine anti-Common Market members to fifty-one, but he
was now dealing with the hard kernel
who
seemed quite
immune to cajolery or bullying. When he made his next report to 138 the Chief
Whip, Charles assured him that the number of Conservatives who would vote
against entry into Europe was outnumbered by the Labourites who had declared
they would support the Government. The Chief seemed pleased, but asked if
Charles had made any progress with Pimkin’s disciples.

“Those twelve
mad right-wingers,” said Charles sharply.
“They seeni to be
willing to follow Pimkin even into the valley of death.
I’ve tried
everything, but they’re still determined to vote against Europe whatever the
cost.”