First Among Equals (42 page)

The national
press surrounded Pimkin as he left the Commons that afternoon, wanting to know
whom he would advise his supporters to vote for in the second ballot. Pivikin,
obviously relishing every moment, declared a little pompously that he intended
to interview both candidates in the near future and ask them one or two
apposite questions. He was at once dubbed “Kingmaker” by the press, and the
phones at his home and office never stopped finging.
Whatever
their private thoughts, both Simon and Charles agreed to see Pimkin before he
told his supporters how he intended to cast his vote.

Elizabeth
checked the faded file that she had not looked at for so many years. She sat
alone at her desk willing herself to go through with it. She sipped the brandy
by her side that she had removed from the medicine cabinet earlier that day.
All her years of training and a total belief in the Hippocratic
oath
went against what she felt she must now do. While Simon
slept soundly she had lain awake considering the consequences. She had made her
final decision.
Simon’s career canie first.
She picked
up the phone, dialed the number and waited. Elizabeth nearly replaced the phone
when she heard his voice.

“9712. Charles Hampton speaking.”

She felt a
shudder run through her body.

“It’s Elizabeth
Kerslake,” she said, trying to sound confident. There was a long silence in
which neither of them spoke.

Once Elizabeth
had taken another sip of brandy, she added, “Don’t hang up, Mr. Hampton,
because I feel confident you’ll be interested in what I have to say.”

Charles still
didn’t speak.

“Having watched
you from a distance over the years, I am sure that your reaction to Carson’s
question in the Common last week was not spontaneous.”

Charles cleared
his throat but still didn’t speak.

“And if
anything else happens this week that could cause my husband to lose the
election, be assured I shall not sit by and watch.”

Charles still
didn’t speak.

“I have in
front of me a file marked Miss Amanda Wallace, and if you wish all its contents
to remain confidential, I would advise you to avoid any repetition of your
antics, because it’s packed with names Private Eye would wallow in for months.”

Charles still
didn’t speak.

Elizabeth’s
confidence was growing. “You needn’t bother to inform me that such an action
would get me struck off the medical register. That would be a small penalty for
being allowed to watch you suffer the way my husband has this past week.” She
paused.

“Good day, Mr.
Hampton.”

Elizabeth put
the phone down and swallowed the remainder of the brandy by her side. She
prayed that she had sounded convincing, because she knew she could never carry
out such a threat.

Charles took
Pimkin to dinner at White’swhere Alec had always wanted to be a member-and was
escorted to a private room on the first floor.

Charles didn’t
wait long to ask, “Why are you going through with this charade? Don’t you
reaLize I would have won .0i that first round if you hadn’t stood?” Pirakin
bridled. “I haven’t had so much fun in years.” “But who the hell got you your
seat in the first place?”

“I well
remember,” said Pimkin. “And I remember the price you exacted for it. But now
it’s my turn to call the tune, and this time I require something quite
different.”

“What are you
hoping for? Chancellor of the Exchequer in my first administration, no doubt?”
said Charles, barely able to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“No, no,” said
Pimkin, “I know my worth, for I am not a complete fool.”

“So what do you
want?
Membership at White’s?
Perhaps I couid fix tha
!.
”

“Nothing so mundane.
In return for putting you into Downing
Street I expect to be translated to the House of Lords.”

Charles
hesitated. He could always give Pimkin his word; and who other than Pimkin
would notice if he didn’t
carty
it through?

“If you and your
fifteen men vote for me next ‘ruesday I’H put you in the Lords,” said Charles.
“You have my word on it.”

“Good,” said
Pinikin. *’But one small thing, old chum “
‘ he
added
as he slowly folded his napkin.

“Christ -what
do you want now?” asked Charles, exasperated.

“Like vou, I
want the agreement in writing,”

Charles
hesitated again.
but
this time he knew he was beaten.
“I agree,” he said.

“Good, then
it’s a deal,” said Pimkin. Looking around for a waiter, he added, “I rather
think champagne is called for “

When Pim.kiii
put forth the same proposition to Simon two days later, Simon Kerslake took
some time before he answered. Then he said, “That’s a question I would have to
consider on its merits at the time, if and when I become Prime Minister.”

“So bourgeois,”
said Pimkin as he left Simon’s office. “I offer him the keyi to Number Ten and
he treats me like a locksmith.”

Charles left
the Commons that night having spent his time going around to a large cross
section of his supporters, and he was reassured to discover they were standing
firm.

Wherever he
went in the long Gothic corridors, members singly or in groups came up to
pledge their support.

It was true
that Kerslake’s windfall of three hundred thousand pounds was fast becoming
yesterday’s news, but Charles felt enough blood had been let from that wound to
insure his final victory, even though he still cursed Pimkin for holding up the
result.

One anonymous
note, with all the necessary details, sent to the right Labour member, had
certainly proved most effective. Charles cursed again as he realized Elizabeth
Kerslake had successfully stopped any further covert attacks on his rival.

When he arrived
home, he was appalled to find Amanda waiting for him in the drawing room. She
was the last person he was in the mood to see at the moment.

“I thought I
told you to stay away until the middle of next week?”

“I changed my
mind, Charlie,” said Amanda.

“Why?” be asked
suspiciously.

“I think I’ve
earned a little reward for being such a good wife.”

“What do you
have in mind?” he asked as he stood by the mantelpiece.

“Fair exchange.”

“For what?”

“For the world rights to my life story.”

“
Your
what?” said Charles in disbelief.

“Who is going
to be the slightest bit interested in you?”

“It’s not me
they’re interested in, Charlie, it’s you. News o ‘the World has offered me one
hundred thousand pounds for the unexpurgated story of life with Charles
Hampton.” She added dramatically, “Or what it’s like to live with the second
son of an earl who will go to any lengths to become Prime Minister.”

“You can’t be
serious,” said Charles.

“Deadly serious.
I’ve made quite a few notes over the years.
How you got rid of Derek Spencer but failed to pull the same trick on Clive
Reynolds.

The extremes
you went to, trying to keep Simon Kerslake out of the House.
flow
your first wife swapped the famous Holbein picture of the first Earl of
Bridgewater. But the story that will cause the moit interest is the one in
which the real father of young Harry Hampton is revealed, because his dad’s
fife story was serialized in People a couple of years ago, and that seems to be
one episode they missed out.”

“You bitch, you
know Harry is my son,” said Charles, advancing toward her.

But Amanda
stood her ground.

“And perhaps I should
include a chapter on how you assault vour wife behind the closed doors of your
pe – ceful Eat6n Square mansion.”

Charles came to
a halt. “What’s the deal?”

“I keep quiet
for the rest of my life and you present me witb fifty thousand pounds now and a
further fifty thousand when you become Leader.”

“You’ve gone
mad.”

“Not me,
Charlie, I’ve always been sane.

You see, I
don’t have
a paranoia
to work out on dear, harmless
brother Rupert. News of the World will love that part, now that he’s the
fifteenth earl. I can just see the picture of him wearing his coronet and
decked out in his ermine robes.”

“They wouldn’t
print it.”

“They would
when they realize he is as queer as a three dollar note, and therefore our only
son will collect the earldom when he is not entitled to it.”

“No one would
believe it, and by the time they print the story it will be too late to hurt
me,” said Charles.

“Not a bit,”
said Ainanda. “I am assured by my agent that the true reason behind the
resignation of the Leader of the Conservative Party would
he
an even bigger scoop than that of a one-tinie contestant.”

Charles sank
down into the nearest armchair.

“Twenty-five
thousand,” he said.

“Fifty,”
replied his wife. “It’s only fair.

After all, it’s
a double deal: no story to the press and you become Leader of the Conservative
Party.”

“All right,”
whispered Charles, rising to leave the room.

“Wait a moment,
Charlie. Don’t forget I’ve dealt with you in the past.”

“What else are
you hoping for?” said Charles, swinging around.

“Just the
autograph of the next Tory Lead-er,” she replied, producing a check.

“Where the hell
did you get hold of that?” asked Charles, pointing to the slip of paper.

“From your
checkbook,” said Amanda innocently.

“Don’t play
games with me.”

“From the top drawer of your desk.”

Charles
snatched it from her and nearly changed his mind. Then he thought of his
brother in the House of Lords, his only son not inheriting the title, and he
himself having to give up the Leadership. He took out his pen and scribbled his
name on the check before leaving his wife in the drawing room holding fifty
thousand pounds. She was checking the date and the signature carefully.

Simon had
received a tip from a friendly journalist that Pimkin would come out in support
of his old school 399 chum. He took Elizabeth down to the country for a quiet
weekend while the photographers pitched camp in Eaton Square.

“A brilliant
move,” said Elizabeth over breakfast the next morning, looking at the picture
on the front page of the Observer.

“An ot her
photo of Hampton telling us what he will do when he’s Prime Minister?” said
Simon not looking up from the Sunday Times.

“No,” said
Elizabeth and passed her paper across the table. Simon stared at the Holbein
portrait of the first Earl of Bridgewater under the headline:

“A Gift to the Nation.”

“Good God,”
said Simon. “Are there no depths he will sink to to win this election?”

“My dear, by
any standards you have delivered the coup de grace,” saia Pimkin to Fiona over
lunch that Sunday.

“I thought you would
appreciate it,” said Fiona pouring him another glass of his own wine.

“I certainly
did, and I particularly enjoyed the director of’ the National Gallery’s
comments-’That Charles’s gesture of presenting the priceless painting to the
National was the act of a selfless man.’ “

“Of course-once
the story had been leaked to the press, Charles was left with no choice,” said
Alexander Dalglish.

“I redlize
that,” said Pimkin, leaning back,

“
and
I would have given a dozen bottles of my finest claret
to have seen Charles’s face the moment he realized the first Earl of
Bridgewater had escaped his clutches forever. If he had denied giving the earl
to the nation, the publicity that would have followed would have certainly
insured defeat in the election on Tuesday.”

“Win or lose
next week,” said Alexander,

“
he
daren’t then suggest it was done without his approval.”

“I love it, I
love it,” said Pimkin. “I am told that Princess Diana will be unveiling the
portrait on behalf of the National at the official ceremony, and rest assured I
shall be there to bear witness.”

“Ah, but will
Charles?” asked Fiona.

On Monday
morning Charles’s brother phoned from Somerset to ask why he had not been
consulted about donating the Holbein to the nation.

“It was my
picture to dispose of as I pleased,” Charles reminded him and slammed down the
phone.

By nine o’clock
on Tuesday morning, when the voting took place for the last time, the two
contestants had spoken to nearly every member twice.

Charles joined
his colleagues in the members’ dining room for lunch while Simon took Elizabeth
to Lockets in Marsham Street. She showed him some colored brochures of a
holiday on the Orient Express, which would be the most perfect way to see
Venice. She hoped that they wouldn’t have time to go on the trip. Simon hardly
mentioned the vote that was simultaneously taking place in the Commons but it
never was far from either of their minds,
The
voting
ended at three-fifty but once again the Chief Whip did not remove the black box
until four o’clock. By four-fifteen he knew the winner but did not reveal his
name until the 1922 Committee had assembled at five o’clock.
lie
informed their chairman at one minute to five.

Once again, the
chairman of the 1922

Committee stood
on the small raised platform in committee room 14 to declare the result. There
was no need to ask if the people at the back could hear.

“Ladies and
gentlemen,” he said, his words echoing around the room, “the result of the
second ballot for the Leadership of the Tory Party is as follows:

CHARLEs HAMPTON 119