Authors: Quintin Jardine
`Thank you once again,' she said, once order had been. restored. 'After Roly's funeral tomorrow, our campaign will begin' as I am sure will be the case, your enthusiasm this evening is translated into effort in canvassing the support of the electorate, not only will you and I retain the seat, but we will do so with an increased majority.'
With a final wave, she turned and walked smartly off the stage of Edinburgh Academy Junior School hall, and into the wings, with John Torrance, who had chaired the meeting, by her side. Alison Higgins and Marsh Elliot were waiting for them. As soon as she was out of sight of the audience, Alison gathered her in a hug.
`Leona, you were terrific,' she said. 'You're right. You're going to retain the seat without a doubt. Don't you agree, Marsh?'
Elliot nodded emphatically. 'Yes,' he said seriously. 'Without a doubt. Those people out there respected Roly, and no mistake, but they never showed warmth or enthusiasm like that. The press will report that, and it will carry over into the opinion polls. You may have said a bit too much, though. If you hold the seat with a healthy majority, you'll have done your bit for the Party. If you decide then that on reflection you want to stand aside after a few months, your successor will be able to retain it at the General Election.'
Alison Higgins, looking at her friend, saw a frown begin to gather in her face, but Elliot went on. 'We're off to a flying start. If the first published polls show us in a healthy lead, in line with what our private soundings are telling us, then in a short campaign, the other parties will have no chance of catching us. Now,' he said 'the Press, Leona. You must talk to them.' He stood aside, and she saw for the first time a man standing behind him. 'You know Sir Jerry Lacey, the Member for Upper Deeside?'
She nodded, surprised. 'Of course.'
Well, Jerry has agreed, very kindly, to act as what we call Candidate's Friend, during the campaign. He'll be with you everywhere you go, as your adviser. When you're canvassing, on visits, at election meetings, all those; and he'll chair your press conferences. Central Office are giving us a Press Officer and a researcher, and the Scottish Director will be here full-time, advising on strategy, but Jerry will be your closest adviser. I've got a room set aside for a press conference now. Why don't we get on with it, to give you a little experience. The Press can be pretty tough on new candidates, you know. Shall we go?' He turned, as if ushering her onward.
Leona McGrath stood her ground. An awkward silence developed, until she broke it herself. She smiled at the ginger-headed Lacey. 'Jerry, it is very kind of you to volunteer, but I really don't want a minder.'
Elliot opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, silencing him. 'Marsh, the one way I can lose this seat is if the electorate see me as the poor widowwoman, thrust forward by the Party to capture the sympathy vote. And that's how they will see me if I'm surrounded everywhere I go by minders and Party bodyguards. I know the game, Marsh. I was a Young Conservative before I ever met Roly, and I've worked at by-elections. So let's get something clear right now. I am not the poor widowwoman. I am here to win this seat, not dress up in my husband's clothes. I'll listen to advice, but this is my campaign, and I'll run it.' She paused. 'As for standing down in a few months, I meant it when I said that I'm here long-term.' She looked up at Torrance, who was still by her side. 'You can rely on that, John.'
She turned and took Sir Jerry Lacey's hand in hers. She could see that he was smiling, in what she took for relief. 'So, future colleague,' she said. 'Thank you very much, but no thanks. I've already got a Candidate's Friend, you see.' She nodded towards Higgins.
Àli is going to give me all the time she can, in the evenings and at weekends. She'll make sure I get to my evening meetings on time and with my hair in place, and she'll be my shoulder to cry on, if and when I need one.'
He nodded. 'I quite understand, my dear, and I respect you for it. Any private advice you need, you can call me at any time.'
`Thanks’. She turned back to Elliot, who stood there, slightly bemused. 'Marsh, I'm grateful for the Press Officer and the researcher, and we'll have to give the Director her place. She's paying for most of the show, after all. But my inclination is that I want to take my press conferences alone, without a Chairman. You'll have to persuade me otherwise.
What I would like you to do is set up a team to go through the morning's papers and spot likely questions, so that the researcher can brief me on the answers. I'll work myself with the Press Officer on the topics we want to raise each day.' As she spoke she emphasised each point with a stabbing finger, flashing in the Agent's direction. He smiled inscrutably, and nodded.
`Very good, Candidate,' he said. 'You're quite right, of course. You are the boss. But I really think that you should have a press conference Chairman, at least on the days when you have Cabinet support'
`That's another thing,' said Leona instantly. 'Be as polite to the Cabinet as you can, but I don't want their support.'
Òh really, Leona—' he burst out.
She shook her head, cutting him off. 'Marsh, think about it. How can it increase my popularity if every day I'm seen on television and in the Press surrounded by Ministers who are themselves deeply unpopular? They're a liability, and I don't want them. If I have supporters at public meetings, they'll be respected people from the Scottish community, not tainted politicians. As far as hecklers are concerned, if I could handle Roly across the dinner table, then I can handle them across a meeting room. just you watch me.'
She hesitated. 'Look, I know this might be difficult for you professionally, I mean. So I'll write to the Party Chairman myself, in Scotland and in England, explaining my position, and I'll talk to the Scottish Director, when she's finished buttering up our Lady Chairman.
I've already spoken on the phone with Andrew Hardy, and he agrees with me.'
Elliot smiled in defeat, the last of his protest seemingly spent. `Very well, Leona, you do it your way. I'm here to support you and to make sure that your message gets to every elector. That's my job.'
`Good, because my objective over the next three weeks is to meet every elector, look them in the eye and shake their hand. The fewer minders I have around me, the better my chance of doing that. Now, where are the Press?' Elliot pointed to a doorway facing the steps up to the stage. He made to accompany her, but she put a hand on his sleeve. 'No, Marsh. I begin as I mean to go on.'
‘But you're not prepared!'
She smiled. 'Don't worry, I'm not sticking my head on the block. I won't answer any serious questions. I'll simply repeat that I'm pleased to have been adopted, and that my first press conference will be on Monday in the main meeting room in the constituency offices at nine a.m. sharp. I'll be back in five minutes, at the outside.'
She was as good as her word. When she returned, Marshall Elliot had explained her decisions to the Scottish Conservative Director. 'Leona, my dear,' said Dame Janet Straw, a formidable broad-chested woman with iron-grey hair that might have been a wig. 'Are you sure about this?'
`Quite sure,' she said cheerily. ‘Let me ask you something, Janet. How many by-elections have you and your colleagues in England won over the last ten years, doing it your way?'
Touché,' said the Grandee. She turned to Elliot. 'Don't worry, Marsh. I have a feeling that this one's going to be all right!'
I'm convinced,' he said. 'But there's something rather important before us all, before the campaign can begin. Alison, I think you should take our candidate home now, and help her prepare for tomorrow. It will be a difficult day, for Leona most of all.'
Higgins nodded, and the two women headed at once towards the door. 'My God, Leona,'
said Alison, as soon as they were out of earshot. 'You really laid down the law to them.'
Ì just took up where my husband left off. Roly was a great one for doing things his way, in every respect. But everything I told them was true. Can you imagine me sitting there surrounded by suits, having my every non-utterance pounced upon by the Press? No, thank you very much. I felt a bit sorry putting Marsh on the spot, though. After all, we know he has trouble enough from assertive women! I'll have to be extra gentle with him from now on.'
SEVENTY-FOUR
‘You're new. What happened to that nice young Mr Martin who was here before?'
`He's in Scotland today, Mrs Davey,' said Brian Mackie.
‘He sends his apologies that he couldn't come in person, but Inspector McGuire and I are here on his behalf.'
`Well, no matter,' Laura Davey replied. 'How can I help y today?'
À couple of points have come up in the course of our enquiries that we need to ask you about. They're names; the names of people involved in the Reaper Missile controversy.'
Her face darkened. 'I wondered whether that would come up. So, whose are these names?'
`Martin Hugo?'
She looked blankly at him and shook her head.
‘Vassily Kelnikov?'
Something flashed across her eyes. She shook her head again, but briefly, without real conviction.
Àre you sure about that, Mrs Davey?' asked Mackie gently.
She turned her back on him and walked towards the window. `That's a name I never wanted to hear mentioned in this house again. Yes, I've heard of Kelnikov. When I found the photograph that arrived in the mail, Cohn told me all about him.'
She turned to face the policemen again. 'When I saw Mr Martin, I told him that there were no other women in my husband's life. That was true. Unfortunately, in the past, there was the occasional man. I knew about it, but he had assured me that those days were over. I believe that to have been true. He had a healthy fear of AIDS. But then, that damn photograph arrived, on a day when Colin was away, and when I opened his post, as we always did for each other. It showed him naked, with a man. I won't say what they were doing . . . There was a letter with it. "From the desk of Vassily Kelnikov", was the heading. I remember every word. It said, "You probably remember this encounter with a young friend of mine, in Vienna, in 1987. Most certainly I do. To remove it from my memory, at least for the time being, I will expect the British Government to purchase the Reaper Missile from the Aerofoil Consortium, in which I have a personal interest." That was all.'
`What did you do with the letter, and the photograph?'
Ì gave them to Colin, of course, as soon as he returned home. I wasn't angry with him, I was sorry for him.'
`How did he react?'
'He broke down. He thought that his career was at an end.'
Ànd when it didn't end?' asked McGuire, very softly.
Her back straightened, and she turned to look at him. 'I saw that he had done what had to be done, Inspector.'
`Do you know what your husband did with the photograph and the letter, ma'am?' asked Mackie.
Ì had assumed that he had burned them, but when I opened his safe, at the weekend, I found them, together with two other letters from Kelnikov, one thanking him for delivering the order, and the second, dated very recently, saying that there was some further business, involving a new anti-tank rocket, which he was sure they could do together.'
`What did you do with them, Mrs Davey?'
She glared at the tall, thin detective, down her long nose, as at first she had looked at Andy Martin. 'I burned them, Chief Inspector, I
burned
them. What else would you have expected me to do!'
`Nothing other than that, to be honest,' said Mackie. There’s no harm done. You've confirmed for us that Kelnikov had no interest in having your husband murdered. Rather his interest was in keeping him alive.Now, another name. Bryn Sawyer. Mean anything to you?'
She looked at him blankly once more and shook her head.
Òkay,' said Mackie. 'That's all. I'm sorry that we had to raise this, Mrs Davey. I don't expect that we'll be bothering you again’
`Good,' she said sincerely. 'Nothing personal, you understand.'
She walked them to the door. 'What about that awful man Kelnikov? What will happen to him?'
Ìt has already. His former organisation revoked his licence last week. He's out of business, for good.
SEVENTY-FIVE
‘Dust to dust, ashes to ashes ..
The undertaker tossed handfuls of earth into the open grave, in time to the Minister's words. Leona McGrath winced imperceptibly each time they smacked woodenly against the coffin six feet beneath the turf of the Dean Cemetery.
`. . of resurrection and eternal life. Amen. Now go, and may God be with you all.'
The stocky, dark-suited clergyman stepped across to the head of the grave, and shook Leona McGrath's hand, then bent, solemnly to shake that of her son. 'Thank you,' said Mark solemnly. He was as white-faced as his mother, but held himself as proudly. Thirty yards away, where they had been gathered by the Conservative Party and police Press Officers, a score and more of media cameras clicked as the little boy looked the Minister in the eye.
The two stood there, with black-clad friends and relatives surrounding them. Chief Constable Sir James Proud, in full uniform and wearing a mourner's armband, stood a little apart, with the Secretary of State for Scotland by his side, and Jim Elder and Andy Martin behind. Beyond their little group, Marshall Elliot, with his weeping blonde wife on his arm, looked along at the tiny figures of mother and son, concern in his eyes.
`So long, Roly,' said Leona quietly, as she stood looking down into the open grave at the coffin, with its shiny brass nameplate and its eight cords, which lay discarded on its lid where their holders had dropped them. She wiped the last tears from her eyes with a small white handkerchief, then squeezed Marks shoulder. 'Come on, young man. It's time to go.'
He took her hand and together they walked away from the burial place, towards the long black car, where Roland McGrath's father, and her uncle waited. Alison Higgins, in a dark suit and black hat, fell into step beside them.
`Mark,' said Leona, 'I want you to go back to the house with Auntie Alison. Grandpa, Uncle John, Uncle Billy and I are having a reception at the Constituency Office for the people who've come to the funeral. I'll be home as soon as it's over. Auntie Alison will make your lunch.'