This Was A Man (51 page)

‘I’m sure he’d like to,’ said Pauline, ‘but no doubt that’s why Kinnock gave him the job in the first place.’

‘Hardly subtle,’ said Emma. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yes, minister, I wonder if I might discuss a personal matter with you.’

‘That sounds rather serious, Pauline, but yes, of course.’

‘Have you been following the latest research to come out of the States concerning DNA?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ said Emma. ‘My red boxes provide me with quite enough reading as it is.’

‘It’s just that I felt the most recent breakthrough in the field might interest you.’

‘Why?’ said Emma, genuinely puzzled.

‘Scientists can now prove conclusively if two people are related.’

‘How did you know?’ asked Emma quietly.

‘When someone is appointed as a minister to the Crown, we prepare a file on them, so that if the press contact us about their past, we are at least forewarned.’

‘And have the press been in touch?’

‘No. But I was at school when the trial was held in the House of Lords that passed judgement on whether your brother or Harry Clifton was the first born, and therefore the lawful heir to
the Barrington title and estates. All of us at Berkhamsted High thought it was very romantic at the time, and were delighted when their lordships came down in favour of your brother, making it
possible for you to marry the man you loved.’

‘And now I would finally be able to discover if their lordships’ judgement was correct,’ said Emma. ‘Give me a little time to think about it, because I certainly
wouldn’t be willing to go ahead without Harry’s blessing.’

‘Of course, minister.’

‘On a lighter note, Pauline, you said you kept a file on me. Does that mean you have a file on every other minister?’

‘We most certainly do. However, that does not mean I would be willing to divulge which of your colleagues is a transvestite, who was caught smoking marijuana in Buckingham Palace, and
which law lord likes to dress up as a policeman and go on night patrols.’

‘Just one question, Pauline. Are any of them among the waverers?’

‘Sadly not, minister.’

A
LTHOUGH MOST OF
their lordships had made up their minds how they would vote long before the House assembled for the crucial debate, both Emma and Giles
accepted that the fate of the bill now rested in the hands of a dozen or so peers who were yet to be persuaded either way.

Emma had risen early that morning and gone through her speech once again before leaving for the department. She rehearsed several of the key paragraphs out loud, with only Harry as her audience,
and although he made some excellent suggestions, she reluctantly accepted that the responsibility of government didn’t allow her the freedom of rhetorical hyperbole that Giles so enjoyed in
opposition. But then his single purpose was to embarrass the government when the House divided. Hers was to govern.

When Emma arrived at her office in Alexander Fleming House, she was pleased to find her diary had been cleared so she could concentrate on the one thing uppermost in her mind. Like a restless
athlete preparing for an Olympic final, how she spent the last few hours before the race might well decide the outcome. However, in politics there are no prizes for second place.

For the past week, she had tried to anticipate any awkward questions that might arise during the course of the debate, so nothing could take her by surprise. Would Field Marshal Montgomery prove
to be right? Nine-tenths of a battle is won in preparation long before the first shot is fired.

Emma was shaking as she climbed into the ministerial car to be driven across the river to the Palace of Westminster. On arrival, she retired to her room, accompanied by a ham sandwich and a
black coffee. She went over her speech one more time, adding a couple of minor changes, before making her way to the chamber.

As Big Ben struck twice, the Lord Speaker took his place on the Woolsack, so the day’s business could begin.

The Right Reverend Bishop of Worcester rose from the bishops’ bench, to conduct prayers for the assembled House. Worcester, like his fellow peers, was well aware of the significance of
today’s debate, and the fact that although there were over a thousand hereditary peers who had the right to attend proceedings, along with six hundred life peers, the chamber could only hold
around five hundred, so it was no surprise that the benches were already packed.

Home Office questions were first on the order paper, but few peers were interested in the answers, and a gentle hum of chatter descended on the House while they waited for the main event.

Giles made his entry towards the end of questions, and was greeted warmly by his colleagues, like a heavyweight boxer before he steps into the ring. He took his seat in the only remaining place
on the front bench.

Emma appeared a few moments later, and was greeted equally warmly as she made her way along the government front bench before taking her seat next to the leader of the House.

When questions came to an end, the Lord Speaker indicated that the main business of the day could begin. Lord Belstead rose slowly from his place, put his speech on the despatch box and with all
the confidence of a man who had held several offices of state, delivered the opening salvo on behalf of the government.

Once he had delivered his opening remarks, Lord Cledwyn, equally familiar with his surroundings, rose to reply from the opposition benches.

There then followed a series of speeches from the back benches, which Emma and Giles, like the rest of the House, listened to with varying degrees of interest. Everyone was clearly waiting to
hear the contributions from the Rt Hon. Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands, who would be summing up on behalf of the opposition, and the Rt Hon. Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna, who would put the
case for the government.

Neither Emma nor Giles left the chamber at any time during the debate, both eschewing a break for supper as they continued to listen to their colleagues’ contributions, while making the
occasional note when a particular point was well argued.

Although gaps on the red benches appeared between the hours of seven and nine, Emma and Giles knew the stalls would fill up long before the second-act curtain was due to rise. Only John Gielgud
making his last West End appearance in
Best of Friends
could take such a packed house for granted.

By the time the final speaker rose to make his contribution from the back benches, the only empty seat was on the throne, which was only ever occupied by the monarch when she delivered the
Queen’s speech at the opening of Parliament. The steps below the throne and in the aisles between the red benches were packed with noble lords who had been unable to secure a seat. Behind the
bar of the House, at the far end of the chamber, stood several members of the House of Commons, including the Secretary of State, who had promised the Prime Minister that everything had been done
to ensure that the bill would be passed so the government could make progress with its heavy legislative programme, for which time was fast running out. But from the looks on the faces of those
attendees from the Lower House, they were equally unsure of the outcome.

Emma glanced up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery to see members of her family seated in the front row, but they were also members of Giles’s family, and she suspected that
they were equally divided. Harry, Sebastian and Samantha unquestionably supported her, while Karin, Grace and Freddie would back Giles, leaving Jessica to hold the casting vote. Emma felt they only
mirrored the feelings of her fellow peers.

When Lord Samuels, an eminent former president of the Royal College of Physicians, sat down having delivered the last speech from the cross benches, a buzz of expectation went up around the
chamber.

If Giles was nervous when he got to his feet, there was no sign of it. He gripped the sides of the despatch box firmly and waited for silence before delivering his opening line.

‘My lords, I stand before you this evening painfully aware that the fate of the National Health Service rests in our hands. I wish I was exaggerating, but I fear I am not. Because tonight,
my lords, you, and you alone, will decide if this dreadful bill’ – he waved the order paper high above his head – ‘will become law, or simply a collector’s item for
those interested in the footnotes of history.

‘I do not have to remind your lordships, that it was the Labour Party, under Clem Attlee, which not only founded the NHS, but has been defending its very existence ever since. Whenever
this country has had to suffer the travails of a Conservative administration, it has been Labour’s responsibility to ensure that the NHS survives attack after attack from the infidels
storming its hallowed gates.’

Loud cheers erupted from behind him, which allowed Giles to turn a page of his script and check the next sentence.

‘My lords, I am ashamed to admit,’ he continued, with an exaggerated sigh, ‘that the latest of these infidels is my own kith and kin, the Baroness Clifton of Chew
Magna.’

Both sides of the House joined in the laughter, while Emma wished she had been bestowed with the gift to switch from grave pronouncement to light humour in a moment, and at the same time to
carry the House with her.

Giles spent the next twenty minutes dismantling the bill line by line, concentrating particularly on those clauses about which Tory waverers had expressed concerns. Emma could only admire the
skill with which her brother heaped praise on the statesmanlike contributions of the few Tories who remained undecided, before adding, ‘We can only hope that those men and women of conscience
display the same courage and independence of mind when the time comes to enter the division lobby, and do not at the last moment cast their true beliefs aside, hiding behind the false mask of party
loyalty.’

Even by Giles’s standards, it was a formidable performance. Colleagues and opponents alike were on the edge of their seats as he continued, like Merlin, to cast his spell over a mesmerized
House. Emma knew she would have to break that spell and drag her colleagues back to the real world if she hoped to win the vote.

‘Let me end, my lords,’ said Giles, almost in a whisper, ‘by reminding you of the power you hold in your hands tonight. You have been granted the one opportunity to throw out
this flawed and counterfeit bill, which, were it to become law, would spell the end of the National Health Service as we know it, and stain the memory of its glorious past, and of those good old
days.’

He leant across the despatch box and looked slowly up and down the government front bench before saying, ‘This bill proves only one thing, my lords: dinosaurs are not only to be found in
the Natural History Museum.’ He waited for the laughter to die down before he lowered his voice and continued, ‘Those of you who, like myself, have studied this bill word for word, will
have noticed that one word is conspicuously absent. Search as I might, my lords, nowhere could I find the word “compassion”. But why should that come as a surprise, when the minister
opposite, who will shortly present this bill, has herself personally denied hard-working nurses a living wage?’

Cries of ‘Shame!’ came from the opposition benches, as Giles stared across at his sister. ‘And you don’t have to read between the lines to understand that the
government’s real purpose in this bill is to replace the word “National” with “Private”, because its first priority is to serve those who can afford to be sick, while
leaving on the scrap heap those of our citizens who are unable to bear the cost. That is, and always has been, the overriding philosophy of this government.

‘My lords,’ said Giles, his voice rising in a crescendo, ‘I invite you to vote decisively against this iniquitous bill, so those same citizens can continue to enjoy the
security of a truly national health service, because I believe that when it comes to our health, all men –’ he paused and stared across the despatch box at his sister – ‘and
women, are born equal.

‘My lords, I don’t ask you, I beg you, to let your views be clearly heard by our fellow countrymen when you cast your votes tonight, and soundly reject this bill.’

He sat down to resounding cheers and the waving of order papers from behind him, and silence from the benches opposite. When the cheers finally died down, Emma rose slowly from her seat, placed
her speech on the despatch box and gripped its sides firmly in the hope that no one would see just how nervous she was.

‘My lords,’ she began, her voice trembling slightly, ‘it would be churlish of me not to acknowledge the performance of my noble kinsman, Lord Barrington, but performance it
was, because I suspect that when you read his words in Hansard tomorrow, you will see that his speech was long on rhetoric, short on substance and devoid of facts.’

A few muted ‘Hear, hear’s could be heard from her colleagues seated behind her, while the members opposite remained silent.

‘I spent seven years of my life running a large NHS hospital, so I don’t have to prove that I am just as concerned about the future of the National Health Service as anyone sitting
on the benches opposite. However, despite all the passion mustered by the noble lord, the truth is that, in the end, someone has to pay the bills and balance the books. The NHS has to be funded
with real money, and paid for with the taxes of real people.’