It had been an arranged marriage of second cousins, so the good thing was Julia’s mother had not married a stranger, the bad thing was she didn’t love him either. Julia though seemed to thrive in this wet colourless country, as her mother described it, and she soon had a baby brother to play with. Uday was as different from her as the sun from the moon and once he started at school their lives really parted company. It was odd really, Julia often thought, same background and parents yet all Uday wanted to do was have Asian friends and return to India. Julia made friends easily, but her friends were not just Asian despite the fact that the school was seventy percent Asian. She loved school, not just for the friendships but for the learning opportunities. By some standards, she could have been thought a swot but learning seemed exciting and effortless to her and she strove to do excellently in all subjects. Her relationship with her parents grew worse over the years, they neither understood her or could comprehend how much knowledge she appeared to have. This was without knowing what a scholar she had become. She jumped a year in school without her parents even being aware of it. The school gave up on making contact with her parents and concentrated instead on their star pupil.
At fourteen she took her GCSEs, and a year later she took her last school examinations before heading to Oxford University to read Law. Her parents, totally uncomprehending, tried to arrange a marriage for her. Her initial outrage turned to laughter and she packed her few items of clothing and left home for good, leaving behind her confused parents who thought they had produced a changeling.
How she survived her time at Oxford is now history. She worked in a restaurant and a takeaway to provide her with enough to survive and still managed to obtain a First. She also taught yoga to her friends and acquaintances for a small fee, but she felt it was a great way to make contacts that might, at some stage, be useful. She managed to keep her penury hidden from most people’s view and she slept little, having to study whenever she could.
It was only in her last year when she had a bad case of flu that her fellow students found out about the jobs she had been doing. Julia’s photo and a potted history (mostly false) appeared in the local Press and other struggling students wondered how she had coped.
Julia stayed on to study for her PhD and her lecturing fees paid for her keep. For the first time ever she had a real sense of independence and she also had her first affair. Paul was a West African first-year student. He was, in her eyes anyway, amazingly handsome. Still a virgin, she had no compunction about losing it with Paul and they had a passionate eight-month affair. As suddenly as it had begun it was over. Julia wept in private, in public no one could have known how she was hurting. Paul had finally found her too intelligent, he had the sort of personality that made him always want to be right. With Julia, however hard as he tried, in any sort of discussion she came out on top. This finally drove Paul away and Julia recognised the failure was hers. It was then she made the decision that future relationships would be with men who enjoyed her mind as much as her body – intellectual equals as well as lovers.
With her free time no longer taken up with Paul, she widened her circle of friends and became once more the social animal she had been at school. Coping as ever with consummate skills, her obligation to her students, her doctorate and an enjoyable social whirl.
The doctorate completed, Julia realised that she was being increasingly drawn to politics. Her views had changed. The radical “left” thinking, caused perhaps by her Bermondsey upbringing, had considerably modified and she felt more and more drawn to the Conservative Party and their aims and ideals. They had returned to power after ten years in the wilderness, and although stronger, they had been returned to power almost by default. So many memorable mistakes had been made by the extreme left-wing Opposition.
She actively pursued every by-election seat that came up and, after a few years, she was selected as a candidate for Solihull in the West Midlands. At the next General Election her campaign was vigorous, her energy unflagging, and justifiably she increased the majority by a clear five percent.
She was one of the youngest female members of Parliament. Her outspokenness, never dropping her Party “in it”, but nevertheless thoughtfully provoking and independently minded, brought her not just to the attention of the Press but of the Party hierarchy. She became a PPS (Personal Private Secretary) to a Minister, then number two to the Health Minister, and, finally, during a reshuffle became a Junior Health Minister. She did so well that when the existing Health Minister retired on health grounds (alcohol, mainly), she was promoted to his spot. The NHS Executive trembled, rightly so. There had, in her opinion, been “too much fiddling while Rome burned”, she announced in the House. In future, there would be major changes: bringing in hotel charges for in-patients – which meant patients, unless on benefits, would pay for meals and transport costs. Every visit to a GP would have a basic charge of five pounds, again unless on benefits or pregnant. Cosmetic surgery, i.e. removal of tattoos or breast enlargements, would no longer be free. Drunk patients would be sent straight to a special unit in the grounds on arrival where there would be necessary but minimal attention, and there would be a charge levied on them, dependent on how much time they were in the unit. Security guards would deal firmly with bad behaviour. There were other less significant modifications.
Chief Executives were asked for their opinions, and small modifications were made here and there, but in general, things proceeded as planned.
Nurses had an immediate five percent increase in salary as did doctors in hospitals. GPs’ salaries were reviewed, with a varied and excellent incentive scheme to help provide more in-house care and fewer referrals. Bed blocking was to become a thing of the past under a new title, Social Health. All patients ready to leave the hospital were to be given an opportunity for nursing care at home for a period judged by their consultant. This service to be free for those on benefits or with an income less than the national average. Likewise, for hospital outpatient appointments, a fee of five pounds would be payable at check-in, with the aforementioned opt-outs.
The country had waited with bated breath – there were those who had screamed in protest, but for the majority, there was a sense of relief that perhaps, finally, something was really happening.
The polls showed the increasing popularity of the Party and at the following election five years later they won an outstanding majority. Julia became the Chancellor of the Exchequer. She thrived on the challenges and she lived every moment to the full. She seemed to find time to visit factories and schools, but she kept away from hospitals, leaving the new Health Minister to continue consolidating the radical changes that had continued to improve the service. People talked about Social Health in glowing terms. More and more nurses were recruited and the pressures eased on the existing staff as more nurses completed their training.
It was felt, in many quarters, that it was only a matter of time before she became Prime Minister. There were, of course, the usual detractors. The National Front reared its head at intervals, but with their majority and the support of other parties, the National Front was held well in check.
Another election was on the horizon. It was as if the country wanted Julia to become PM. At thirty-eight she was making history. The third woman PM, but the first Asian ever. She was proud of her Indian roots but felt wholly British. She had never hidden the facts of her Bermondsey upbringing and she encouraged young people from all walks of life to aspire to greater things. “If I can do it, you can do it,” was a favourite phrase when she talked to young people at schools and colleges.
The election over, Julia spent her first night alone in the flat at number ten, Downing Street. For the first time she felt alone, not lonely but definitely alone. She would have loved parents to chat with or a brother to “fence” with, but those relationships were a thing of the past. Her brother had made one attempt to see her some years ago, but his militancy worried her and there seemed no co
mmon ground or even family bond between them. He had hoped to influence her thinking and was disappointed. He never contacted her again.
So tonight Julia stood alone at the window, looking down on to the street below, wondering how all this had come about, and how adequately she would perform her duties. Her mind went back to her meeting with the Queen at Buckingham Palace. She had been so gracious and encouraging. Julia had left with a glow in her heart and a feeling that they could be friends, in a Queen/Prime Minister sort of way…
chapter 16
Liz dressed with extra care – she decided to pile her hair up, and although she had been offered the services of a hairdresser, she declined, knowing she wanted the freedom to change her mind. She slipped the dress on, pleased that the tailor had made the fastening easier for her to do on her own, not having the struggle she had with the red dress.
She put on the quite high, heeled evening shoes and crossed to the full-length mirror to look at the total effect. She had, of course, had the dress on for the final fitting, but hadn’t really looked at herself in it, merely admired the dress. Now she looked at herself in astonishment. The gold seemed to emphasise the glow of her skin. She looked taller with her hair up and the dress seemed to accentuate her slender figure with its gentle curves. Sham, the tailor, had worked his magic. The dress was better than the one he had so carefully and laboriously copied.
Liz looked at her watch. Tonight Philip was escorting the Prime Minister, and Tim was due any moment to escort her. She was officially acting as Philip’s hostess, but couldn’t quite work out her role this evening, so when Tim arrived it was the first thing she asked him. He grinned. “Philip wanted to get you here, it was a pretext, though of course, you acted as hostess last evening.” For a moment Liz was taken aback and not a little cross.
“It didn’t require that to get me here, a normal invitation would have done.”
“Hey Liz, lighten up. Enjoy.” He grabbed her hand and made her twirl. “If I wasn’t gay I’d fancy you myself. You look stunning, you really do.” The reassurance was good to hear. She had been pleased with the way she looked but it was always good to hear it from someone else.
With Tim she stood near the double doors of the imposing reception room waiting for Philip to escort the Prime Minister. The guests were due in fifteen minutes and Philip liked to be in situ when they arrived.
The door opened again and Philip and the Prime Minister, who looked elegant in blue, came in together. Leaving Julia Naik for a moment he stepped closer to Liz and inclined his head towards her. She heard his whisper clearly. “What a very beautiful hostess I have tonight,” and he squeezed her hand. “We will stand here,” he gestured a place a few feet away. “You on my left Liz, and the Prime Minister on my right, please Prime Minister,” he said formally.
The guests started to arrive. Tim acted as “introducer”. There were so many titles of Indian dignitaries and ambassadors and diplomats from other embassies that Liz found it impossible to grasp and remember more than a few of the titles and names that Tim had so assiduously learned and now introduced so easily. She didn’t discover until later that he had a most carefully arranged and concealed crib sheet in case of a momentary lapse, which fortunately didn’t occur. It was one of the most impressive occasions Liz had ever attended, with so many eager politicians and diplomats so eager to “press the flesh”. It made the literary award ceremonies she had attended in the past seem quite mundane by comparison.
Liz was still feeling a warm glow from Philip’s whispered comment and the warmth of the hand-squeeze. She knew she glowed that evening and she also was aware that Philip was looking at her constantly. She carefully didn’t look his way too often but felt his eyes on her.
Julia Naik, Liz noticed, was working the room, pausing for sufficient conversation with each little knot of people, leaving them smiling and feeling they had been singled out. Finally, Julia arrived where Liz was talking to the Minister of the Interior and his sari-clad wife. She gravely shook hands with Liz, while Philip, she thought, gave her a quick wink. Julia flashed her a warm smile and said sotto voce, “How good to see a familiar face.” She turned to the Minister who said that he had read that the Prime Minister came from his home city of Chennai. He was obviously very proud to have this fact at his fingertips. “My parents certainly did,” was her response which Liz thought very tactful, she could have so easily replied that her parents had come from there but that she was British-born which would have disappointed him.
The evening seemed to go on and on. Liz circulated as much as she could. People asked her so many questions, some presuming she was Philip’s wife. Many were fascinated that she spent most of her time in Goa. Finally, the last guest left. A simple dinner in the room where Liz had had lunch with Philip was now laid for four. It was for the Prime Minister, Philip, Tim and herself. Liz felt very honoured.
Julia seemed to relax. She chatted like any other guest round a dinner table. She had a lovely sense of humour and, as Philip filled her in on one or two of the guests she asked about, she had a quip or comment that was astute and interesting.
After a while, they talked of other things: the world in general, the meaning of life and other philosophical subjects that come up when people are relaxed in each other’s company. It was two a.m. before they headed towards their rooms, walking together along the broad corridors of the embassy.
Liz, true to form, kicked off her shoes as she closed the door behind her. It had been a memorable two days and she felt physically and emotionally exhausted. As she undressed she thought about Julia who had told them a little of her early struggles, shrugging them off with, “It probably provided the catalyst I needed to motivate me.” Somehow Liz doubted that. Julia would, she felt, have risen to the top in whatever profession she had chosen.
She hung the gold dress in the cupboard, her fingers moving gently over the silk as she did so. What a success and there would probably be a photograph to show Sham. The photographer had been active this evening making sure every guest would have a record of the event. The newspapers too would have a photograph of the Prime Minister and the Ambassador, and possibly The Dress might be in that one as well. Sham would love the publicity!
Finally, she slipped between the cool sheets as naked as the day she was born. Her hands rested on her flat stomach then moved upwards and she hugged her breasts to her. She was suddenly filled with such a longing. She had been able to convince herself that the celibate life suited her, but tonight she realised she had been kidding herself all this time. She moaned softly and Philip’s face swam in front of her. She wanted him here, beside her in the bed, holding her close and whispering sweet words of love to her.
For a long time, she lay quite still, willing him to come to her room. Finally, she drifted into a deep sleep and dreamt of Goa and the beautiful beach she so loved to walk.
Philip had been widowed now for three years. Tonight, for the first time since Helen’s death, he found himself thinking seriously about another woman. A woman dressed in gold – with gleaming black hair, green eyes and a smile that lit up her face. He tried to banish her image, but couldn’t, so with a sigh, he let himself remember her from the first moment they had met. He remembered every word she had said at their first lunch. He remembered the first time he had seen her in the red dress – he had thought he was looking at a film star. She stunned him, not just with her looks, but with her ready smile, her wit, her ability to listen in such a way that he knew she was not just listening on a superficial level, but was really hearing what was being said to her.
Helen, he remembered Helen. His sweet, dear, lovely Helen. He had so loved her. Petite and as fair as an angel. He used to call her, “my angel Helen”. When she became ill, neither of them had wanted to acknowledge it. At first, even after she was diagnosed they talked about the future. Of next year. The next “posting” for Philip. They were in Vienna at the time wondering if his next posti
ng would be as an Ambassador. “I rather want to be the Ambassador’s wife,” she had laughed. “I’ve done all the lowly wifey things – I’m ready for the numero uno spot now.”
“So you shall be my angel,” he had replied. Yet in his heart he knew this was not the case, she was dying. It was, he supposed, mercifully fast. Four months from beginning to end. He would never, ever forget the day she died. She seemed so bright, it was almost as if she was getting better. She asked for a mirror and tidied her hair. Even put on a touch of lipstick. That was in the morning. She ate no lunch, and he saw something in her eyes he had seen before. He had seen his mother die – he had seen that look. He kissed her and excused himself for a moment. He left her there and in the corridor outside her room he wept. He wept for Helen, he wept for himself, he wept for the future they would never share.
The Sister found him and led him to a chair. Sitting beside him she put an arm around his shoulders and he wept again like a child. He stopped as suddenly as he started. He was losing precious moments with his dearest Helen. He wiped his eyes, straightened his shoulders and stood up. “Thank you, Sister,” he said quite formally. “Thank you,” he repeated. She smiled kindly and said nothing.
He returned to Helen. “Darling,” she said, “hold me.” He held her fragile body in his arms. “Philip,” her voice was weaker than he had ever known it. “Philip, will you promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he said. “Anything, my angel.”
“I will always be your angel, won’t I? Your only angel.”
“Of course,” he breathed. “How could you ever doubt it?”
“But promise me, Philip, you will find someone else to be the Ambassador’s wife.” He was horrified, how could she even think of saying something like that? She felt him stiffen. “No Philip, don’t be angry with me – you will need someone by your side to love and be loved – as long as I am your only angel.”
The Portuguese House Page 8
