This Was a Man

by Jeffrey Archer

  He took her hand as they walked along the hall and into the kitchen, just as Giles appeared on the landing.

  “Do sit down, Freddie,” said Karin, pouring some milk into a saucepan. Giles joined them. “How did you get here?” she added, casually.

  “I took the train down from Edinburgh, but I hadn’t realized how late it was by the time I arrived in London. I’ve been sitting on your doorstep for over an hour,” he explained. “I didn’t want to wake you, but it was getting rather cold.”

  “Did you tell your headmaster or Lord Fenwick that you were coming to see us?” asked Giles, as Karin opened a tin of biscuits.

  “No. I sneaked out of chapel during prayers,” he confessed. Karin placed a mug of hot chocolate and a plate of shortbread biscuits on the table in front of their unexpected guest.

  “Did you let anyone know, even a friend, that you planned to visit us?”

  “I don’t have many friends,” admitted Freddie, sipping his chocolate. He looked up at Giles and added, “Please don’t tell me I have to go back.” Giles couldn’t think of a suitable reply.

  “Let’s worry about that in the morning,” said Karin. “Drink up, and then I’ll take you to the guest bedroom so you can get some sleep.”

  “Thank you, Lady Barrington,” said Freddie. He finished off his hot chocolate. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”

  “You haven’t,” said Karin. “But now let’s get you off to bed.” She took his hand once again and led him out of the room.

  “Goodnight, Lord Barrington,” said a far more cheerful voice.

  Giles switched on the kettle and took a teapot down from the shelf above him. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he picked up the phone, dialed directory inquiries and asked for the number of Freddie’s prep school in Scotland. Once he’d made a note of it, he checked to make sure he had Archie Fenwick’s home number in his phone book. He decided that seven a.m. would be a sensible hour to contact them both. The kettle began to whistle just as Karin reappeared.

  “He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, poor fellow.”

  Giles poured her a cup of tea. “You were so calm and reassuring. Frankly I wasn’t quite sure what to say or do.”

  “How could you be?” said Karin. “You’ve never experienced someone knocking on your door in the middle of the night.”

  * * *

  When the Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna rose to deliver her maiden speech in the House of Lords, the packed chamber fell silent. She looked up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery to see Harry, Sebastian, Samantha, and Grace smiling down at her—but not Jessica. Emma wondered where she was. She turned her attention to the opposition front bench, where the shadow leader of the House sat, arms crossed. He winked.

  “My lords,” she began, her voice trembling. “You must be surprised to see this newly minted minister standing at the dispatch box addressing you. But I can assure you, no one was more surprised than me.”

  Laughter broke out on both sides of the House, which helped Emma to relax.

  “Lord Harvey of Gloucester sat on these benches some fifty years ago, and Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands sits on the other side of the House as the opposition leader. You see before you their inadequate granddaughter and sister.

  “The prime minister has allowed me this opportunity to continue my work in the health service, not this time as a member of the board of a great hospital, its deputy chairman, or even chairman, but as one of the government’s undersecretaries of state. And I want members of this House to be in no doubt that I intend to carry out my duties as a minister with the same scrutiny and rigor that I have tried to bring to every position I have held, in both public office and private life.

  “The National Health Service, my lords, is at a crossroads, although I know exactly in which direction I want it to go. In me, you will find a devoted champion of the surgeon, the doctor, the nurse, and, most important of all, the patient. And as I look around this chamber, I can see one or two of you who might well be in need of the NHS in the not-too-distant future.”

  Emma had considered the line added by her brother a little risky, but Giles had assured her that their lordships, unlike Queen Victoria, would be amused. He was right. They roared with laughter as she smiled across the dispatch box at the leader of the opposition.

  “And to that end, my lords, I shall continue to fight overweening bureaucracy, the fear of innovation, and overpaid and overrated special advisors who have never wielded a scalpel or emptied a bedpan.”

  The House roared its approval.

  “But just as important,” said Emma, lowering her voice, “I will never forget the sage words of my grandfather, Lord Harvey, when as a young child I had the temerity to ask him, ‘What’s the point of the House of Lords?’ ‘To serve,’ he replied, ‘and keep those knaves in the Commons in check.’”

  This statement brought cheers from both sides of the House.

  “So let me assure your lordships,” Emma concluded, “that will always be my mantra whenever I take a decision on behalf of the government I serve. And finally, may I thank the House for its kindness and indulgence toward a woman who is painfully aware that she is not worthy to stand at the same dispatch box as her grandfather or brother.”

  Emma sat down to prolonged cheers and the waving of order papers, and those members who had wondered why this woman had been plucked out of obscurity were no longer in any doubt that Margaret Thatcher had made the right decision. Once the House had settled, Lord Barrington rose from his place on the opposition front bench and looked benignly across at his sister before he began his unscripted speech. Emma wondered when she would be able to do that, if ever.

  “My lords, if I display a fraternal pride today, I can only hope the House will be indulgent. When the minister and I squabbled as children, I always won, but that was only because I was bigger and stronger. However, it was our mother who pointed out that once we both grew up, I would discover that I had won the battle, but not the argument.”

  The opposition laughed while those seated on the government benches cried, “Hear, hear!”

  “But allow me to warn my noble kinswoman,” continued Giles, sounding serious for the first time, “that her moment of triumph may be short-lived, because when the time comes for the government to present its new health bill, she should not expect to enjoy the same indulgence from this side of the House. We will scrutinize the bill line by line, clause for clause, and I do not have to remind the noble baroness that it was the Labour Party under Clement Attlee who founded the National Health Service, not this jumped-up bunch of bandwagon Tories, who are temporarily sitting on the government benches.”

  The opposition cheered their leader.

  “So I am happy to congratulate my noble kinswoman on a remarkable maiden speech, but advise her to savor the moment, because when she next returns to the dispatch box, this side of the House will be sitting in wait for her, and let me assure the noble baroness that she will no longer be able to rely on any fraternal assistance. On that occasion she will have to win both the battle and the argument.”

  The opposition benches looked as if they couldn’t wait for the confrontation.

  Emma smiled, and wondered how many people in the chamber would believe how much of her speech had been worked on by the same noble lord who was now jabbing an index finger at her. He had even listened to it being delivered in his kitchen in Smith Square the previous night. She only wished their mother could have been seated in the public gallery to watch them squabbling again.

  * * *

  Mr. Sutcliffe, the headmaster of Grangemouth School, was grateful that Lady Barrington had accompanied Freddie back to Scotland, and once the boy had reluctantly returned to his house, asked if he might have a private word with her. Karin readily agreed, as she’d promised Giles she would try to find out the reason Freddie had run away.

  Once they had settled down in his study, the headmaster didn’t waste
any time raising the subject that was on both their minds. “I’m rather pleased that your husband isn’t with you, Lady Barrington,” he began, “because it will allow me to be more candid about Freddie. I’m afraid the boy’s never really settled since the day he arrived, and I fear his mother is to blame for that.”

  “If you’re referring to Lady Virginia,” said Karin, “I’m sure you know she isn’t his mother.”

  “I’d rather assumed that was the case,” said the headmaster, “which would explain why she hasn’t once visited Freddie while he’s been here.”

  “And she never will,” said Karin, “because it doesn’t serve her purpose.”

  “And while Lord Fenwick does everything in his power to help,” continued Sutcliffe, “he isn’t the boy’s father, and I’m afraid the situation became worse when Freddie met your husband for the first time.”

  “But I thought that went rather well.”

  “So did Freddie. He talked of nothing else for several days. In fact, after coming back at the beginning of term, he was a different child. No longer haunted by the other boys continually teasing him about his mother because he was now inspired by the man he wished was his father. From that day, he scoured the papers in search of any mention of Lord Barrington. When your husband called to say Freddie was with him in London, I can’t pretend I was surprised.”

  “But are you aware that Giles wrote to Freddie, wishing him every luck for the Castle versus Village cricket match, and asked him to let him know how it turned out, but didn’t get a reply.”

  “He carries the letter around with him all the time,” said the headmaster, “but unfortunately he scored a duck, and his side was soundly beaten, which might explain why he didn’t reply.”

  “How sad,” said Karin. “I can assure you, Giles still scores far more ducks than centuries on and off the field.”

  “But the boy couldn’t know that, and his only other experience of reaching out was to Lady Virginia. Look where that got him.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help, because I’d be delighted to?”

  “Yes, there is, Lady Barrington.” He paused. “I know you come up to Scotland from time to time, and wondered if you’d consider taking Freddie out for the occasional exeat weekend?”

  “Why only weekends? If Archie Fenwick will agree, he could also join us at Mulgelrie during the summer holidays.”

  “I must confess it was Lord Fenwick’s idea. He told me about the chance meeting with your husband.”

  “I wonder if it was by chance?”

  The headmaster didn’t comment, simply adding, “How do you think Lord Barrington will react to my request?”

  “I’ll let you into a little secret,” said Karin. “He’s already chosen the twenty-two yards on which to put up a cricket net.”

  “Then you can tell your husband that Freddie is likely to be the youngest boy ever to play for the school’s First Eleven.”

  “Giles will be delighted. But can I make one small request, headmaster?”

  “Of course, Lady Barrington.”

  “May I be allowed to tell Freddie what we’ve decided before I return to London?”

  10

  WHEN JAMES CALLAGHAN made his final speech as leader of the Labour Party at the annual conference in Blackpool, Giles was well aware that if he backed the wrong candidate to succeed him, his political career was over.

  When four former cabinet ministers from the Commons allowed their names to go forward, he wasn’t in any doubt that there were only two serious candidates. In the right corner stood Denis Healey, who had served as chancellor of the Exchequer under Callaghan and Harold Wilson, and like Giles had been decorated in the Second World War. In the left corner, Michael Foot, arguably the finest orator in the House of Commons since the death of Winston Churchill. Although his ministerial career did not compare to Healey’s, he had the backing of most of the powerful trade unions, who had ninety-one paid-up members representing them in the House.

  Giles tried to dismiss the thought that if he had chosen to stand in the by-election for Bristol Docklands ten years before, rather than accepting Harold Wilson’s offer of a seat in the Upper House, he too could have been a serious contender to lead the party. However, he accepted that timing in politics is everything, and that there were at least a dozen of his contemporaries who could also come up with a credible scenario where they became leader of the party, and not long afterward found themselves living in No. 10 Downing Street.

  Giles believed there was only one candidate who could possibly beat Mrs. Thatcher at the next general election and he could only hope that the majority of his colleagues in the Lower House had also worked that out. Having served in government and opposition for over thirty years, he knew you could only make a difference in politics when you were sitting on the government benches, not spending fruitless years in opposition, winning only the occasional unheralded victory.

  The decision as to who should lead the party would be taken by the 269 Labour members who sat in the House of Commons. No one else would be allowed to vote. So once Callaghan had announced that he was stepping down, Giles rarely left the corridors of power until the lights were switched off each night following the final division. He spent countless hours roaming those corridors during the day, extolling the virtues of his candidate, while spending his evenings in Annie’s Bar, buying pints as he tried to convince any wavering colleagues in the Lower House that the Conservatives were praying they would elect Michael Foot and not Denis Healey.

  The Tories’ prayers were answered when in the second ballot Foot beat Healey by 139 votes to 129. Some of Giles’s colleagues in the Commons openly admitted they were quite happy to settle for a period in opposition as long as the new leader shared their left-wing ideology.

  * * *

  Emma told Giles over breakfast the following day that when Margaret Thatcher had heard the news, she opened a bottle of champagne and toasted the 139 Labour members who’d guaranteed that she would remain in No. 10 Downing Street for the foreseeable future.

  The long-held tradition in both parties is that when a new leader is chosen, every serving member of the front bench immediately tenders their resignation, then waits to be invited to join the new team. Once Giles had written his letter of resignation, he didn’t waste any time waiting to hear which office of state he would be asked to shadow, because he knew the phone would never ring. The following Monday, he received a short, handwritten note from the new leader, thanking him for his long service to the party.

  The following day, Giles moved out of the leader of the opposition’s office in the Lords on the first floor to make way for his newly anointed successor. As he sat alone in an even smaller windowless room somewhere in the basement, he tried to come to terms with the fact that his front-bench career was over, and all he could look forward to was years in the wilderness on the backbenches. Over dinner that night, he reminded Karin that just ten votes had sealed his fate.

  “Five, if you think about it,” she replied.

  SEBASTIAN CLIFTON

  1981

  11

  “I’M SORRY.”

  “Is that all you’ve got to say?” said Jessica, glaring at him.

  Sebastian placed an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. “I promise I’ll be back in time to take you and your mother for a celebration dinner.”

  “I remember the last time you promised that, then flew off to another country. At least then it was to support an innocent man, not a crook.”

  “Desmond Mellor is only allowed visitors on a Saturday afternoon between two and three o’clock, so I wasn’t left with a lot of choice.”

  “You could have told him to get lost.”

  “I promise I’ll be back by five. Six at the latest. And as it’s your birthday, you can choose the restaurant.”

  “And in the meantime I’m expected to babysit Jake, and when Mom gets back, explain to her why you’re not around. I can think of more exciting ways of spending m
y birthday.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” said Seb. “I promise.”

  “Just don’t forget, Pops, he’s a crook.”

  * * *

  As Sebastian battled through the late morning traffic on his way out of London, he couldn’t help thinking his daughter was right. Not only was it likely to be a wasted journey, but he probably shouldn’t be having anything to do with the man in the first place.

  He should have been taking Jessica to lunch at Ponte Vecchio to celebrate her sixteenth birthday, rather than heading for a prison in Kent to visit a man he despised. But he knew that if he didn’t find out why Desmond Mellor wanted to see him so urgently, he would be forever curious. Only one thing was certain: Jessica would demand a blow-by-blow account of why the damned man had wanted to see him.

  There were about ten miles to go before Seb spotted the first signposts to Ford Open. No mention of the word “prison,” which would have offended the locals. At the barrier an officer stepped out of the small kiosk and asked his name. After “Clifton” had been ticked off on the inevitable clipboard, the barrier was raised and he was directed to a patch of barren land that on Saturdays acted as a car park.

  Once he’d parked his car, Seb made his way to the reception area, where another officer asked for his name. But this time he was also requested to provide identification. He produced his driving license—another tick on another clipboard—and was then instructed to place all his valuables, including his wallet, watch, wedding ring, and some loose change, in a locker. He was told firmly by the duty officer that under no circumstances was he to take any cash to the meeting area. The officer pointed to a notice screwed to the wall warning visitors that anyone found in possession of cash inside the prison could end up with a six-month sentence.

  “Forgive me for asking, sir,” said the officer, “but is this the first time you’ve visited a prison?”