“That’s a relief,” said Louise. “I should hate to have to look for another constituency.”
“Poor old Simon Kerslake is losing his seat altogether and he daren’t do anything about it.”
“Why not?” asked Louise.
“Because he’s the minister in charge of the bill, and if he tried anything clever we would crucify him.”
“So what will he do?”
“Have to shop around for a new seat, or convince an older colleague to stand down in his favor.”
“But surely ministers find it easy to pick up a plum seat?”
“Not necessarily,” said Andrew. “Many constituencies don’t like to have someone foisted on them and want to choose their own man. And some actually prefer a local man who will never be a minister, because they feel he can devote more time to them.”
“Andrew, can you revert to being some use in Opposition?”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Andrew.
“Just keep throwing that ball at your stupid son’s head or he’ll be crying all day.”
“Take no notice of her, Robert. She’ll feel differently when you score your first goal against England.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
AT EXACTLY THE time Raymond was ready to stop the affair Stephanie began leaving a set of court clothes in the flat. Although the two had gone their separate ways at the conclusion of the case they continued to see one another a couple of evenings a week. Raymond had had a spare key made so that Stephanie didn’t have to spend her life checking when he had a three-line whip.
At first he began simply to avoid her, but she would then seek him out. When he did manage to give her the slip he would often find her back in his flat when he returned from the Commons. When he suggested they should be a little more discreet she began to make threats, subtle at first, but after a time more direct.
During the period of their affair Raymond conducted three major cases for the Crown, all of which had successful conclusions and which added to his reputation. On each occasion his clerk made certain Stephanie was not assigned to be with him. Now that his residency problem had been sorted out Raymond’s only worry was how to end their relationship. He quickly discovered that getting rid of Stephanie Arnold was going to prove considerably more difficult than picking her up.
Simon was on time for his appointment at Central Office. He explained his dilemma to Sir Edward Mountjoy—vice-chairman of the party responsible for candidates—in graphic detail.
“What bloody bad luck,” said Sir Edward. “But perhaps I may be able to help,” he added, opening the green folder on the desk in front of him. Simon could see that he was studying a list of names. It made him feel once again like an undergraduate who needed someone to die.
“There seem to be about a dozen safe seats that will fall vacant at the next election, caused either by retirement or redistribution.”
“Anywhere in particular you could recommend?”
“I fancy Littlehampton.”
“Where’s that?” said Simon.
“It will be a new seat, safe as houses. It’s in Sussex, on the borders of Hampshire.” He studied an attached map. “Runs proud to Charles Seymour’s constituency which remains unchanged. Can’t think you would have many rivals there,” said Sir Edward. “But why don’t you have a word with Charles? He’s bound to know everyone involved in taking the decision.”
“Anything else that looks promising?” asked Simon, only too aware that Seymour might not prove altogether cooperative.
“Let me see. Can’t afford to put all your eggs in one basket, can we? Ah, yes—Redcorn, in Northumberland.” Again the vice-chairman studied the map. “Three hundred and twenty miles from London and no airport within eighty miles, and their nearest main line station is forty miles. I think that one’s only worth trying for if you get desperate. My advice would be to speak to Charles Seymour about Littlehampton. He must know the lay of the land in that neck of the woods.”
Two clichés in one sentence, thought Simon. Thank heavens Sir Edward would never have to make a speech from the dispatch box.
“I’m sure you’re right, Sir Edward,” he said.
“Selection committees are being formed already,” continued Sir Edward, “so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”
“I appreciate your help,” said Simon. “Perhaps you could let me know if anything else comes up in the meantime.”
“Of course, delighted. The problem is that if one of our side were to die during the sessions you couldn’t desert your present seat because that would cause two by-elections. We certainly don’t want a by-election in Coventry Central with you being accused of being a carpetbagger somewhere else.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Simon.
Charles had whittled down the fifty-nine anti-Common Market members to fifty-one, but he was now dealing with the hard kernel who seemed quite immune to future advancement or bullying. When he made his next report to the Chief Whip Charles assured him that the Conservatives who would vote against entry into Europe were outnumbered by the Socialists who had declared they would support the Government. The Chief Whip seemed pleased, but asked if Charles had made any progress with Pimkin’s disciples.
“Those twelve mad right-wingers?” said Charles sharply. “They seem to be willing to follow Pimkin even into the valley of death. I’ve tried everything but they’re still determined to vote against Europe whatever the cost.”
“The maddening thing is that that bloody nuisance Pimkin has nothing to lose,” said the Chief Whip. “His seat disappears at the end of this Parliament in the redistribution. I can’t imagine anyone with his extreme views would find a constituency to select him, but by then he’ll have done the damage.” The Chief Whip paused. “If his twelve would even abstain I would feel confident of advising the PM of victory.”
“The problem is to find a way of turning Pimkin into Judas and then urging him to lead the chosen twelve into our camp,” said Charles.
“You achieve that, and we’d certainly win.”
Charles returned to the Whips’ office to find Simon Kerslake waiting by his desk.
“I dropped by on the off-chance, hoping you might be able to spare me a few moments,” said Simon.
“Of course,” said Charles, trying to sound welcoming. “Take a pew.”
Simon sat down opposite him. “You may have heard that I lose my constituency as a result of the Boundary Commission report and Edward Mountjoy suggested I have a word with you about Littlehampton, the new seat that borders your constituency.”
“It does indeed,” said Charles, masking his surprise. He had not considered the problem as his own seat remained intact. He recovered quickly. “And how wise of Edward to send you to me. I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“Littlehampton would be ideal,” said Simon. “Especially while my wife is still working in Paddington.”
Charles raised his eyebrows.
“I don’t think you’ve met Elizabeth. She’s a doctor at St. Mary’s,” Simon explained.
“Yes, I can see how convenient Littlehampton would be. Why don’t I start by having a word with Alexander Dalglish, the constituency chairman, and see what I can come up with?”
“That would be extremely helpful.”
“Not at all. I’ll call him at home this evening and find out what stage they’ve reached over selection, and then I’ll put you in the picture.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“While I’ve got you, let me give you the whip for next week,” said Charles, passing over a sheet of paper. Simon folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I’ll call you the moment I have some news.”
Simon left feeling happier and a little guilty about his past prejudice concerning Charles, whom he watched disappear into the Chamber to carry out his bench duty.
The European issue had been given six days for debate by back-benchers, the longest period of time allocated to one motion in living memory.
&nbs
p; Charles strolled down the aisle leading to the front bench and took a seat on the end to check on another set of speeches. Usually he listened intently to see if he could spot a member wavering in his position; but on this occasion his thoughts were in Littlehampton. Andrew Fraser was on his feet, and Charles was delighted to be able to confirm the tick alongside his name before he drifted into deep thought.
“I for one shall vote for entry into Europe,” Andrew was telling the House. “When my party was in power I was a pro-European, and now we are in Opposition I can see no good reason to do a volte-face. The principles that held true two years ago hold true today. Not all of us …”
Tom Carson leaped up and asked if his Honorable friend would give way. Andrew resumed his seat immediately.
“Would my Honorable friend really support the peasant farmers of France before the sheep farmers in New Zealand?” asked Carson.
Andrew rose and explained to his colleague that he would certainly expect safeguards for New Zealand, but the initial vote on the floor of the House was on the principle of entry. The details could and should be dealt with in committee. He went on to express the view that had his Honorable friend talked of wogs or Jews in such a context the House would have been in uproar. “Why is it therefore acceptable to the anti-marketeers to describe French farmers as peasants?”
“Perhaps it’s you who is the peasant,” Carson shouted back, in seven words thus ruining his case for the lamb farmers of New Zealand.
Andrew ignored the jibe and went on to tell the House that he believed in a united Europe as a further insurance against a third world war. He concluded with the words:
“Britain has for a thousand years written history, even the history of the world. Let us decide with our votes whether our children will read that history, or continue to write it.” Andrew sat down to acclamation from both sides.
By the time Andrew had resumed his seat Charles had formed a plan and left the Chamber when one of his own colleagues started what promised to be a long, boring, and predictable speech.
Instead of returning to the Whips’ office which afforded no privacy, Charles disappeared into one of the telephone booths near the cloisters above the Members’ Cloakroom. He checked the number and dialed it.
“Alexander, it’s Charles. Charles Seymour.”
“Good to hear from you, Charles, it’s been a long time. How are you?”
“Well. And you?”
“Can’t complain. What can I do for a busy man like you?”
“Wanted to chew over the new Sussex constituency with you, Littlehampton. How’s your selection of a candidate going?”
“They’ve left me to draw up a short list of six for final selection by the full committee in about ten days’ time.”
“Have you thought of standing yourself, Alexander?”
“Many times,” came back the reply. “But the old lady wouldn’t allow it, neither would the bank balance. Do you have any ideas?”
“Might be able to help. Why don’t you come and have a quiet dinner at my place early next week?”
“That’s kind of you, Charles.”
“Not at all, it will be good to see you again. It’s been far too long. Next Monday suit you?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good, let’s say eight o’clock, 27 Eaton Square.”
Charles put the phone down, returned to the Whips’ Office and, penciled a note in his diary.
Raymond had just finished making his contribution to the European debate when Charles returned to take a seat on a half-empty Treasury bench. Raymond had made a coherent economic case for remaining free of the other six European countries and for building stronger links with the Commonwealth and America. He doubted that Britain could take the financial burden of entering a club that had been in existence for so long. If the country had joined at its inception it might have been different, he argued, but he would have to vote against this risky, unproven venture that he suspected could only lead to higher unemployment. When Raymond sat down he did not receive the acclamation that Andrew had and, worse, what praise he did elicit came from the left wing of the party who had spent so much time in the past criticizing Full Employment, at Any Cost? Charles put a cross by the name Gould.
A note was being passed along the row to Raymond from one of the House Badge messengers, dressed in white tie and black tails. It read, “Please ring head of chambers as soon as convenient.”
Raymond left the floor of the House and went to the nearest telephone in the corner of the Members’ Lobby. He was immediately put through to Sir Nigel Hartwell.
“You wanted me to phone?”
“Yes,” said Sir Nigel. “Are you free at the moment?”
“I am,” said Raymond. “Why? Is it something urgent?”
“I’d rather not talk about it over the phone,” said Sir Nigel ominously.
Raymond took a tube from Westminster to Temple and was in chambers fifteen minutes later. He went straight to Sir Nigel’s office, sat down in the comfortable chair in the corner of the spacious club-like room, crossed his legs, and watched Sir Nigel pace about in front of him. He was clearly determined to get something off his chest.
“Raymond, I have been asked by those in authority about you taking silk. I’ve said I think you’d make a damn good QC.” A smile came over Raymond’s face, but it was soon wiped off. “But I need an undertaking from you.”
“An undertaking?”
“Yes,” said Sir Nigel. “You must stop having this damn silly er … relationship with another member of chambers.” He rounded on Raymond and faced him.
Raymond turned scarlet but before he could speak the head of chambers continued.
“Now I want your word on it,” said Sir Nigel, “that it will end, and end immediately.”
“You have my word,” said Raymond quietly.
“I’m not a prig,” said Sir Nigel, pulling down on his waistcoat, “but if you are going to have an affair for Cod’s sake make it as far away from the office as possible and, if I may advise you, that should include the House of Commons and Leeds. There’s still a lot of the world left over and it’s full of women.
Raymond nodded his agreement: he could not fault the head of chambers’ logic.
Sir Nigel continued, obviously embarrassed. “There’s a nasty fraud case starting in Manchester next Monday. Our client has been accused of setting up a series of companies that specialize in life insurance but avoid paying out on the claims: I expect you remember all the publicity. Miss Arnold has been put on the case as a reserve junior. They tell me it could last several weeks.”
“She’ll try and get out of it,” said Raymond glumly.
“She already has, but I made it quite clear that if she felt unable to take the case on she would have to find other chambers.”
Raymond breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said.
“Sorry about this. I know you’ve earned your silk, old boy, but I can’t have members of chambers going around with egg on their faces. Thank you for your cooperation: I can’t pretend I enjoyed that.”
“Got time for a quiet word?” asked Charles.
“You’re wasting your time, dear thing, if you imagine the disciples will change their minds at this late stage,” said Alec Pimkin. “All twelve of them will vote against the Government on Europe. That’s final.”
“I don’t want to discuss Europe this time, Alec. It’s far more serious, and on a personal level. Let’s go and have a drink on the terrace.”
Charles ordered the drinks, and the two men strolled out on to the quiet end of the terrace toward the Speaker’s house. Charles stopped as soon as he was certain there was no longer anyone within earshot.
“If it’s not Europe, what is it?” asked Pimkin, staring out at the Thames.
“What’s this I hear about you losing your seat?”
Pimkin turned pale and touched his bow tie nervously. “It’s this bloody boundary business. My constituency is swallowed up, an
d no one seems willing to interview me for a new one.”
“What’s it worth if I secure you a safe seat for the rest of your life?”
Pimkin looked suspiciously up at Charles. “Almost anything up to a pound of flesh,” he added with a false laugh.
“No, I won’t need to cut that deep.”
The color returned to Pimkin’s cheeks. “Whatever it is, you can rely on me, old fellow.”
“Can you deliver the disciples?” said Charles.
Pimkin turned pale again.
“Not on the small votes in committee,” said Charles, before Pimkin could reply. “Not on the clauses even, just on the second reading, the principle itself. Standing by the party in their hour of need, no desire to cause an unnecessary general election, all that stuff—you fill in the details for the disciples. I know you can convince them, Alec.”
Pimkin still didn’t speak.
“I deliver a copper-bottomed seat, you deliver twelve votes. I think we can call that a fair exchange.”
“What if I get them to abstain?” said Pimkin.
Charles waited, as if giving the idea considerable thought. “It’s a deal,” he said, never having hoped for anything more.
Alexander Dalglish arrived at Eaton Square a little after eight. Fiona met him at the door and explained that Charles had not yet returned from the Commons.
“But I expect him any moment,” she added. “May I offer you a drink?”
Another thirty minutes passed before Charles hurried in. “Sorry I’m late, Alexander,” he said, grasping his guest by the hand. “Hoped I might make it just before you.” He kissed his wife on the forehead.
“Not at all,” said Alexander, “I couldn’t have asked for more pleasant company.”
“What will you have, darling?” asked Fiona.
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