First Among Equals

by Jeffrey Archer

  “She certainly has enough of them,” said Elizabeth.

  It amused Andrew and Raymond to watch the Tory party leadership struggle while they got on with their respective jobs. Raymond would have dismissed Thatcher’s chances if Kate hadn’t reminded him that the Tories had been the first party to choose a Jewish leader, and also the first to select a bachelor.

  “So why shouldn’t they be the first to elect a woman?” she demanded. He would have continued to argue with her but the damn woman had proved to be right so often in the past. “Let’s wait and see,” was all he said.

  The 1922 Committee announced that the election for leader would take place on 4 February 1975.

  At a press conference in early January at the House of Commons Margaret Thatcher announced she would allow her name to go forward to contest the leadership. Simon immediately spent his time exhorting his colleagues to support “The Lady” and joined a small committee under Airey Neave that was formed for the purpose. Charles Seymour warned his friends that the party could never hope to win a general election with a woman leading them. As the days passed, nothing became clearer than the uncertainty of the outcome.

  At four o’clock on a particularly wet and windy day the chairman of the 1922 Committee announced the figures:

  Margaret Thatcher 130

  Edward Heath 119

  Hugh Fraser 16

  According to the 1922 Committee rules, the winner needed a fifteen percent majority and so a second round was necessary. “It will be held in seven days’ time,” the Chief Whip announced. Three former Cabinet ministers immediately declared they were candidates, while Ted Heath, having been warned that he would get fewer votes a second time round, withdrew from the ballot.

  They were the longest days in Simon’s life. He did everything in his power to hold Thatcher’s supporters together. Charles meanwhile decided to play the second round very low-key. When the time came to vote he put his cross on the ballot paper next to the former Secretary of State he had served under at Trade and Industry. “A man we can all trust,” he told Fiona.

  When the votes had been counted and confirmed the chairman of the 1922 Committee announced that Margaret Thatcher was the outright winner with a vote of 146 to 79 from her nearest challenger.

  Simon was delighted while Elizabeth hoped he had forgotten about the promise to eat her hat. Charles was dumbfounded. They both wrote to their new leader immediately.

  11 February 1975

  Dear Margaret,

  Many congratulations on your victory as the first woman leader of our party. I was proud to have played a small part in your triumph and will continue to work for your success at the next election.

  Yours,

  Simon.

  27 Eaton Square,

  London, SW 1

  11 February 1975

  Dear Margaret,

  I made no secret of backing Ted Heath in the first round of the leadership contest having had the privilege of serving in his administration. I was delighted to have supported you on the second ballot. It illustrates how progressive our party is that we have chosen a woman who will undoubtedly be Britain’s next Prime Minister.

  Be assured of my loyalty.

  Yours,

  Charles.

  Margaret Thatcher answered all her colleagues’ letters within the week. Simon received a handwritten letter inviting him to join the new Shadow team as number two in the Education Department. Charles received a typed note thanking him for his letter of support.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  SEYMOUR’S BANK HAD weathered the Great War, the thirties’ crash, and then the Second World War. Charles had no intention of being the chairman who presided over its demise in the seventies. Soon after taking over from Derek Spencer—at the board’s unanimous insistence—he had discovered that being chairman wasn’t quite the relaxed job he expected, and while he remained confident that the bank could ride the storm he still wasn’t taking any risks. The business sections of the newspapers were full of stories of the Bank of England acting as a “lifeboat” and having to step in to assist ailing financial institutions, along with daily reports of the collapse of yet another property company. The time when property values and rents automatically increased each year had become a thing of the past.

  When he had accepted the board’s offer, Charles insisted that a chief executive be appointed to carry out the day-to-day business while he remained the man with whom other City chairmen dealt. He interviewed several people for the position but he did not find anyone suitable. Head-hunting seemed to be the next move, the expense of which was saved when he overheard a conversation at the next table at White’s that the newly appointed chief executive of the 1st Bank of America was sick of having to report to the board in Chicago every time he wanted to use a first-class stamp.

  Charles immediately invited the chief executive to lunch at the House of Commons. Clive Reynolds had come from a similar background to Derek Spencer: London School of Economics, followed by the Harvard Business School and a series of successful appointments which had culminated in his becoming chief executive of the 1st Bank of America. This similarity did not worry Charles, as he made it clear to Mr. Reynolds that the appointee would be the chairman’s man.

  When Reynolds was offered the appointment he drove a hard bargain and Charles looked forward to his doing the same on behalf of Seymour’s. Reynolds ended up with £50,000 a year and enough of a profit incentive to ensure that he didn’t deal for himself or encourage any other headhunters to invite him to join their particular jungle.

  “He’s not the sort of fellow we could invite to dinner,” Charles told Fiona, “but his appointment will enable me to sleep at night knowing the bank is in safe hands.”

  Charles’s choice was rubber-stamped by the board at their next meeting, and as the months passed it became obvious that the 1st Bank of America had lost one of its prime assets well below the market value.

  Clive Reynolds was a conservative by nature, but when he did take what Charles described as a risk—and Reynolds called a “hunch”—over fifty percent of them paid off. While Seymour’s kept its reputation for caution and good husbandry, they managed a few quite spectacular coups thanks to their new chief executive.

  Reynolds had enough sense to treat his new chairman with respect without ever showing deference while their relationship remained at all times strictly professional.

  One of Reynolds’s first innovations had been to suggest they check on every customer account over £250,000 and Charles had approved.

  “When you’ve handled the account of a company for many years,” Reynolds pointed out, “it sometimes is not apparent when one of your traditional customers is heading for trouble as it would be to a newcomer. If there are any ‘lame ducks’ let’s discover them before they hit the ground”—a simile that Charles repeated at several weekend parties.

  Charles enjoyed his morning meetings with Clive Reynolds as he picked up a great deal about a profession to which he had previously only brought gut feeling and common sense. In a very short time he learned enough from his new tutor to make him sound like David Rockefeller when he rose to speak in a finance debate on the floor of the House, an unexpected bonus.

  Charles knew little of Reynolds’s private life except what was on file. He was forty-one, unmarried, and lived in Esher, wherever that was. All Charles cared about was that Reynolds arrived each morning at least an hour before him, and left after him every night, even when the House was in recess.

  Charles had studied fourteen of the confidential reports on customers with loans over £250,000. Clive Reynolds had already picked out two companies with whom he felt the bank should revise their current position.

  Charles still had three more reports to consider before he presented a full assessment to the board.

  The quiet knock on the door, however, meant that it was ten o’clock and Reynolds had arrived to make his daily report. Rumors were circulating in the City that the bank rate woul
d go up on Thursday, so Reynolds wanted to go short on dollars and long on gold. Charles nodded. As soon as the announcement had been made about the bank rate, Reynolds continued: “it will be wiser to return to dollars as the new round of pay negotiations with the unions is about to take place. This in turn will undoubtedly start a fresh run on the pound.” Charles nodded again.

  “I think the dollar is far too weak at two-ten,” Reynolds added. “With the unions settling at around twelve percent the dollar must strengthen, say, to nearer one-ninety.” He added that he was not happy about the bank’s large holding in Slater Walker and wanted to liquidate half the stock over the next month. He proposed to do so in small amounts over irregular periods. “We also have three other major accounts to consider before we make known our findings to the board. I’m concerned about the spending policy of one of the companies, but the other two appear stable. I think we should go over them together when you have time to consider my reports. Perhaps tomorrow morning, if you could manage that. The companies concerned are Speyward Laboratories, Blackies Limited, and Nethercote and Company. It’s Speyward I’m worried about.”

  “I’ll take the files home tonight,” said Charles, “and give you an opinion in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Chairman.”

  Charles had never suggested that Reynolds should call him by his first name.

  Archie Millburn held a small dinner party to celebrate Simon’s first anniversary as the member for Pucklebridge. Although these occasions had originally been to introduce the party hierarchy to their new member, Simon now knew more about the constituency and its flock than he did, as Archie was the first to admit.

  Elizabeth, Peter, and Michael had settled comfortably into their small cottage, while Simon, as a member of the Shadow Education team, had visited schools—nursery, primary, public, and secondary; universities—red brick, plate glass, and Oxbridge; technical colleges, art institutes, and even borstals. He had read Butler, Robbins, and Plowden and listened to children and to professors of psychology alike. He felt that after a year he was beginning to understand the subject, and only longed for a general election so that he could once again turn rehearsal into performance.

  “Opposition must be frustrating,” observed Archie when the ladies had retired after dinner.

  “Yes, but it’s an excellent way to prepare yourself for Government and do some basic thinking about the subject. I never found time for such luxury as a minister.”

  “But it must be very different from holding office?” said Archie, clipping a cigar.

  “True. In Government,” said Simon, “you’re surrounded by civil servants who don’t allow you to lift a finger or give you a moment to ponder, while in Opposition you can think policy through even if you do often end up having to type your own letters.”

  Archie pushed the port down to Simon’s end of the table. “I’m glad the girls are out,” said Archie conspiratorially, “because I wanted you to know I’ve decided to give up being chairman at the end of the year.”

  “why?” said Simon, taken aback.

  “I’ve seen you elected and settled in. It’s time for a younger man to have a go.”

  “But you’re only my age.”

  “I can’t deny that, but the truth is that I’m not giving enough time to my electronics company, and the board are continually reminding me of it. No one has to tell you that these are not easy times.”

  “It’s sad,” said Simon. “Just as you get to know someone in politics you or they always seem to move on.”

  “Fear not,” said Archie. “I don’t intend to leave the area, and I feel confident that you will be my member for at least another twenty years, by which time I will be happy to accept an invitation to dine with you in Downing Street.”

  “You may find that it’s Charles Seymour who is residing at No. 10,” said Simon, striking a match to light his cigar.

  “Then I won’t be getting an invitation,” said Archie with a smile.

  Charles couldn’t sleep that night after his discovery, and his tossing and turning kept Fiona awake. He had opened the Nethercote file when he was waiting for dinner to be served. His first act with any company was to glance down the names of the directors to see if he knew anyone on the board. He recognized no one until his eye stopped at “S. J. Kerslake, MP.” The cook felt sure that Mr. Seymour had not enjoyed his dinner, because he hardly touched the main course.

  On his arrival at Seymour’s, only moments after Clive Reynolds, he called for his chief executive. He appeared a few minutes later without his usual armful of files, surprised to see the chairman so early. Once Reynolds was seated Charles opened the file in front of him. “What do you know about Nethercote and Company?”

  “Private company. Net asset value approaching £10,000,-000, running a current overdraft of £7,000,000 of which we service half. Efficiently managed with a good board of directors, will ride out the current problems in my view, and should be well oversubscribed when they eventually go public.”

  “How much of the company do we own?”

  “Seven and a half percent. As you know, the bank never take eight percent of any company because then we would have to declare an interest under section twenty-three of the Finance Act. It has always been a policy of this bank to invest in a major client without becoming too involved with the running of the company.”

  “Who are their principal bankers?”

  “The Midland.”

  “What would happen if we put our seven and a half percent up for sale and did not renew the overdraft facility at the end of the quarter, but called it in instead?”

  “They would have to seek finance elsewhere.”

  “And if they couldn’t?”

  “They would have to start selling their assets, which under that sort of forced-sale position would be very damaging for any company, if not impossible, in the present climate.”

  “And then?”

  “I would have to check my file and …”

  Charles passed over the file and Reynolds studied it carefully, frowning. “They already have a cash-flow problem because of bad debts. With a sudden increased demand they might go under. I would strongly advise against such a move, Chairman. Nethercote have proved a reliable risk over the years, and I think we stand to make a handsome profit when they are quoted on the Stock Exchange.”

  “For reasons I cannot disclose to you,” said Charles, looking up from his chair, “I fear that remaining involved with this company may turn out to be a financial embarrassment for Seymour’s.” Reynolds looked at him, puzzled. “You will inform the Midland Bank that we will not be renewing this loan at the next quarter.”

  “Then they would have to look for support from another bank. The Midland would never agree to shoulder the entire amount on their own.”

  “And try to dispose of our seven and a half percent immediately.”

  “But that could lead to a crisis of confidence in the company.”

  “So be it,” said Charles, as he closed the file.

  “But I do feel—”

  “That will be all, Mr. Reynolds.”

  “Yes, Chairman,” said the mystified chief executive, who had never thought of his boss as an irrational man. He turned to leave. Had he looked back he would have been even more mystified by the smile that was spread across Charles Seymour’s face.

  “They’ve pulled the rug out from under our feet,” said Ronnie Nethercote angrily.

  “Who?” said Simon, who had just come into the room.

  “The Midland Bank.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “An outside shareholder put all his stock on the market without warning, and the Midland got worried about their position. They wouldn’t be prepared to continue such a large overdraft position on their own.”

  “Have you been to see the manager?” asked Simon, unable to disguise his anxiety.

  “Yes, but he can’t do anything. His hands are tied by a main board directive,” said
Ronnie, slumping deeper into his seat.

  “How bad is it?”

  “They’ve given me a month to find another bank. Otherwise I’ll have to start selling some of our assets.”

  “What will happen if we don’t manage to come up with another bank?” asked Simon desperately.

  “The company could be bankrupt within weeks. Do you know any bankers who are looking for a good investment?”

  “Only one, and I can assure you he wouldn’t help.”

  Charles put the phone down satisfied. He wondered if there was anything that could still be regarded as secret. It had taken him less than an hour to find out the size of Kerslake’s overdraft. “Banker to banker confidentiality,” he had assured them. He was still smiling when Reynolds knocked on the door.

  “The Midland weren’t pleased,” he immediately briefed Charles.

  “They’ll get over it,” his chairman replied. “What’s the latest on Nethercote?”

  “Only a rumor, but everyone now knows they’re in trouble and the chairman is searching around for a new backer,” said Reynolds impassively. “His biggest problem is that no one is touching property companies at the moment.”

  “Once they’ve collapsed, what’s to stop us picking up the pieces and making a killing?”

  “A clause that was slipped through in the Finance Act which your Government passed three years ago. The penalties range from a heavy fine to having your banking license taken away.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” said Charles. “Pity. So how long do you expect them to last?”

  “Once the month is up,” said Reynolds stroking a clean-shaven chin, “if they fail to find a backer the creditors will swarm in like locusts.”

  “Aren’t the shares worth anything?” asked Charles innocently.