First Among Equals

by Jeffrey Archer

  Benn claimed that Kinnock’s naïveté and gauche approach as leader had been the single reason that the Labour party had not been returned to power. There were many Socialists who agreed with this judgment, but they also felt they would have fared considerably worse under Benn.

  What his announcement did, however, was to make respectable the claim of any other candidates who wished their names to be put forward. Roy Hattersley and John Smith joined Benn and Kinnock for the first ballot. Many Members of Parliament, trade union leaders, and constituency activists pressed Raymond to stand for the leadership.

  “If you don’t stand now,” Joyce told him, “you’ll have no chance in the future.”

  “It’s the future I’m thinking about,” replied Raymond.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I want to stand for deputy leader against Michael Meacher and John Cunningham, and that will secure me a power base in the party which would afford me a better chance next time.”

  Raymond waited another week before he launched his candidacy. On the following Monday, at a packed press conference, he announced he would be standing for deputy leader.

  With four candidates in the field for the leadership no clear favorite emerged although most prophets accepted Benn would lead after the first ballot. Hattersley came to an agreement with Smith that whichever one of them captured the most votes in the first round the other would drop out and support the leader of the right in the final ballot.

  When the vote had been counted Benn, as predicted, topped the first ballot, with Kinnock in third place. To everyone’s surprise when Kinnock dropped out he advised his supporters not to back Benn as he felt it could only spell a further prolonged period of Opposition for the Labour party.

  A few hours later the party chairman announced that Tony Benn had been soundly beaten. The Labour party had a new moderate leader.

  The vote then took place for the deputy leadership and although the new leader made clear his preference for Raymond everyone still expected it to be close. Joyce spent the last hour running from delegate to delegate while Raymond tried to appear calm. At eleven o’clock that Sunday night the chairman of the Labour party’s National Executive announced that by a mere three percent Raymond Gould was the newly elected deputy leader of the Labour party.

  The new leader immediately appointed Raymond Shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  Among the many letters and telegrams Raymond received was one from Kate, which read: Congratulations. But have you read standing order no. 5(4) of the party constitution? Raymond replied: Hadn’t. Have now. Let’s hope it’s an omen.

  In their first twelve months the new Labour team looked fresh and innovative as Mrs. Thatcher began to look tired and out of touch. She was not helped in her cause by the election of Gary Hart to the White House in November 1988. President Hart’s avowed intention to lower unemployment and spend more of the nation’s wealth to help “genuine Democrats” left Britain with a handful of new problems. The pound strengthened against the dollar overnight, and large export orders sat gathering dust in dockside warehouses.

  But what threw her economic forecasts into total disarray was the decision of the recently elected Governments of Brazil and Argentina to refuse to repay any of the loans negotiated by their former military rulers leaving the Bank of England with what could only be described as an overdraft.

  During the long cold winter of 1988 the Conservatives lost several votes on the floor of the House and many more upstairs in committee. The Prime Minister seemed somewhat relieved to find herself spending Christmas. at Chequers

  The relief did not last long as two elderly Conservative members died before the House convened in January. The press dubbed the Government the “lame drake” administration.

  Both of the pending by-elections were held in May: the Conservatives fared far better than might have been expected, holding on to one and just losing the other. For a third time Mrs. Thatcher plumped for a June election.

  After a decade of the lady from Grantham Raymond sensed the mood was for change. The monthly unemployment, inflation, and import/export figures announced at regular intervals during the campaign all augured badly for the Conservatives.

  The Prime Minister’s reiterated plea that a Government shouldn’t be judged on one month’s figures now sounded unconvincing, and by the final week the only point of contention was whether the Labour party would end up with a decent working majority.

  Raymond woke up on the Friday morning after the election to be told by Joyce that the computer predictions indicated an overall majority of four seats. Together they toured the constituency that morning before joining Raymond’s parents for a late lunch. When they left the little butcher’s shop that afternoon there was a crowd of well-wishers awaiting them on the pavement who cheered them all the way to their car. Raymond and Joyce traveled down to London and were back in Cowley Street in time to watch the first Labour Prime Minister since 1979 emerge from Buckingham Palace with the television cameras following him all the way back until he took up residence at 10 Downing Street.

  This time Raymond did not have long to wait for a telephone call because the first appointment the new Prime Minister confirmed was his Chancellor. Raymond and Joyce traveled to No. 11 later that afternoon, instructing estate agents to lease their Cowley Street house on a six-month let that might or might not be renewable. Joyce spent hours checking over her new home and replacing some of the objects she had inherited from Diana Brittan while Raymond called his team over from Transport House to prepare the Labour party’s first budget, and replace even more of what Leon Brittan had left behind.

  After Raymond’s advisers returned to Transport House that night he started to go over the hundreds of letters and telegrams of congratulations that had been flooding in throughout the day. One from America made him particularly happy, and he returned his own best wishes to Mrs. Kate Wilberhoff.

  Andrew had defeated Frank Boyle for a third time and the left-winger announced that he would not be standing again.

  Andrew had also spent a weekend thanking all his helpers. When he returned to the Commons on the Monday morning he found a note awaiting him on the Members’ Letterboard.

  Over lunch in the Members’ Dining Room David Owen informed him privately that he would not be seeking reelection as leader of the SDP: seven years had been quite enough. Although the party had slightly improved their position in the House he accepted that they now faced a five-year Parliament, and he wanted Andrew to take over.

  As soon as Owen had issued an official press statement Geoffrey Parkhouse of the Glasgow Herald was the first to phone and ask Andrew, “When will you be announcing your bid for the SDP leadership?”

  Leaving the Home Office came as a great blow to Charles. His period of time there had been so short that he felt he had achieved very little. The civil servants had procrastinated over all major decisions as they waited for another general election and a clear mandate. He informed Amanda over breakfast on the Monday after the election that he would be returning to Seymour’s Bank and that his salary would once again be sufficient for her allowance to remain constant—so long as she kept to her part of the bargain. Amanda nodded and left the breakfast table without comment just as Harry came in.

  It was an important morning for Harry as he was to be taken to his first day of prep school at Hill House to begin the academic course mapped out for him by his father. Charles tried to convince him that it would be the start of a wonderful future, but Harry looked apprehensive. Once he had deposited a tearful eight-year-old with his first headmaster Charles continued on to the City, cheerful at the prospect of returning to the world of banking.

  When he arrived at Seymour’s, he was met by Clive Reynolds’s secretary who immediately took him through to the boardroom and asked him if he would like a coffee.

  “Thank you,” said Charles, taking off his gloves, placing his umbrella in the stand, and settling himself in the chairman’s seat a
t the head of the table. “And would you tell Mr. Reynolds I’m in?”

  “Certainly,” said the secretary.

  Clive Reynolds joined him a few moments later.

  “Good morning, Mr. Seymour. How nice to see you again after such a long time,” he said, shaking Charles by the hand.

  “Good morning, Clive. It’s nice to see you, too. First I must congratulate you on the manner in which you have conducted the bank’s affairs in my absence.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so, Mr. Seymour.”

  “I was particularly impressed by the Distillers takeover; that certainly took the City by surprise.”

  “Yes, quite a coup, wasn’t it?” said Reynolds, smiling. “And there’s another one in the pipeline.”

  “I shall look forward to hearing the details.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it remains confidential at the moment,” said Clive, taking the seat beside him.

  “Of course, but now I have returned I had better be briefed fairly soon.”

  “I’m afraid shareholders cannot be briefed until we are certain the deals have been concluded. We can’t afford any rumors harming our chances, can we?”

  “But I’m not an ordinary shareholder,” said Charles sharply. “I am returning as chairman of the bank.”

  “No, Mr. Seymour,” said Reynolds quietly. “I am chairman of this bank.”

  “Do you realize whom you are addressing?” said Charles.

  “Yes, I think so. A former Foreign Secretary, a former Home Secretary, a former chairman of the bank, and a two percent shareholder.”

  “But you are fully aware that the board agreed to have me back as chairman when the Conservatives went into Opposition,” Charles reminded him.

  “The composition of the board has changed considerably since those days,” said Reynolds. “Perhaps you’ve been too busy running the rest of the world to notice minor comings and goings in Cheapside.”

  “I shall call a board meeting.”

  “You don’t have the authority.”

  “Then I shall demand an Extraordinary General Meeting,” said Charles.

  “And tell the shareholders what? That you had a standing order to return as Chairman when you felt like it? That won’t sound like a former Foreign Secretary.”

  “I’ll have you out of this office in twenty-four hours,” Charles continued, his voice suddenly rising.

  “I don’t think so, Mr. Seymour. Miss Trubshaw has completed her five years and left us on a full pension, and it won’t take you long to discover that I don’t possess a Swiss bank account or a well-compensated mistress.”

  Charles went red in the face. “I’ll get you removed. You don’t begin to understand how far my influence stretches.”

  “I hope I’m not removed, for your sake,” said Reynolds calmly.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Certainly not, Mr. Seymour, but I would hate to have to explain how Seymour’s lost over £500,000 on the Nethercote account because of your personal wish to ruin Simon Kerslake’s career. It may interest you to know that the only thing the bank gained from that fiasco was goodwill, and we only managed that because I recommended that Morgan Grenfell pick up the pieces.”

  Charles couldn’t resist a smile. “When I make that public it will finish you,” he said triumphantly.

  “Perhaps,” said Reynolds calmly, “but it would also stop you from becoming Prime Minister.”

  Charles turned, picked up his umbrella, put on his gloves, and walked away. As he reached the door, a secretary walked in holding two cups of coffee. Charles passed her without a word and slammed the door.

  “I’ll only be needing one, Miss Bristow.”

  During the first week after the Queen’s Speech Andrew was pleased to discover that a majority of his colleagues wrote to say that they would support him if he put his name forward for the leadership of the SDP.

  At their weekly parliamentary meeting the party Whip asked that names for the post of party leader be submitted to his office within seven days. Each candidate had to be proposed and seconded by Members of Parliament.

  For the next week the popular press tried to suggest, conjure up, or even invent a rival for Andrew. Louise, who believed almost everything she read in the papers, took to perusing the Morning Star, the only paper which showed no interest in the outcome. But by five o’clock on the seventh day it had become obvious that Andrew was to be the sole nomination.

  At the next parliamentary meeting of the SDP he was not so much elected as anointed. On the following Saturday, having been made a Privy Councillor the day before, Andrew addressed the party faithful at a packed Albert Hall. After a well-received speech, the press unanimously predicted—yet again—an SDP-Liberal revival. One or two journalists were quick to point out that if the balance of power did ever rest in his hands the Right Honorable Andrew Fraser might not know which way to jump: with on the one hand a father who was a distinguished Tory, while on the other having been a member of the Labour party himself for twenty years, which party would he consider the lesser of the two evils? Andrew always told the press that he would worry about that when the problem arose, because the SDP might not even be able to come to an agreement with the Liberals.

  Numerous articles on the new SDP leader appeared in newspapers and magazines across the country. They all reported the stories of his attempt to save his son’s life, the gradual recovery of his wife after Robert’s death, the successful adoption of Clarissa, and his reelection to Parliament on the toss of a golden sovereign.

  All the publicity made Clarissa feel like a film star, she told her father. She was the most popular girl in school, she added, so he had better become Prime Minister. He laughed but proceeded to lead his party with a determination and energy that caused him to be talked of in the same breath as the leaders of the two main parties.

  No sooner had the publicity over Andrew’s election died down than the press started speculating as to whether Mrs. Thatcher would now make way for a younger man.

  “Don’t you know any other restaurant?”

  “Yes, but they don’t know me,” replied Ronnie Nethercote, as the two men strolled into the Ritz for the first time in a couple of years. Heads turned as people leaned forward and whispered Simon’s name to their guests.

  “What are you up to nowadays? I can’t believe Opposition fully occupies you,” Ronnie said as they took their seats.

  “Not really. I might also be described as one of the four million unemployed,” replied Simon.

  “That’s what we’re here to talk about,” said Ronnie, “but first I recommend the country vegetable soup and the …”

  “Beef off the trolley,” interjected Simon.

  “You remembered.”

  “It’s the one thing you’ve always been right about.”

  Ronnie laughed more loudly than people normally did in the Ritz before saying, “Now you no longer have the entire armed forces at your disposal or ambassadors to call you Your Eminence or whatever they call you now, why don’t you join the board of my new company?”

  “It’s kind of you to ask, Ronnie, but the answer has to be no.”

  They both broke off their conversation to allow the head waiter to take their orders.

  “There’s a salary of £20,000 a year that goes with it.”

  “I can’t deny that Elizabeth and I could do with the money. With Peter staying up at Oxford to do a D.Phil. and Michael bent on being an actor I wonder if my bank account will ever be in credit.”

  “Then why not come in with us?” asked Ronnie.

  “Because I’m a committed politician,” said Simon, “and I no longer want to involve myself in any commercial activities.”

  “That might stop you becoming Prime Minister?”

  Simon hesitated at the bluntness of Ronnie’s question then said, “Frankly, yes. I’ve got a better than outside chance and I’d be foolish to lengthen the odds by becoming involved in anything else right now.”

&
nbsp; “But everyone knows that as soon as Margaret announces she’s going to pack up you’ll be the next leader. It’s as simple as that.”

  “No, Ronnie, it’s never as simple as that.”

  “Then tell me, who could beat you?”

  “Charles Seymour, for one.”

  “Seymour? He’s a toffee-nosed git,” said Ronnie.

  “He has a lot of friends in the party, and his patrician background still counts for something with the Tories. Sir Alec remains the best loved of our most recent Prime Ministers.”

  “Yes, but he was given the leadership by the magic circle,” said Ronnie. “You’d kill Seymour with every elected member of the party having a vote.”

  “Time will tell,” said Simon, bored with a conversation he had had with so many people lately. “But what have you been up to?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

  “I’ve been working my backside off in preparation for going public in about a year’s time, which is why I wanted you on the board.”

  “You never give up.”

  “No, and I hope you haven’t given up your one percent of the company.”

  “Elizabeth has it locked away somewhere.”

  “Then you had better find the key.”

  “Why?” asked Simon.

  “Because when I put out ten million shares on the market at three quid a time, your one original share will be exchanged for 100,000 shares of common stock. I know you weren’t ever Chancellor but that’s £300,000 of anyone’s money.”

  Simon was speechless.

  “Well, say something,” said Ronnie.

  “Frankly I’d forgotten the share existed,” Simon finally managed.

  “Well, I think I can safely say,” said Ronnie, parodying one of Mrs. Thatcher’s favorite phrases, “that’s not a bad investment for a pound, and one you will never regret.”