First Among Equals

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Exhilarated, to be honest,” replied Raymond.

  He moved toward Simon, who in turn offered his congratulations. The two men shook hands and for a moment resembled medieval knights who had lowered their visors before the final joust. The unnatural silence that followed was broken by Andrew.

  “Well, I hope it’s going to be a clean fight,” he said. Both men laughed.

  The train-bearer came to the Speaker’s side to inform him that Her Majesty had left Buckingham Palace a few moments earlier.

  Charles excused himself while the three leaders continued their conversation.

  “Has either of you been told the real reason why we are bidden here this evening?” asked Raymond.

  “Isn’t the Queen’s sixty-fifth birthday enough?” said Simon.

  “No, that’s just an excuse for us to meet without suspicion. I think it might be helpful for you both to know that Her Majesty has a highly sensitive question to put to us.”

  Simon and Andrew listened as Raymond revealed the substance of his discussion with the Prime Minister.

  Charles waited in the entrance of the courtyard of the Speaker’s House to welcome the Queen.

  It was only a few minutes before he spotted two police outriders entering the gates of New Palace Yard followed by the familiar maroon Rolls-Royce, which displayed no number-plate. A tiny white light on the center of the roof blinked in the evening dusk. As soon as the car had come to a halt a footman leaped down and opened the back door.

  The Queen stepped out, to be greeted by the commoner history had judged to be the monarch’s man. She was dressed in a simple cocktail dress. The only jewelry she wore was a string of pearls and a small diamond brooch. Charles bowed before shaking hands and taking his guest up the carpeted staircase to his private apartments. Her three party leaders stood in line waiting to greet her. She shook hands first with the new leader of the Labour party and congratulated him on his election that afternoon before inquiring how the Prime Minister was faring. Then she shook hands with her leader of the Opposition and asked how his wife was coping at Pucklebridge General Hospital after the new National Health cutbacks. Simon was always amazed by how much the Queen could recall from her past conversations, few of which could ever last more than a few moments. She then moved on to Andrew whom she teased about his father’s recent speech in Edinburgh on the Social Democrats’ greatest weakness being their lack of leadership.

  “He’s very old, ma’am,” insisted Andrew.

  “Not as old as Gladstone when he formed his last administration,” she replied.

  She removed the gin and tonic offered to her on a silver tray and looked around the magnificent room. “My husband and I are great admirers of the Gothic revival in architecture, though being infrequent visitors to Westminster we are, however, usually forced to view the better examples from the outside of railway stations or from the inside of cathedrals.”

  The four men smiled and a few minutes later Charles suggested they adjourn to the State dining room where five places were set out round an oval table covered with silver which glittered in the candlelight. The four men waited until the Queen was seated at the head of the table.

  Charles .had placed Raymond on the Queen’s right and Simon on her left while he and Andrew filled the other two places.

  When the champagne was served Charles and his colleagues rose and toasted the Queen’s health. She reminded them that her birthday was not for another two weeks and remarked that she had twenty-four official birthday engagements during the month, which didn’t include the family’s private celebrations. “I would happily weaken but the Queen Mother attended more functions for her ninetieth birthday last year than I have planned for my sixty-fifth. I can’t imagine where she gets the energy.”

  “Perhaps she would like to take my place in the election campaign,” said Raymond.

  “Don’t suggest it,” the Queen replied. “She would leap at the opportunity without a second thought.”

  The chef had prepared a simple dinner of smoked salmon followed by lamb in red wine and aspic. His only flamboyant gesture was a birthday cake in the shape of a crown resting on a portcullis of sponge. No candles were evident.

  After the meal had been cleared away and the cognac served the servants left them alone. The four men remained in a light mood until the Queen without warning put to them a delicate question that surprised only Charles. She waited for an answer.

  No one spoke.

  “Perhaps I should ask you first,” said the Queen, turning to Raymond, “as you are standing in for the Prime Minister.”

  Raymond didn’t hesitate. “I am in favor, ma’am,” he said quietly.

  She next turned to Simon.

  “I would also support such a decision, Your Majesty,” he replied.

  “Thank you,” said the Queen, and turned to Andrew.

  “At heart I am a traditionalist, Your Majesty, but I confess to having given the subject a great deal of thought over the last few years and I have come round to supporting what I think is described as the ‘modern approach.’”

  “Thank you,” she repeated, her eyes finally resting on Charles Seymour.

  “Against, ma’am,” he said without hesitation, “but then I have never been a modern man.”

  “Mat is no bad thing in Mr. Speaker,” she said, and paused before adding: “Some years ago I asked a former Lord Chancellor to draw up the necessary papers. He assured me then that if none of my parliamentary leaders was against the principle the legislation could be carried through while both Houses were still in session.”

  “That is correct, ma’am,” said Charles. “It would require two or three days at most if all the preparations have already been completed. It’s only a matter of proclamation to both Houses of Parliament: your decision requires no vote.”

  “Excellent, Mr. Speaker. Then the matter is settled.”

  BOOK SIX

  1991 PRIME MINISTER

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  HER MAJESTY’S PROCLAMATION passed through the Lords and Commons without a division.

  Once the initial shock had been absorbed by the nation the election campaign took over. The first polls gave the Tories a two-point lead. The press attributed this to the public’s unfamiliarity with the new Labour leader, but by the end of the first week the Tories had slipped a point while the press had decided that Raymond Could had begun his stewardship well.

  “A week is a long time in politics,” he quoted.

  “And there are still two to go,” Joyce reminded him.

  The pundits put forward the theory that Raymond had increased his popularity during the first week because of the extra coverage he had received as the new leader of the Labour party. He warned the press department at Transport House that it might well be the shortest honeymoon on record, and they certainly couldn’t expect him to be treated like a bridegroom for the entire three weeks. The first signs of a broken marriage came when the Department of Employment announced that inflation had taken an upturn for the first time in nine months.

  “And who has been Chancellor for the last three years?” demanded Simon in that night’s speech in Manchester.

  Raymond tried to dismiss the figures as a one-off monthly hiccup but the next day Simon was insistent that there was more bad news just around the corner.

  When the Department of Trade announced the worst deficit in the balance of payments for fourteen months Simon took on the mantle of a prophet and the Tories edged back into a healthy lead, but with the Social Democrats stealing a point from both of them.

  “Honeymoon, broken marriage, and divorce, all in a period of fourteen days,” said Raymond wryly. “What can happen in the last seven?”

  “Reconciliation, perhaps?” suggested Joyce.

  During the campaign all three leaders managed to visit most of the one hundred marginal seats in which the outcome of any general election is decided. None of them could afford to spend too much time worrying about those 550 of the 65
0 seats that could not change hands without a swing of at least eight percent.

  Andrew was willing to make one exception to the eight percent rule in the case of Alec Pimkin’s seat in Littlehampton, which he had considered vulnerable for some time. The Social Democrats had selected an able young candidate who had nursed the constituency assiduously over the past three years and couldn’t wait to take on Pimkin.

  Alec Pimkin eventually made an appearance in Littlehampton—only after the local chairman had tracked him down to his London flat to say they were becoming desperate. The Alliance yellow lines were almost as abundant on the canvass returns as the Conservative blue ones, he warned.

  “Don’t you realize that I have had grave responsibilities in the Commons?” Pimkin declared. “No one could have anticipated that members would have been called back for a special declaration by the monarch.”

  “Everyone knows about that,” said the chairman. “But the bill commanded by the Queen went through all its three readings last week without a division.”

  Pimkin inwardly cursed the day they allowed television into the House. “Don’t fuss,” he soothed. “Come the hour, cometh the man and the voters will remember that I have had a long and distinguished parliamentary career. Damn it, old thing, have you forgotten that I was a candidate for the leadership of the Tory party?”

  No, and how many votes did you receive on that occasion, the chairman wanted to say, but he took a deep breath and repeated his urgent request that the member visit the constituency as soon as possible.

  Pimkin arrived seven days before the election and, as in past campaigns, settled himself in the private bar of the Swan Arms—the only decent pub in the constituency, he assured those people who took the trouble to come over and seek his opinion.

  “But the Alliance candidate has visited every pub in the division,” wailed the chairman.

  “More fool he. We can say that he’s looking for any excuse for a pub crawl,” said Pimkin, roaring with laughter.

  From time to time Pimkin did stroll over to his local committee headquarters to find a few loyal workers, licking envelopes and folding election messages. On the one occasion on which he ventured into the high street he was appalled to discover Andrew Fraser standing on an upturned box extolling the virtues of the Alliance candidate to a large crowd. Pimkin wandered over to listen to what Andrew had to say and was not pleased to find that hardly anyone in the crowd recognized him.

  “Humbug,” said Pimkin at the top of his voice. Andrew waved back. “Littlehampton needs a member who lives in the constituency,” declared Andrew genially, and went on with his speech. Pimkin turned to retreat to the warmth of the fireside at the Swan Arms. After all, as the landlord had assured him, put up a donkey with a blue ribbon as the Conservative candidate in Littlehampton and they would elect it. Pimkin had not been overwhelmed by the analogy.

  With six days to go Andrew held a meeting with the Liberals to discuss tactics. The Alliance began to record over twenty-two percent in some polls while the Labour and Conservative vote remained neck and neck with thirty-eight percent each. Andrew’s continual claim that he would hold the balance of power in the next Parliament was analyzed seriously by the Observer and Sunday Times over the last weekend of the campaign, and few political pundits were now disagreeing with him. Both the BBC and ITV were already trying to book him for the first interview after the election. Andrew made no commitment.

  He traveled up from Liverpool to Glasgow on the Monday before the election and then trekked across Scotland, pursued by a pack of journalists, until he reached Edinburgh on the Wednesday night.

  The same evening Simon returned to Pucklebridge to deliver his last speech of the campaign in the local village hall. Four hundred and eighteen sat inside to hear his speech. Four thousand more stood outside in the cold listening to his words being relayed by loudspeaker. Simon’s final message to his supporters all over the country was, “Be sure you go to the polls tomorrow. Every vote will be vital.”

  The statement turned out to be the most accurate any of the three leaders had made during the entire three-week campaign.

  Raymond had returned to Leeds on the evening and was met on the platform of Leeds City station by the Lord Mayor and over half the Corporation. He was driven to the town hall to deliver his last appeal to the electorate before an audience of 2,000 people. Somehow he raised himself to give one more speech, and the cheers that greeted his arrival at the town hall made him forget he hadn’t had more than four hours’ sleep a night during the last month. Introducing the Labour leader the Mayor said, “Ray has come home.”

  Raymond stood up and delivered his speech as vigorously as if it were the opening day of the campaign. When he sat down forty minutes later he felt his legs give way. As soon as the hall was cleared Joyce and Fred Padgett took the exhausted candidate home. He fell asleep in the car on the way back so the two of them helped him upstairs, undressed him, and let him sleep on until six the next morning.

  All three leaders were up by six preparing for interviews on both breakfast television channels followed by the obligatory photo of each arriving at a polling station accompanied by his wife to cast their votes.

  Andrew enjoyed being back in Edinburgh where for a few hours he was allowed to recall the days of recounts and catch up with the many old friends who had made it possible for him to remain in Parliament. Once again he ended up on the steps of the final polling station as the city hall clock struck ten. No Mrs. Bloxham was there to remind him that she only voted for winners; she had died the previous year. Andrew, Louise, and Clarissa walked back to the local SDP headquarters arm in arm to join their supporters and watch the results as they came in on television.

  Raymond and Joyce remained in Leeds overnight while Simon and Elizabeth returned to London to follow the outcome at Central Office in Smith Square. Raymond couldn’t remember when he had last watched television for three hours without a break. The first result came from Guildford at eleven-twenty-one, and showed a two percent swing to the Conservatives.

  “Not enough,” said Simon from the party chairman’s room at Central Office.

  “It may not be enough,” said Raymond when the next two seats delivered their verdict, and the swing remained the same. The first shock came a few minutes after midnight when the Social Democrats captured the Labour seat of Rugby, and less than thirty minutes later followed it by taking Billericay from the Conservatives. When the first hundred seats had been declared the pundits were certain of only one thing: they were uncertain what the final outcome would be. Opinions, expert and amateur, were still fluid at one o’clock that morning, by which time 200 results were in, and remained so at two o’clock when over 300 constituencies had selected their member.

  Raymond went to bed with a lead of 236-191 over Simon, knowing it would be offset by the county shires the next day. Andrew had gained four seats and lost one, to give the Alliance thirty-two seats overnight.

  The next morning pundits were back on radio and television by six o’clock, all agreeing with the Daily Mail’s headline “Stalemate.” Raymond and Joyce returned to London on the early morning train while the rural seats were proving their traditional loyalty to the Conservatives. Simon traveled down to Pucklebridge to acknowledge a record majority. He wished he could have sacrificed a couple of thousand for the marginals that weren’t going his way. By twelve-thirty-three when Raymond had reached No. 11 Downing Street, the Labour lead had fallen to 287-276 while the Alliance had captured forty-four seats.

  At twelve o’clock that Friday morning, the cameras from all four channels swung over to Edinburgh where the Sheriff was declaring that Andrew Fraser had been returned to the House with a majority of over 7,000. The cameras moved on to show the victor, hands high above his head. The number on the SDP chart flicked up to forty-five. By one o’clock the Social Democrats had notched up their forty-sixth victory by a mere seventy-two votes, a result which saddened Simon.

  “The House won’t be qui
te the same without Alec Pimkin,” he told Elizabeth.

  At two-twenty-three that Friday afternoon both the major parties had 292 seats with only two safe Tory-held seats still to be declared. Simon retained the first but Andrew picked up the last after three recounts.

  At four o’clock Lord Day of Langham announced from the BBC studios the final result of the 1991 election:

  Conservative 293

  Labour 292

  SDP/Liberal 47

  Irish 17

  Speaker 1

  Lord Day went on to point out that the popular vote made the outcome even more finely balanced with Labour taking 12,246,341 (35.2 percent), Conservatives 12,211,907 (35.1 percent) and the Alliance 8,649,881 (25.4 percent). He told viewers that he had never experienced a result like it in his thirty-six years as a political journalist. He apologized for his failure to get an interview with Andrew Fraser who now held the key as to who would form the next Government.

  Andrew phoned Simon first, then Raymond. He listened intently to both men and what they were willing to offer before telling them that he intended to hold a meeting of his members in London on Sunday and relay their comments. He would report back with their decision in the hope that a Government could be formed by Monday.

  Andrew and Louise flew down from Edinburgh on the Saturday morning together with a planeload of journalists but by the time Andrew disappeared outside Terminal One into a waiting car the press had nothing new to report.

  Sir Duncan had already told the Scotsman that his son would naturally back the Conservatives, while the former Prime Minister announced from his bedside that Andrew had always been a good Socialist at heart and would have nothing to do with the capitalist cause.

  On the Saturday Andrew held several informal meetings in Pelham Crescent with senior members of the Alliance to ascertain the views of his colleagues, old and new. By the time he went to bed he still had no clear mandate and when a newscaster said no one was sure how the SDP/Liberal Alliance would vote the following day in their private meeting Andrew added out loud, “Me included.” Even so he had decided after much deliberation on the qualities of the two men and what they stood for and that helped him make up his mind which party he thought should form the next Government.