This Was A Man

6

‘Do you want to hear the bad news?’ said Giles as he strode into Griff Haskins’s office and plonked himself down in the seat opposite a man who was lighting his fourth cigarette of the morning.

‘Tony Benn’s been found drunk in a brothel?’

‘Worse. My sister is heading up the Conservatives’ marginal-seat campaign.’

The veteran Labour agent collapsed in his chair and didn’t speak for some time. ‘A formidable opponent,’ he eventually managed. ‘And to think I taught her everything she knows. Not least how to fight a marginal seat.’

‘It gets worse. She’ll be staying with me in Smith Square for the duration of the campaign.’

‘Then throw her out on the street,’ said Griff, sounding as if he meant it.

‘I can’t. She actually owns the house. I’ve always been her tenant.’

This silenced Griff for a few moments, but he quickly recovered. ‘Then we’ll have to take advantage of it. If Karin can find out in the morning what she’s up to that day, we’ll always be one move ahead.’

‘Nice idea,’ said Giles, ‘except I can’t be sure whose side my wife is on.’

‘Then throw her out on the street.’

‘I don’t think that would get the women’s vote.’

‘Then we’ll have to rely on Markham. Get him to listen in on her phone calls, open her mail if necessary.’

‘Markham votes Conservative. Always has.’

‘Isn’t there anyone in your house who supports the Labour party?’

‘Silvina, my cleaner. But she doesn’t speak very good English, and I’m not sure she has a vote.’

‘Then you’ll need to keep your eyes and ears open, because I want to know what your sister is up to every minute of every day. Which constituencies she’s targeting, which leading Tories will be visiting those constituencies and anything else you can find out.’

‘She’ll be equally keen to find out what I’m up to,’ said Giles.

‘Then we must feed her with false information.’

‘She’ll have worked that out by the second day.’

‘Possibly, but don’t forget, you have much more experience than her when it comes to fighting elections. She’s going to be on a steep learning curve and relying a lot on my opposite number.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘John Lacy,’ said Griff. ‘I know him better than my own brother. I’ve played Cain to his Abel for over thirty years.’ He stubbed out his cigarette before lighting another one. ‘I first came across Lacy in 1945, Attlee versus Churchill, and like a Rottweiler he’s been licking his wounds ever since.’

‘Then let’s take Clem Attlee as our inspiration, and do what he did to Churchill.’

‘This is probably his last election,’ said Griff, almost as if he was talking to himself.

‘Ours too,’ said Giles, ‘if we lose.’

‘If you’re living in the same house as your brother,’ said Lacy, ‘we must take advantage of it.’

Emma looked across the desk at her chief of staff and felt she was quickly getting to know how his mind worked. Lacy must have been around 5 foot 7 inches and, although he’d never participated in any sport other than baiting the Labour Party, there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on him. A man who considered sleep a luxury he couldn’t afford, didn’t believe in lunch breaks, had never smoked nor drunk, and only deserted the party on Sunday mornings to worship the only being he considered superior to his leader. His thinning grey hair made him look older than he was, and his piercing blue eyes never left you.

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Emma.

‘The moment your brother leaves the house in the morning, I need to know which constituencies he plans to visit, and which senior Labour politicians will be accompanying him, so our workers can be waiting for them as they get off the train.’

‘That’s rather underhand, isn’t it?’

‘Be assured, Lady Clifton—’

‘Emma.’

‘Emma. We are not trying to win a baking competition at your local village fete, but a general election. The stakes couldn’t be higher. You must look upon any socialists as the enemy because this is all-out war. It’s our job to make sure that in four weeks’ time, none of them are left standing — and that includes your brother.’

‘That may take me a little time to get used to.’

‘You’ve got twenty-four hours to get up to speed. And never forget, your brother is the best, and Griff Haskins is the worst, which makes them a formidable combination.’

‘So where do I start?’

Lacy got up from behind his desk and walked across to a large chart pinned to the wall.

‘These are the sixty-two marginal seats we have to win if we hope to form the next government,’ he said, even before Emma had joined him. ‘Each of them needs only a four per cent swing or less to change colour. If both the major parties end up with thirty-one of these seats’ — he tapped the chart — ‘it will be a hung parliament. If either can gain ten seats, they will have a majority of twenty in the House. That’s how important our job is.’

‘What about the other six hundred seats?’

‘Most of them have already been decided long before a ballot box is opened. We’re only interested in seats where they count the votes, not weigh them. Of course there will be one or two surprises, there always are, but we haven’t the time to try to work out which ones they’re going to be. Our job is to concentrate on the sixty-two marginals and try to make sure every one of them returns a Conservative Member of Parliament.’

Emma looked more carefully at the long list of seats, starting with the most marginal, Basildon, Labour majority of 22, swing needed 0.1 per cent.

‘If we can’t win that one,’ said Lacy, ‘we’ll have to suffer another five years of Labour government.’ His finger shot down to the bottom of the chart. ‘Gravesend, which needs a 4.1 per cent swing. If that turned out to be the uniform swing across the country, it would guarantee the Conservatives a majority of thirty.’

‘What are the seven little boxes alongside each constituency?’

‘We need every one of them ticked off before election day.’

Emma studied the headings: Candidate, Swing Required, Agent, Chairman, Drivers, Adopted Constituency, AOP.

‘There are three seats that still don’t even have a candidate,’ said Emma, staring at the list in disbelief.

‘They will have by the end of the week, otherwise they could return a Labour member unopposed, and we’re not going to let that happen.’

‘But what if we can’t find a suitable candidate at such short notice?’

‘We’ll find someone,’ said Lacy, ‘even if it’s the village idiot, and there are one or two of those already sitting on our side of the House, some of them in safe seats.’

Emma laughed, as her eye moved on to ‘Adopted Constituency’.

‘A safe seat will adopt an adjoining marginal constituency,’ explained Lacy, ‘offering it the assistance of an experienced agent, canvassers, even money when it’s needed. We have a reserve fund with enough cash to supply any marginal seat with ten thousand pounds at a moment’s notice.’

‘Yes, I became aware of that during the last election when I was working in the West Country,’ said Emma. ‘But I found some constituencies were more cooperative than others.’

‘And you’ll find that’s the same right across the country. Local chairmen who think they know how to run a campaign better than we do, treasurers who would rather lose an election than part with a penny from their current account, Members of Parliament who claim they might lose their seats even when they have a twenty thousand majority. Whenever we come up against those sorts of problems, you’ll be the one who has to call the constituency chairman and sort it out. Not least because they won’t take any notice of an agent, however senior, and especially when everyone knows you have Mother’s ear.’

‘Mother?’

‘Sorry,’ said Lacy. ‘It’s agent shorthand for the leader.’ Emma smiled.

‘And “OAP”?’ she asked, placing a finger on the bottom line.

‘Not old age pensioners,’ said Lacy, ‘although they may well decide who wins the election because, assuming they can turn out, they’re the most likely to vote. And even if they can’t walk, we’ll supply a car and driver to take them to the nearest polling station. When I was a young agent I even helped someone get to the poll on a stretcher. It was only when I dropped him back at his house he told me he’d voted Labour.’

Emma tried to keep a straight face.

‘No,’ said Lacy, ‘it’s AOP, which stands for Any Other Problems, of which there will be several every day. But I’ll try to make sure you only have to deal with the really difficult ones because most of the time you’ll be out on the road while I’m back here at base.’

‘Is there any good news?’ asked Emma, as she continued to study the chart.

‘Yes. You can be sure that our opponents are facing exactly the same problems as we are, and just be thankful we don’t have a box marked “Unions”.’ Lacy turned to his boss. ‘I’m told you’re well acquainted with the methods of Griff Haskins, your brother’s right-hand. I’ve known him for years but really don’t know him at all, so what’s he like to work with?’

‘Totally ruthless. Doesn’t believe in giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, works untold hours, and considers all Tories were spawned by the devil.’

‘But we both know he has one great weakness.’

‘True,’ said Emma, ‘but he never drinks during a campaign. In fact, he won’t touch a drop until the final vote has been cast in the last constituency, when, win or lose, he’ll get plastered.’

‘I see the latest opinion poll gives Labour a two per cent lead,’ said Karin, as she looked up from her paper.

‘No politics at the breakfast table, please,’ said Giles. ‘And certainly not while Emma is in the room.’

Karin smiled across the table at her sister-in-law.

‘Did you notice that your ex-wife is back in the headlines?’ asked Emma.

‘What’s she been up to this time?’

‘It appears that Lady Virginia will be withdrawing the Hon. Freddie from his posh prep school in Scotland. William Hickey is hinting that it’s because she’s once again short of cash.’

‘I’ve never thought of you as an Express reader,’ said Giles.

‘Seventy-three per cent of its readers support Margaret Thatcher,’ said Emma, ‘which is why I don’t bother with the Mirror.’

When the phone rang, Giles immediately left the table and, ignoring the phone on the sideboard, retreated into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind him.

‘Where’s he off to today?’ whispered Emma.

‘I plead the fifth,’ said Karin, ‘although I am willing to tell you his driver’s taking him to Paddington.’

‘Reading 3.7 per cent, Bath 2.9 per cent, Bristol Docklands 1.6 per cent, Exeter 2.7 per cent and Truro—’

‘It can’t be Truro,’ said Karin. ‘He’s got a meeting at Transport House at eight o’clock this evening, so he couldn’t be back in time.’ She paused as Markham came into the room with a fresh supply of coffee.

‘Who was my brother speaking to on the phone?’ asked Emma casually.

‘Mr Denis Healey.’

‘Ah yes, and they’re off to...?’

‘Reading, my lady,’ said the butler, pouring Emma a cup of coffee.

‘You would have made a good spy,’ said Emma.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Markham, before clearing away the plates and leaving the room.

‘How do you know he isn’t one?’ whispered Karin.

7

If anyone had asked Emma to account for what took place during the next twenty-eight days, she would have described them as one long blur. Days that began with her leaping into a car at six o’clock each morning continued relentlessly until she fell asleep, usually in an empty train carriage or the back of a plane, around one the following morning.

Giles kept to roughly the same routine: same modes of transport, same hours, different constituencies. Far from them being able to spy continuously on each other, their paths rarely crossed.

The polls consistently showed the Labour Party a couple of points ahead, and John Lacy warned Emma that during the last week of any campaign the electorate tended to move towards the government of the day. Emma didn’t get that feeling while she was out canvassing on the high streets, but she did wonder if the voters were just being polite when they spotted her blue rosette and she asked if they’d be voting Conservative. Whenever Mrs Thatcher was asked about the polls as she travelled around the country, she would always reply, ‘Straw polls are for straw people. Only real people will be voting on May the third.’

Although she and Mrs Thatcher only had one conversation during the twenty-eight-day campaign, Emma concluded that her party leader was either a very accomplished actress, or really did believe the Conservatives were going to win.

‘There are two factors the polls are unable to take into account,’ she told Emma. ‘How many people are unwilling to admit they will vote for a woman prime minister, and how many wives are not telling their husbands they will be voting Conservative for the first time.’

Both Giles and Emma were in Bristol Docklands on the last day of the campaign, and when ten p.m. struck and the last vote had been cast, neither felt confident enough to predict the final outcome. They both hurried back to London by train, but didn’t share the same carriage.

John Lacy had told Emma that the hierarchy of both parties would descend on their headquarters — Conservative Central Office and Labour’s Transport House, political sentinels perched at different corners of Smith Square — where they would await the results.

‘By two a.m.,’ Lacy briefed her, ‘the trend will have been set, and we’ll probably know who’s going to form the next government. By four a.m., the lights will be blazing in one building and celebrations will continue until daybreak.’

‘And in the other building?’ said Emma.

‘The lights will begin to go out around three, when the vanquished will make their way home and decide who to blame as they prepare for opposition.’

‘What do you think the result will be?’ Emma had asked the chief agent on the eve of the poll.

‘Predictions are for mugs and bookies,’ Lacy had retorted. ‘But whatever the result,’ he added, ‘it’s been a privilege to work with the Boadicea of Bristol.’

When the train pulled into Paddington, Emma leapt off and grabbed the first available taxi. Arriving back in Smith Square, she was relieved to find that Giles hadn’t yet appeared, but Harry was waiting for her. She quickly showered and changed her clothes before the two of them made their way across to the other side of the square.

She was surprised how many people recognized her. Some even applauded as she passed by, while others stared at her in sullen silence. Then a cheer went up, and Emma turned to see her brother getting out of a car and waving to his party’s supporters before disappearing into Transport House.

Emma re-entered a building she had become all too familiar with during the past month, and was greeted by several leading party apparatchiks she’d come across while out on the campaign trail. People surrounded televisions in every room, as supporters, party workers and Central Office staff waited for the first result to come in. Not a politician in sight. They were all back in their constituencies, waiting to find out if they were still Members of Parliament.

Croydon Central was declared at 1.23 a.m., with a swing of 1.8 per cent to the Conservatives. Only muted cheers were offered up because everyone knew that suggested a hung parliament, with Jim Callaghan returning to the palace to be asked if he could form a government.

At 1.43 a.m. the cheers became louder when the Conservatives captured Basildon, which on Emma’s chart suggested a Conservative majority of around 30. After that, the results began to come in thick and fast, including a recount in Bristol Docklands.

By the time Mrs Thatcher drove over from her Finchley constituency just after three a.m., the lights were already going out in Transport House. As she entered Central Office, the doubters were suddenly long-term supporters, and the long-term supporters were looking forward to joining her first administration.

The leader of the opposition paused halfway up the stairs and made a short speech of thanks. Emma was touched that hers was among the names mentioned in dispatches. After shaking several outstretched hands, Mrs Thatcher left the building a few minutes later, explaining that she had a busy day ahead of her. Emma wondered if she would even go to bed.

Just after four a.m., Emma dropped into John Lacy’s office for the last time to find him standing by the chart and filling in the latest results.

‘What’s your prediction?’ she asked as she stared at a sea of blue boxes.

‘It’s looking like a majority of over forty,’ Lacy replied. ‘More than enough to govern for the next five years.’

‘And our sixty-two marginal seats?’ Emma asked.

‘We’ve won all except three, but they’re on their third recount in Bristol Docklands, so it could be just two.’

‘I think we can allow Giles that one,’ Emma whispered.

‘I always knew you were a closet wet,’ said Lacy.

Emma thought about her brother, and how he must be feeling now.

‘Goodnight, John,’ she said. ‘And thank you for everything. See you in five years’ time,’ she added before making her way out of the building and back across to her home on the other side of the square, where she planned to return to the real world.

Emma woke a few hours later to find Harry seated on her side of the bed, holding a cup of tea.

‘Will you be joining us for breakfast, my darling, now that you’ve done your job?’

She yawned and stretched her arms. ‘Not a bad idea, Harry Clifton, because it’s time I got back to work.’

‘So what’s the plot for today?’

‘I have to get back to Bristol, sharpish. I’ve got a meeting with the newly appointed chairman of the hospital at three this afternoon, to discuss priorities for the next year.’

‘Are you happy with your successor?’

‘Couldn’t be more pleased. Simon Dawkins is a first-class administrator and he was a loyal deputy, so I’m expecting the handover to be seamless.’

‘Then I’ll leave you to get dressed,’ said Harry, before handing his wife her tea and heading back downstairs to join Giles for breakfast.

Giles was seated at the far end of the table surrounded by the morning papers, which didn’t make good reading. He smiled for the first time that day when his brother-in-law entered the room.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Harry, placing a consoling hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

‘I’ve had better mornings,’ admitted Giles, pushing the papers to one side. ‘But I’m hardly in a position to complain. I’ve served as a minister for nine of the past fourteen years, and I must still have a chance of holding office in five years’ time, because I can’t believe that woman will last.’

Both men stood when Emma entered the room.

‘Congratulations, sis,’ said Giles. ‘You were a worthy opponent, and it was a deserved victory.’

‘Thank you, Giles,’ she said, giving her brother a hug, something she hadn’t done for the past twenty-eight days. ‘So what are you up to today?’ she asked as she sat in the chair beside him.

‘Some time this morning I’ll have to hand in my seals of office so that woman,’ he said, stabbing a finger at the photograph on the front page of the Daily Express, ‘can form her first, and I hope last, administration. Thatcher’s due at the palace at ten, when she’ll kiss hands before being driven to Downing Street in triumph. You’ll be able to watch it on television, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t join you.’

After Emma had finished packing, Harry placed their suitcases by the front door before joining her in the drawing room, not surprised to find her glued to the television. She didn’t even look up when he entered the room.

Three black Jaguars were emerging from Buckingham Palace. The crowds standing on the pavement outside the palace gates were waving and clapping as the convoy made its way up the Mall to Whitehall. Robin Day kept up a running commentary.

‘The new Prime Minister will spend the morning appointing her first Cabinet. Lord Carrington is expected to be foreign secretary, Geoffrey Howe chancellor, and Leon Brittan home secretary. As for the other appointments, we will have to wait and see who is preferred. I don’t suppose there will be many surprises, although you can be quite sure there will be several anxious politicians sitting by their phones hoping for a call from Number Ten,’ he added as the three cars swept into Downing Street.

As the Prime Minister stepped out of her car, another cheer went up. She made a short speech quoting Saint Francis of Assisi before disappearing into No. 10.

‘Better get moving,’ said Harry, ‘or we’ll miss the train.’

Emma spent the afternoon with Simon Dawkins, her successor at Bristol Royal Infirmary, before clearing out her second office that day. She filled the back seat of her car as well as the boot with all the personal possessions she had accumulated over the past decade. As she drove slowly out of the hospital grounds for the last time, she didn’t look back. She was looking forward to a quiet supper at the Manor House with Harry, and later to placing her head on a pillow before midnight for the first time in weeks, while hoping for more than four hours’ sleep.

Emma was in her dressing gown enjoying a late breakfast when the call came.

Harry picked up the phone on the sideboard and listened for a moment, before covering the mouthpiece and whispering, ‘It’s Number Ten.’

Emma leapt up and took the phone, assuming it would be Mrs Thatcher on the other end of the line.

‘This is Number Ten,’ said a formal voice. ‘The Prime Minister wonders if you could see her at twelve thirty this afternoon.’

‘Yes of course,’ said Emma without thinking.

‘When?’ asked Harry as she put the phone down.

‘Twelve thirty at Number Ten.’

‘You’d better get dressed immediately while I bring the car round. We’ll have to get a move on if you hope to catch the ten past ten.’

Emma ran upstairs and took longer than she intended deciding what to wear. A simple navy suit and a white silk blouse won the day.

Harry managed ‘You look great,’ as he accelerated down the driveway and out of the front gates, glad to have avoided the morning rush. He pulled up outside Temple Meads just after ten.

‘Call me as soon as you’ve seen her,’ he shouted at the departing figure, but couldn’t be sure if Emma had heard him.

Emma couldn’t help thinking as the train pulled out of the station, that if Margaret just wanted to thank her, she could have done it over the phone. She scanned the morning papers, which were covered with pictures of the new Prime Minister and details of her senior appointments. The cabinet were due to meet for the first time at ten o’clock that morning. She checked her watch: 10.15 a.m.

Emma was among the first off the train, and ran all the way to the taxi rank. When she reached the front of the queue and said, ‘Number Ten Downing Street, and I have to be there by twelve thirty,’ the cabbie looked at her as if to say, Pull the other one.

When the taxi drove into Whitehall and stopped at the bottom of Downing Street, a policeman glanced in the back, smiled and saluted. The taxi drove slowly up to the front door of No. 10. When Emma took out her purse, the driver said, ‘No charge, miss. I voted Tory, so this one’s on me. And by the way, good luck.’

Before Emma could knock on the door of No. 10, it swung open. She stepped inside to find a young woman waiting for her.

‘Good morning, Lady Clifton. My name is Alison, and I’m one of the Prime Minister’s personal secretaries. I know she’s looking forward to seeing you.’

Emma followed the secretary silently up the stairs to the first floor where they came to a halt in front of a door. The secretary knocked, opened it and stood aside. Emma walked in to find Mrs Thatcher on the phone.

‘We’ll speak again later, Willy, when I’ll let you know my decision.’ The Prime Minister put the phone down. ‘Emma,’ she said, rising from behind her desk. ‘So kind of you to return to London at such short notice. I’d assumed you were still in town.’

‘Not a problem, Prime Minister.’

‘First, my congratulations on winning fifty-nine of the sixty-two targeted marginal seats. A triumph! Although I expect your brother will tease you about failing to capture Bristol Docklands.’

‘Next time, Prime Minister.’

‘But that could be five years away and we’ve got rather a lot to do before then, which is why I wanted to see you. You probably know that I’ve invited Patrick Jenkin to be Secretary of State for Health, and of course he will need an undersecretary in the Lords to steer the new National Health Bill through the Upper House and safely on to the books. And I can’t think of anyone better qualified to do that job. You have vast experience of the NHS, and your years as chairman of a public company make you the ideal candidate for the post. So I do hope you’ll feel able to join the government as a life peer.’

Emma was speechless.

‘One of the truly wonderful things about you, Emma, is that it hadn’t even crossed your mind that was the reason I wanted to see you. Half my ministers assumed they got no more than they deserved, while the other half couldn’t hide their disappointment. I suspect you’re the only one who’s genuinely surprised.’

Emma found herself nodding.

‘So let me tell me you what’s going to happen now. When you leave here, there will be a car outside to take you to Alexander Fleming House, where the Secretary of State is expecting you. He will take you through your responsibilities in great detail. In particular, he will want to talk to you about the new National Health Bill, which I’d like to get through both Houses as quickly as possible, preferably within a year. Listen to Patrick Jenkin — he’s a shrewd politician, as is the Department’s Permanent Secretary. I would recommend you to also seek your brother’s counsel. He was not only an able minister, but no one knows better how the House of Lords works.’

‘But he’s on the other side.’

‘It doesn’t work quite like that in the Lords, as you’ll quickly find out. They are far more civilized at the other end of the House, and not just interested in scoring political points. And my final piece of advice is to make sure you enjoy it.’

‘I’m flattered you even considered me, Prime Minister, and I’m bound to admit, somewhat daunted by the challenge.’

‘No need to be. You were my first choice for the job,’ said Mrs Thatcher. ‘One final thing, Emma. You are among a handful of friends who I hope will still call me Margaret, because I won’t have this job for ever.’

‘Thank you, Prime Minister.’

Emma rose from her place and shook hands with her new boss. When she left the room, she found Alison standing in the corridor.

‘Congratulations, minister. A car is waiting to take you to your department.’

As they walked back downstairs, past the photographs of former prime ministers, Emma tried to take in what had happened during the last few minutes. Just as she reached the hallway, the front door opened and a young man stepped inside, to be led up the stairs by another secretary. She wondered what position Norman was about to be offered.

‘If you’d like to follow me,’ said Alison, who opened a side door that led into a small room with a desk and telephone. Emma was puzzled until she closed the door and added, ‘The Prime Minister thought you might like to call your husband before you begin your new job.’

8

Giles spent the morning moving his papers, files and personal belongings from one end of the corridor to the other. He left behind a spacious, well-appointed office overlooking Parliament Square, just a few steps from the chamber, along with a retinue of staff whose only purpose was to carry out his every requirement.

In exchange, he moved into cramped quarters, manned by a single secretary, from which he was expected to carry out the same job in opposition. His downfall was both painful and immediate. No longer could he rely on a cadre of civil servants to advise him, organize his diary and draft his speeches. Those same servants now served a different master, who represented another party, in order that the process of government should continue seamlessly. Such is democracy.

When the phone rang, Giles answered it to find the leader of the opposition on the other end of the line.

‘I’m chairing a meeting of the Shadow Cabinet at ten o’clock on Monday morning in my new office in the Commons, Giles. I hope you’ll be able to attend.’

No longer able to call upon a private secretary to summon Cabinet members to No. 10, Jim Callaghan was making his own phone calls for the first time in years.

To say that Giles’s colleagues looked shell-shocked when they took their places around the table the following Monday would have been an understatement. All of them had considered the possibility of losing to the lady, but not by such a large majority.

Jim Callaghan chaired the meeting, having hastily scribbled out an agenda on the back of an envelope which a secretary had typed up and was now distributing to those colleagues who’d survived the electoral cull. The only subject that concentrated the minds of those seated around that table was when Jim would resign as leader of the Labour Party. It was the first item on the agenda. Once they had found their opposition feet, he told his colleagues, he intended to make way for a new leader. Feet that would, for the next few years, do little more than tramp through the No’s lobby to vote against the government, only to be defeated again and again.

When the meeting came to an end, Giles did something he hadn’t done for years. He walked home — no ministerial car. He’d miss Bill, and dropped him a line to thank him, before joining Karin for lunch.

‘Was it ghastly?’ she asked him as he strolled into the kitchen.

‘It was like attending a wake, because we all know we can’t do anything about it for at least four years. And by then I’ll be sixty-three,’ he reminded her, ‘and the new leader of the party, whoever that might be, will undoubtedly have his own candidate to replace me.’

‘Unless you throw your support behind the man who becomes the next leader,’ said Karin, ‘in which case you’ll still have a place at the top table.’

‘Denis Healey is the only credible candidate for the job in my opinion, and I’m pretty confident the party will get behind him.’

‘Who’s he likely to be up against?’ Karin asked as she poured him a glass of wine.

‘The unions will support Michael Foot, but most members will realize that with his left-wing credentials the party wouldn’t have much hope of winning the next general election.’ He drained his glass. ‘But we don’t have to worry about that possibility for some time, so let’s talk about something more palatable, like where you’d like to spend your summer holiday.’

‘There’s something else we need to discuss before we decide that,’ said Karin, as she mashed some potatoes. ‘The electorate may have rejected you, but I know someone who still needs your help.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Emma rang earlier this morning. She hopes you might be willing to advise her on her new job.’

‘Her new job?’

‘Hasn’t anyone told you? She’s been appointed Under Secretary of State for Health, and she’ll be joining you in the Lords.’ Karin waited to see how he would react.

‘How proud our mother would have been,’ were Giles’s first words. ‘So at least something good has come out of this election. I’ll certainly be able to show her which potholes to avoid, which members to heed, which ones to ignore and how to gain the confidence of the House. Not an easy job at the best of times,’ he said, already warming to the task. ‘I’ll call her straight after lunch and offer to take her round the Palace of Westminster while we’re in recess.’

‘And if we were to go to Scotland for our holiday this year,’ said Karin, ‘we could invite Harry and Emma to join us. It would be the first time in years you wouldn’t be continually interrupted by civil servants claiming there’s a crisis, or journalists who say sorry to disturb you on holiday, minister, but...’

‘Good idea. By the time Emma is presented to the House in October, her new colleagues will think she’s already spent a decade in the Lords.’

‘And there’s another thing we ought to discuss now you have so much more time on your hands,’ said Karin as she placed a plate of stew on the table in front of him.

‘You’re quite right, my darling,’ said Giles, picking up his knife and fork. ‘But don’t let’s just talk about it this time, let’s do something.’

Lord Goodman heaved himself up from behind his desk as his secretary entered the office accompanied by a prospective client.

‘What a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs Grant,’ the distinguished lawyer said as they shook hands. ‘Do have a seat,’ he added, ushering her to a comfortable chair.

‘Is it correct that you were the Prime Minister’s lawyer?’ asked Ellie May, once she was seated.

‘Yes, I was,’ said Goodman. ‘I now only serve Mr Wilson in a private capacity.’

‘And have you found time to read the letter and enclosures I sent you recently?’ Ellie May asked, well aware that small talk would be charged at the same rate as legal opinion.

‘Every word,’ said Goodman, tapping a file on the table in front of him. ‘I only wish your husband had sought my advice at the time of this unfortunate incident. Had he done so, I would have recommended that he call the lady’s bluff.’

‘There would be far less need for lawyers, Lord Goodman, if we were all blessed with hindsight. But despite that, is it your opinion that Lady Virginia has a case to answer?’

‘Most emphatically she does, madam. That is, assuming Mr and Mrs Morton will agree to sign an affidavit confirming that the Hon. Freddie Fenwick is their offspring, and that Lady Virginia was aware of that at the time of the child’s birth.’

‘Just put the necessary document in front of them, Lord Goodman, and they will sign. And once they’ve done so, can Cyrus claim back the full amount he’s paid out to that charlatan over the years?’

‘Every red cent, plus any interest or other charges set by the court, along with my fees, of course.’

‘So your advice would be to sue the bitch?’ Ellie May asked, leaning forward.

‘With one proviso,’ said Goodman, raising an eyebrow.

‘Lawyers always come up with a proviso just in case they end up losing. So let’s hear it.’

‘There wouldn’t be much point in suing Lady Virginia for such a large sum if she has no assets of any real value. One newspaper,’ he said, opening a thick file, ‘is claiming she’s withdrawing young Freddie from his prep school because she can no longer afford the fees.’

‘But she owns a house in Onslow Square, I’m reliably informed, and has half a dozen staff to run it.’

‘Had,’ said Goodman. ‘Lady Virginia sold the house some months ago and sacked all the staff.’ He opened another file and checked some press cuttings before passing them across to his client.

Once Ellie May had finished reading them, she asked, ‘Does this alter your opinion?’

‘No, but to start with, I would recommend we send Lady Virginia a without prejudice letter, requesting that she pay back the full amount, and give her thirty days to respond. I find it hard to believe she won’t want to make some sort of settlement rather than be declared bankrupt and even face the possibility of being arrested for fraud.’

‘And if she doesn’t... because I have a feeling she won’t,’ said Ellie May.

‘You will have to decide whether or not to issue a writ, with the strong possibility that not one penny will be recovered, in which case you will still have to pay your own legal costs, which will not be insubstantial.’ Goodman paused before adding, ‘On balance, I would advise caution. Of course, the decision is yours. But as I have pointed out, Mrs Grant, that could end up costing you a great deal of money, with no guarantee of any return.’

‘If that bitch ends up bankrupt, humiliated and having to face a spell in prison, it will have been worth every penny.’

Harry and Emma joined Giles and Karin for a fortnight at Mulgelrie Castle, their maternal grandfather’s family home in Scotland, and whenever the phone rang, it was almost always for Emma, and when red boxes arrived, Giles had to get used to not opening them.

Her brother was able to advise the fledgling minister on how to deal with civil servants who seemed to have forgotten she was on holiday, and political journalists who were desperate for an August story while the House wasn’t sitting. And whenever they took a stroll on the grouse moors together, Giles answered all his sister’s myriad questions, sharing with her his years of experience as a minister in the Lords, so that by the time she returned to London, Emma felt she hadn’t so much had a holiday as attended several advanced seminars on government.

After Emma and Harry had departed, Giles and Karin stayed on for another couple of weeks. Giles had something else he needed to do before he attended the party conference in Brighton.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me, Archie.’

‘My pleasure,’ said the tenth Earl of Fenwick. ‘I will never forget your kindness when I took my father’s seat in the House and made my maiden speech.’

‘It was very well received,’ said Giles. ‘Even though you did attack the government.’

‘And I intend to be equally critical of the Conservatives, if their farming policy is as antiquarian as yours. But tell me, Giles, to what do I owe this honour, because you’ve never struck me as a man who has time to waste.’

‘I confess,’ said Giles as Archie handed him a large glass of whisky, ‘that I’m a seeker after information concerning a family matter.’

‘It wouldn’t be your ex-wife Virginia you’re curious about, by any chance?’

‘Got it in one. I was rather hoping you could bring me up to date on what your sister’s been doing lately. I’ll explain why later.’

‘I only wish I could,’ said Archie, ‘but I can’t pretend we’re that close. The only thing I know for sure is that Virginia’s penniless once again, even though I have abided by the terms of my father’s will, and continued to supply her with a monthly allowance. But it won’t be nearly enough to deal with her present problems.’

Giles sipped his whisky. ‘Could one of the problems be the Hon. Freddie Fenwick?’

Archie didn’t reply immediately. ‘One thing we now know for certain,’ he eventually said, ‘is that Freddie is not Virginia’s son and, perhaps more interestingly, my father must have known that long before he left her only one bequest in his will.’

‘The bottle of Maker’s Mark,’ said Giles.

‘Yes. That had me puzzled for some time,’ admitted Archie, ‘until I had a visit from a Mrs Ellie May Grant of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, who explained that it was her husband Cyrus’s favourite brand of whisky. She then told me in great detail what had taken place on her husband’s visit to London when he had the misfortune to encounter Virginia. But I’m still in the dark as to how she got away with it for so long.’

‘Then let me add what I know, courtesy of the Honorable Hayden Rankin, Governor of Louisiana, and an old friend of Cyrus T. Grant III. It seems that while Cyrus was on his first and last trip to London, Virginia set up an elaborate scam to convince him that he had proposed to her, despite the fact he already had plans to marry someone else — Ellie May, in fact. She then duped the foolish man into believing she was pregnant, and he was the father. That’s about everything I know.’

‘I can add a little more,’ said Archie. ‘Mrs Grant informed me she had recently employed Virginia’s former butler and his wife, a Mr and Mrs Morton, who have signed an affidavit confirming that Freddie was their child, which is the reason Virginia’s monthly payments from Cyrus suddenly dried up.’

‘No wonder she’s penniless. Is Freddie aware that the Mortons are in fact his parents?’

‘No, he’s never asked and I’ve never told him, as he clearly feels his parents abandoned him,’ said Archie. ‘And it gets worse. Mrs Grant has recently instructed Lord Goodman to represent her in an attempt to get back every penny Cyrus parted with. And having had the pleasure of meeting the formidable Ellie May Grant, I can tell you my sister has finally met her match.’

‘But how can Virginia possibly—’ Giles fell silent when the door swung open and a young boy burst in.

‘What have I told you about knocking, Freddie, especially when I have a guest with me.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said Freddie, and quickly turned to leave.

‘Before you go, I’d like you to meet a great politician.’ Freddie turned back. ‘This is Lord Barrington, who until recently was leader of the House of Lords.’

‘How do you do, sir,’ said Freddie, thrusting out his hand. He stared at Giles for some time before he eventually said, ‘Aren’t you the man who was married to my mother?’

‘Yes I am,’ said Giles. ‘And I’m delighted to meet you at last.’

‘But you’re not my father, are you?’ said Freddie, after another long pause.

‘No, I’m not.’

Freddie looked disappointed. ‘My uncle says you are a great politician, but isn’t it also true that you were once a great cricketer?’

‘Never great,’ said Giles, trying to lighten the mood. ‘And that was a long time ago.’

‘But you scored a century at Lord’s.’

‘Some still consider that my greatest achievement.’

‘One day I’m going to score a century at Lord’s,’ said Freddie.

‘I hope I’ll be present to witness it.’

‘You could come and watch me bat next Sunday. It’s the local derby, Castle versus the Village, and I’m going to score the winning run.’

‘Freddie, I don’t think—’

‘Sadly I have to be in Brighton for the Labour Party conference,’ said Giles. Freddie looked disappointed. ‘Though I must confess,’ Giles continued, ‘I’d far rather be watching you play cricket than listening to endless speeches by trade union leaders who’ll be saying exactly the same thing as they said last year.’

‘Do you still play cricket, sir?’

‘Only when the Lords play the Commons and no one will notice how out of form I am.’

‘Form is temporary, class is permanent, my cricket master told me.’

‘That may be so,’ said Giles, ‘but I’m nearly sixty, and that’s my age, not my batting average.’

‘W. G. Grace played for England when he was over fifty, sir, so perhaps you’d consider turning out for us some time in the future?’

‘Freddie, you must remember that Lord Barrington is a very busy man.’

‘But not too busy to accept such a flattering offer.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Freddie. ‘I’ll send you the fixture list. Must leave you now,’ he added. ‘I have to work on the batting order with Mr Lawrie, our butler, who’s also the Castle’s captain.’ Freddie dashed off before Giles had a chance to ask his next question.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Archie, after the door had closed, ‘but Freddie doesn’t seem to realize that other people just might have a life of their own.’

‘Does he live here with you?’ asked Giles.

‘Only during the holidays, which I’m afraid isn’t ideal, because now my girls have grown up and left home he’s rather short of company. The nearest house is a couple of miles away, and they don’t have any children. But despite Virginia abandoning the poor boy, he’s no financial burden, because my father left Freddie the Glen Fenwick Distillery, which produces an annual income of just under a hundred thousand pounds, which he’ll inherit on his twenty-fifth birthday. In fact, that’s what you’re drinking,’ said Archie as he topped Giles’s glass up, before adding, ‘But I’ve recently been warned by our lawyers that Virginia has her eyes on the distillery, and is taking advice on whether she can break the terms of my father’s will.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time she’s tried to do that,’ said Giles.

9

‘Are you nervous?’

‘You bet I am,’ admitted Emma. ‘It reminds me of my first day at school,’ she added, as she adjusted her long red robe.

‘There’s nothing to be nervous about,’ said Giles. ‘Just think of yourself as a Christian who’s about to enter the Colosseum at the time of Diocletian, with several hundred starving lions waiting impatiently for their first meal in weeks.’

‘That hardly fills me with confidence,’ said Emma, as two doormen in court dress pulled open the west doors to allow the three peers to enter the chamber.

The Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna, in the county of Somerset, entered the chamber for the first time. On her right, also wearing a long red gown and carrying a tricorn hat, was Lord Belstead, the leader of the House of Lords. On her left, Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands, a former leader of the House. The first time in the long history of the Lords that a new member had been supported by the leaders of the two main political parties.

As Emma walked on to the floor of the House, a thousand eyes stared at her, from both sides of the chamber. The three of them doffed their tricorn hats and bowed to their peers. They then continued past the cross benches, packed with members who bore no allegiance to any political party, often referred to as the great and the good. They could be the deciding factor on any contentious issue once they decided which lobby to cast their vote in, Giles had told her.

They proceeded along the government front bench until Lord Belstead reached the despatch box. The table clerk gave the new peer a warm smile, and handed her a card on which was printed the oath of allegiance to the Crown.

Emma stared at the words she had already rehearsed in the bath that morning, during breakfast, in the car on the way to the Palace of Westminster and finally as she was being ‘fitted up’ in the robing room. But suddenly it was no longer a rehearsal.

‘I, Emma Elizabeth Clifton, swear by Almighty God, that I will be faithful, and bear allegiance to Her Majesty the Queen, her heirs and successors, according to the law, so help me God.’

The table clerk turned the page of a large parchment manuscript so the new member could add her name to the test roll. He offered her a pen which she politely declined in favour of one that had been given to her by her grandfather, Lord Harvey, at her christening almost sixty years ago.

Once Emma had signed the test roll, she glanced up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery, to see Harry, Karin, Sebastian, Samantha, Grace and Jessica smiling down at her with unmistakable pride. She smiled back, and when she lowered her eyes, saw a lady from the Commons standing at the bar of the House. The Prime Minister gave her a slight bow, and Emma returned the compliment.

The Baroness Clifton followed her brother along the front bench, past the Woolsack on which sat the law lords, until she reached the Speaker’s chair. The clerk of the house stepped forward and introduced the new peer to the Lord Speaker.

‘Welcome to the House, Lady Clifton,’ he said, shaking her warmly by the hand. This was followed by cries of ‘Hear, hear’ from all sides of the chamber as her fellow peers added their traditional welcome to a new member.

Giles then led his sister past the throne, where several members who were sitting on the steps smiled as she continued out of the east door and into the Prince’s Chamber. Once they were outside the chamber, she removed her tricorn hat and breathed a long sigh of relief.

‘It sounded as if the lions rather liked the look of you,’ said Giles, as he bent down to kiss his sister on both cheeks, ‘although I did notice one or two of my colleagues licking their lips in anticipation of your first appearance at the despatch box.’

‘Don’t be fooled by your brother,’ said Belstead. ‘He’ll be among those licking his lips when the time comes for you to face the opposition.’

‘But not until you’ve delivered your maiden speech, sis. However, after that, I’m bound to admit, you’ll be fair game.’

‘So what next?’ asked Emma.

‘Tea with the family on the terrace,’ Giles reminded her.

‘And once you’re free,’ said Belstead, ‘may I suggest you slip back into the chamber and take your place on the end of the front bench. For the next few days, I would advise you to observe the workings of the House, accustom yourself to our strange ways and traditions, before you consider delivering your maiden speech.’

‘The only speech you’ll make when no members will even consider interrupting you, and whoever follows will praise your contribution as if you were Cicero.’

‘And what then?’

‘You must prepare for your first questions as Under Secretary of State for Health,’ said Belstead, ‘and try not to forget there will be several senior members of the medical profession in attendance.’

‘When the gloves will be off,’ said Giles. ‘And you needn’t expect any brotherly love, even from your kith and kin. The gentle smiles and “Hear, hear”s will only be coming from your side of the House.’

‘And you won’t always be able to rely on them,’ said Belstead with a wry smile.

‘Nevertheless, sis, welcome to the House. I confess, I feel a glow of pride whenever one of my fellow peers says, “Did you know, that’s Lord Barrington’s sister?”’

‘Thank you, Giles,’ said Emma. ‘I look forward to the day when one of my fellow peers says, “Did you know, that’s Lady Clifton’s brother?”’

Tap, tap, tap. Karin was the first to wake. She turned over, assuming she must be dreaming.

Tap, tap, tap. A little louder.

Suddenly she was wide awake. She climbed slowly out of bed and, not wanting to disturb Giles, tiptoed across to the window. Tap, tap, tap, even louder.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ said a sleepy voice.

‘I’m about to find out,’ said Karin as she pulled open the curtain and stared down at the pavement.

‘Good God,’ she said, and had disappeared out of the bedroom before Giles could ask her what was going on.

Karin ran down the stairs and quickly unlocked the front door to find a young boy hunched up on the doorstep, shivering.

‘Come in,’ she whispered. But he seemed reluctant to move until she put an arm around his shoulder and said, ‘I don’t know about you, Freddie, but I could do with a hot chocolate. Why don’t you come inside and see what we can find?’

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, dialled directory enquiries 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 despatch 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 rigour 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 despatch 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 towards a woman who is painfully aware that she is not worthy to stand at the same despatch 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 savour the moment, because when she next returns to the despatch 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 afterwards 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 back benches. Over dinner that night, he reminded Karin that just ten votes had sealed his fate.

‘Five, if you think about it,’ she replied.