First Among Equals Read online

“A strong whisky, please, and can we go straight into dinner? I’ve got to be back at the talkshop by ten.”

  Charles guided his guest toward the dining room and seated him at the side of the table before taking his place below the Holbein portrait of the first Earl of Bridgwater, an heirloom his grandfather had left him. Fiona took a seat opposite her husband. During the meal of Beef Wellington, Charles spent a great deal of time catching up on what Alexander had been doing since they had last met. Although they had spent three years together in the Guards as brother officers they rarely saw each other outside of regimental reunions since Charles had entered the House. He made no mention of the real purpose behind the meeting until Fiona provided the opportunity when she served coffee.

  “I know you two have a lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to get on with it.”

  “Thank you,” said Alexander. He looked up at Fiona and smiled. “For a lovely dinner.”

  She smiled back and left them alone.

  “Now, Charles,” said Alexander, picking up the file he had left on the floor by his side. “I need to pick your brains.”

  “Go ahead, old fellow,” said Charles, “only too delighted to be of assistance.”

  “Sir Edward Mountjoy has sent me a pretty long list for us to consider, among them a Home Office minister and one or two other Members of Parliament who’ll be losing their present seats. What do you think of … ?”

  Dalglish opened the file in front of him as Charles poured him a generous glass of port and offered him a cigar from a gold case that he picked up from the sideboard.

  “What a magnificent object,” said Alexander, staring in awe at the crested box and the engraved C.G.S. along its top.

  “A family heirloom,” said Charles. “Should have been left to my brother Rupert, but I was lucky enough to have the same initials as my grandfather.”

  Alexander handed it back to his host before returning to his notes.

  “Here’s the man who impresses me,” he said at last. “Kerslake, Simon Kerslake.”

  Charles remained silent.

  “You don’t have an opinion, Charles?”

  “Yes.”

  “So what do you think of Kerslake?”

  “Strictly off the record?”

  Dalglish nodded, but said nothing.

  Charles sipped his port. “Very good,” he said.

  “Kerstake?”

  “No, the port. Taylor’s ’35. I’m afraid Kerslake is not the same vintage. Need I say more?”

  “Well, no, I follow your drift but it’s most disappointing. He looks so good on paper.”

  “On paper is one thing,” said Charles, “but having him as your member for twenty years is quite another. You want a man you can rely on. And his wife—never seen in the constituency, you know.” He frowned. “I’m afraid I’ve gone too far.”

  “No, no,” said Alexander. “I’ve got the picture. Next one is Norman Lamont.”

  “First class but he’s already been selected for Kingston, I’m afraid,” said Charles.

  Dalglish looked down at his file once again. “Well, what about Pimkin?”

  “We were at Eton together. His looks are against him, as my grandmother used to say, but he’s a sound man, and very good in the constituency, so they tell me.”

  “You would recommend him then?”

  “I should snap him up before another constituency adopts him.”

  “That popular, is he?” said Alexander. “Thanks for the tip. Pity about Kerslake.”

  “That was strictly off the record,” said Charles.

  “Of course. Not a word. You can rely on me.”

  “Cigar to your liking?”

  “Excellent,” said Alexander, “but your judgment has always been so good. You only have to look at Fiona to realize that.”

  Charles smiled.

  Most of the other names Dalglish produced were either unknown, unsuitable, or easy to dismiss. When Alexander left shortly before ten Fiona asked him if the chat had been worthwhile.

  “Yes, I think we’ve found the right man.”

  Raymond had the locks on his flat changed that afternoon. It turned out to be more expensive than he had bargained for, and the carpenter had insisted on cash in advance.

  The carpenter grinned as he pocketed the money. “I make a fortune doing this job, Guv’nor, I can tell you. At least one gentleman a day, always cash, no receipt. Means the wife and I can spend a month in Ibiza every year, tax free.”

  Raymond smiled at the thought. He checked his watch; he could just catch the Thursday seven-ten from King’s Cross and be in Leeds by ten o’clock for a long weekend.

  Alexander Dalglish phoned Charles a week later to tell him Pimkin had made the short list, and that they hadn’t considered Kerslake.

  “Pimkin didn’t go over very well with the committee at the first interview.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,” said Charles. “I warned you his looks were again’ him and he may come over a bit right wing at times but he’s as sound as a bell and will never let you down, take my word.”

  “I’ll have to, Charles. Because by getting rid of Kerslake we’ve removed his only real challenger.”

  Charles put the phone down and dialed the Home Office.

  “Simon Kerslake, please.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “Seymour, Whips’ office.” He was put straight through.

  “Simon, it’s Charles. I thought I ought to give you an update on Littlehampton.”

  “That’s thoughtful of you,” said Simon.

  “Not good news, I’m afraid. It turns out the chairman wants the seat for himself. He’s making sure the committee only interviews idiots.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “I’ve seen the short list and Pimkin’s the only sitting member they’re considering.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “No, I was pretty shocked myself. I pressed the case for you, but it fell on deaf ears. Didn’t care for your views on hanging or some such words. Still, I can’t believe you’ll find it hard to pick up a seat.”

  “I hope you’re right, Charles, but in any case thanks for trying.”

  “Any time. Let me know of any other seats you put your name in for. I have a lot of friends up and down the country.”

  “Thank you, Charles. Can you pair me for next Thursday?”

  Two days later Alec Pimkin was invited by the Littlehampton Conservatives to attend a short-list interview for the selection of a Tory candidate for the new constituency.

  “How do I begin to thank you?” he asked Charles when they met up in the bar.

  “Keep your word—and I want it in writing,” replied Charles.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A letter to the Chief Whip saying you’ve changed your mind on the main European vote, and you and the disciples will be abstaining on Thursday.”

  Pimkin looked cocky. “And if I don’t play ball, dear thing?”

  “You haven’t got the seat yet, Alec, and I might find it necessary to phone Alexander Dalglish and tell him about that awfully nice little boy you made such a fool of yourself over when you were up at Oxford.”

  Three days later the Chief Whip received the letter from Pimkin. He immediately summoned his junior Whip.

  “well done, Charles. How did you manage to succeed where we’ve all failed—and the disciples as well?”

  “Matter of loyalty,” said Charles. “Pimkin saw that in the end.”

  On the final day of the Great Debate on “the principle of entry” into Europe the Prime Minister delivered the winding-up speech. He rose at nine-thirty to cheers from both sides. At ten o’clock the House divided and voted in favor of “the principle” by a majority of 112 Sixty-nine Labour MPs, led by Roy Jenkins, had helped to swell the Government’s majority.

  Raymond Could voted against the motion in accordance with his long-held beliefs. Andrew Fraser joined Simon Kerslake and Charles Seymour in the Ayes lobby.