First Among Equals Read online

  Simon was surprised when the Prime Minister phoned personally and asked if he could come up to see her in Downing Street: that was an honor usually afforded only to Cabinet ministers. He tried not to anticipate what she might have in mind.

  He duly traveled up from the country and spent thirty minutes alone with the new Prime Minister. When he heard what Mrs. Thatcher wanted him to do he was touched that she had taken the trouble to see him in person. She knew that no member ever found it easy to accede to such a request but Simon accepted without hesitation. Mrs. Thatcher added that no announcement would be made until he had had time to talk his decision over with Elizabeth.

  Simon thanked her and traveled back to his cottage in Pucklebridge. Elizabeth sat in silence as she listened to Simon’s account of his conversation with the Prime Minister.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, when he had finished. “She’s offered you the chance to be a Minister of State, but in return we have no certainty of peace for the rest of our lives.”

  “I can still say no,” Simon assured her.

  “That would be the act of a coward,” said Elizabeth, “and you’ve never been that.”

  “Then I’ll phone the Prime Minister and tell her I accept.”

  “I ought to congratulate you,” she said. “But it never crossed my mind for one moment …”

  Charles’s was one of the few Tory seats in which the majority went down. A missing wife is hard to explain especially when it is common knowledge that she is living with the former chairman of the adjoining constituency. Charles had faced a certain degree of embarrassment with his local committee and he made sure that the one woman who couldn’t keep her mouth shut was told his version of the story “in strictest confidence.” Any talk of removing him had died when it was rumored that Charles would stand as an independent candidate if replaced. When the vote was counted Sussex Downs still returned Charles to Westminster with a majority of 20,176. He sat alone in Eaton Square over the weekend, but no one contacted him. He read in the Monday Telegraph—how he missed The Times—the full composition of the new Tory team.

  The only surprise was Simon Kerslake’s appointment as Minister of State for Northern Ireland.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “WELL, SAY SOMETHING.”

  “Very flattering, Kate. What reason did you give for turning the offer down?” asked Raymond, who had been surprised to find her waiting for him at the flat.

  “I didn’t need a reason.”

  “How did they feel about that?”

  “You don’t seem to understand. I accepted their offer.”

  Raymond removed his glasses and tried to take in what Kate was saying. He steadied himself by holding on to the mantelpiece.

  Kate continued. “I had to, darling.”

  “Because the offer was too tempting?”

  “No, you silly man. It had nothing to do with the offer as such, but it gives me the chance to stop letting my life drift. Can’t you see it was because of you?”

  “Because of me you’re going to leave London and go back to New York.”

  “To work in New York and start getting my life in perspective. Raymond, don’t you realize it’s been five years?”

  “I know how long it is and how many times I’ve asked you to marry me.”

  “We both know that isn’t the answer; Joyce can’t be brushed aside that easily. And it could even end up being the single reason you fail in your career.”

  “We can overcome that problem, given time,” Raymond reasoned.

  “That sounds fine now, until the party wins the next election and lesser men than you are offered the chance to shape future policy.”

  “Can’t I do anything to make you change your mind?”

  “Nothing, my darling. I’ve handed Chase my resignation and begin my new job with Chemical Bank in a month.”

  “Only four weeks,” said Raymond.

  “Yes, four weeks. I had to hold off telling you until I had severed all the bonds, had resigned, and could be sure of not letting you talk me out of it.”

  “Do you know how much I love you?”

  “I hope enough to let me go, before it’s too late.”

  Charles would not have normally accepted the invitation. Lately he had found cocktail parties to consist of nothing but silly little bits of food, never being able to get the right drink, and rarely enjoying the trivial conversation. But when he glanced on his mantelpiece and saw an “At Home” from Lady Carrington he felt it might be an amusing break from the routine he had fallen into since Fiona had left. He was also keen to discover more about the rumored squabbles in Cabinet over expenditure cuts. He checked his tie in the mirror, removed an umbrella from the hat stand, and left Eaton Square for Ovington Square.

  He and Fiona had been apart for nearly two years. Charles had heard from several sources that his wife had now moved in with Dalglish on a permanent basis despite his unwillingness to cooperate over a divorce. He had remained discreetly silent on his wife’s new life except for one or two selected tidbits dropped selectively in the ears of well-chosen gossips. That way he had elicited for himself sympathy from every quarter while remaining the magnanimous loyal husband.

  Charles had spent most of his spare time in the Commons, and his most recent budget speech had been well received both by the House and the national press. During the committee stage of the Finance Bill he had allowed himself to be burdened with a lot of the donkey work. Clive Reynolds had been able to point out discrepancies in some clauses of the bill, which Charles passed on to a grateful Chancellor. Thus Charles received praise for saving the Government from any unnecessary embarrassment. At the same time he disassociated himself from the “wets” as the Prime Minister referred to those of her colleagues who did not unreservedly support her monetarist policies. If he could keep up his work output he was confident he would be preferred in the first reshuffle.

  By spending his mornings at the bank and afternoons and evenings in the Commons Charles managed to combine both worlds with the minimum of interruption from his almost nonexistent private life.

  He arrived at Lord Carrington’s front door a little after six-forty-five. A maid answered his knock, and he walked straight through to a drawing room that could have held fifty guests and very nearly did.

  He even managed to be served with the right blend of whisky before joining his colleagues from both the Upper and Lower Houses. He saw her first over the top of Alec Pimkin’s balding head.

  “Who is she?” asked Charles, not expecting Pimkin to know.

  “Amanda Wallace,” said Pimkin, glancing over his shoulder. “I could tell you a thing or two …” but Charles had already left his colleague in midsentence. The sexual aura of the woman was attested to by the fact that she spent the entire evening surrounded by attentive men, like moths around a candle. If Charles had not been one of the tallest men in the room he might never have seen the flame. It took him another ten minutes to reach her side of the room where Julian Ridsdale, a colleague of Charles’s in the Commons, introduced them only to find himself dragged away moments later by his wife.

  Charles was left staring at a woman who would have looked beautiful in anything from a ballgown to a towel. Her slim body was encased in a white silk dress, and her fair hair touched her bare shoulders. But what struck Charles most was the translucent texture of her skin. It had been years since he had found it so hard to make conversation.

  “I expect you already have a dinner engagement?” Charles asked her in the brief intervals before the vultures closed in again.

  “No,” she replied and smiled encouragingly. She agreed to meet him at Walton’s in an hour’s time. Charles dutifully began to circulate round the room but it was not long before he found his eyes drawn back to her. Every time she smiled he found himself responding but Amanda didn’t notice because she was always being flattered by someone else. When he left an hour later he smiled directly at her, and this time did win a knowing grin.

  C