First Among Equals Read online

  As Raymond flew out of Washington on his way back to London he presumed, like any lover, that the affair with America could be continued whenever he chose to return.

  Simon was in Manchester as a guest of the Business School when he received Elizabeth’s message to call her. It was most unusual for Elizabeth to phone in the middle of the day and Simon assumed the worst: something must have happened to the children. The Principal of the Business School accompanied him to his private office, then left him alone.

  Dr. Kerslake was not at the hospital, he was told, which made him even more anxious. He dialed the Beaufort Street number.

  Elizabeth picked up the receiver so quickly that she must have been sitting by the phone waiting for him to call.

  “I’ve been sacked,” she said.

  “What?” said Simon, unable to comprehend.

  “I’ve been made redundant—isn’t that the modern term meant to lessen the blow? The hospital governors have been instructed by the Department of Health and Social Security to make cutbacks and three of us in gynecology have lost our jobs. I go at the end of the month.”

  “Darling, I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how inadequate his words must have sounded.

  “I didn’t mean to bother you, but I just wanted someone to talk to,” she said. “Everyone else is allowed to complain to their MP, so I thought it was my turn.”

  “Normally what I do in these circumstances is to put the blame on the Labour party.” Simon was relieved to hear Elizabeth laugh.

  “Thanks for ringing me back so quickly, darling. See you tomorrow,” she said and put the phone down.

  Simon returned to his group and explained that he had to leave for London immediately. He took a taxi to the airport and caught the next shuttle to Heathrow. He was back at Beaufort Street within three hours.

  “I didn’t mean you to come home,” Elizabeth said contritely when she saw him on the doorstep.

  “I’ve come back to celebrate,” Simon said. “Let’s open the bottle of champagne that Ronnie gave us when he closed the deal with Morgan Grenfell.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Ronnie taught me one thing. You should always celebrate disasters, not successes.”

  Simon hung up his coat and went off in search of the champagne. When he returned with the bottle and two glasses Elizabeth asked, “What’s your overdraft looking like nowadays?”

  “Down to £16,000, give or take a pound.”

  “Well, that’s another problem then, I won’t be giving any pounds in the future, only taking.”

  “Don’t be silly. Someone will snap you up,” he said, embracing her.

  “It won’t be quite that easy,” said Elizabeth.

  “Why not?” asked Simon, trying to sound cheerful.

  “Because I had already been warned about whether I wanted to be a politician’s wife or a doctor.”

  Simon was stunned. “I had no idea,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was my choice, darling, but I will have to make one or two decisions if I want to remain in medicine, especially if you’re going to become a minister.”

  Simon remained silent: he had always wanted Elizabeth to make this decision herself and he was determined not to try to influence her.

  “If only we weren’t so short of money.”

  “Don’t worry about the money,” said Simon.

  “I do worry, but it may just be an excuse because I worry more about becoming bored when the children have grown up. I just wasn’t cut out to be a politician’s wife,” she added. “You should have married someone like Fiona Seymour and you’d be Prime Minister by now.”

  “If that’s the only way I can be sure of getting the job I’ll stick with you,” said Simon, taking Elizabeth in his arms. Simon couldn’t help thinking of all the support his wife had given him during their marriage and even more so since his financial crisis. He knew exactly what his wife must do.

  “You mustn’t be allowed to give up being a doctor,” he said. “It’s every bit as important as wanting to be a minister. Shall I have a word with Gerry Vaughan? As Shadow spokesman for Health he might—”

  “Certainly not, Simon. If I am to get another job, it’ll be without anyone doing you or me a favor.”

  Louise was now coping on her own, and had almost returned to a normal life except she still couldn’t speak. She seemed to be self-sufficient within her own world and the doctor agreed that she no longer needed a full-time nurse.

  The day the nurse left Andrew decided to take Louise off for a week’s holiday abroad. He wanted to return to the South of France and the Colombe d’Or, but the specialist had advised against it, explaining that any past association might trigger off a memory that in itself could cause a further relapse.

  “Witch doctors’ mumbo jumbo,” Andrew complained but nevertheless took her to Venice, not Colombe d’Or. Once there, he was delighted by the interest Louise showed in the beautiful and ancient city. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Torcello and she appeared to revel in the trip on a gondola down the twisting waterways past irreplaceable Italian architecture. Again and again she squeezed his hand. As they sat on a piazza for an evening drink, she inclined her head and listened to a quintet playing on St. Mark’s Square. Andrew was confident that she could now hear everything he told her. The night before they flew back to England he woke to find her reading James Morris’s Venice which he had left by his side of the bed. It was the first time she had opened a book since the accident. When he smiled at her she grinned back. He laughed, wanting to hear her laugh.

  Andrew returned to the Ministry of Defense on Monday. On his desk there was a general directive from the Chancellor of the Exchequer, requiring the budget estimates for all the big-spending Departments of State. Andrew fought hard to keep the Polaris missile after being convinced by the Joint Chiefs of its strategic importance to the nation’s defense. He was, however, continually reminded by his colleagues in the House that it was party policy to rid themselves of “the warmongers’ toy.”

  When the Secretary of State returned from Cabinet he told Andrew, “We’ve had our way: the Cabinet were impressed by the case. But I can promise you one thing—you won’t be the golden boy at this year’s party conference.”

  “It will make a change for them even to notice me,” replied Andrew.

  He breathed a sigh of relief while the Joint Chiefs were delighted, but a week later he lost—by default—the same argument with his own General Purposes Committee in Edinburgh. In his absence, they passed a resolution deploring the retention of the Polaris missile and demanded that all the ministers involved should reconsider their decision. They stopped short of naming Andrew, but everyone knew whose scalp they were after. His case was not helped by Tom Carson making yet another inflammatory speech in the House, claiming that Andrew had been browbeaten by the Joint Chiefs and was nothing more than a Polaris puppet.

  Andrew’s trips to Edinburgh had become less frequent over the past year because of his commitments to Louise and the Defense Department. During the year three members of his General Management Committee had been replaced with a new group calling themselves “Militant Tendency” led by Frank Boyle. It wasn’t just Edinburgh Carlton that was facing the problem of a left-wing insurgence—as Andrew learned from colleague after colleague who was beginning to work out why the left were pushing a resolution at the party conference proposing that members should be re-selected for each election. Some of his more right-wing colleagues had already been replaced, and it didn’t take a Wrangler to work out that once a majority of the Trotskyites had secured places on his Management Committee Andrew could be removed at their whim, whatever his past experience or record.

  Whenever Andrew was in Edinburgh the local people continually assured him of their support and their confidence in him, but he could not forget, despite their avowals, that it would still take only a handful of votes to remove him. Andrew feared what the outcome would be if many other members were facing the same prob