First Among Equals Read online

  Joyce rummaged around in Raymond’s chest of drawers, admiring the new shirts as she searched for a handkerchief. When she first saw the scribbled note peeking out underneath the collar of a pink shirt lying near the bottom of the pile, she assumed it must be an old laundry bill. Then she spotted the word “Darling.” She felt suddenly sick as she looked more closely.

  Darling Carrot Top,

  If you ever wear this one I might even agree to marry you.

  Kate.

  Joyce sank on the end of the bed as the tears trickled down her face. Her perfect day was shattered. She knew at once what course of action she must take. She replaced the unworn shirt and closed the drawer, after first removing the note, and then sat alone in the drawing room waiting for Raymond to return.

  He arrived back at the flat with only a few minutes to spare and was delighted to find his wife changed and ready.

  “I’m running it a bit close,” he said, going straight into the bedroom.

  Joyce followed and watched him don his morning dress suit. When he had straightened his tie in the mirror, she faced him.

  “What do you think?” he asked, not noticing the slight paleness in her cheeks.

  She hesitated. “You look fantastic, Raymond. Now come along or we’ll be late, and that would never do.”

  When Ronnie Nethercote invited him to lunch at the Ritz, Simon knew things must be looking up again. After a drink in the lounge they were ushered to a corner table overlooking the park in the most palatial dining room in London. Scattered around the other tables were men who were household names in Ronnie’s world as well as in Simon’s.

  When the head waiter offered them menus Ronnie waved his hand and said, “Order the country vegetable soup, followed by beef off the trolley, take my word for it.”

  “Sounds like a safe bet,” said Simon.

  “Unlike our last little venture,” Ronnie grunted. “How much are you still in hock because of the collapse of Nethercote and Company?”

  “Fourteen thousand three hundred pounds when I last looked but I’m making inroads slowly. It’s paying the interest before you can cut down on the capital that really hurts.”

  “How do you imagine I felt when we were overdrawn seven mill and then the bank decided to pull the rug from under my feet without any warning?”

  “As two of the buttons on your waistcoat can no longer reach the holes they were originally tailored for, Ronnie, I must assume those problems are now a thing of the past.”

  “You’re right.” He laughed. “Which is why I invited you to lunch. The only person who ended up losing money on that deal was you. If you’d stayed on as the other directors did, at five grand a year, the company would still owe you £ 11,100 of earned income.”

  Simon groaned.

  The carver wheeled the trolley of beef up to their table.

  “Wait a moment, my boy, I haven’t even begun. Morgan Grenfell want me to change the structure of the new company and will be injecting a large amount of cash. At the moment Whitechapel Properties—I hope you approve of the name—is still a one-hundred-pound off-the-shelf company. I own sixty percent and the bank’s got forty. Now before the new agreement is signed, I’m going to offer you—”

  “Would you like it well done, as usual, Mr. Nethercote?”

  “Yes, Sam,” said Ronnie, slipping the carver a pound note.

  “I am going to offer you—”

  “And your guest, sir?” the carver said, glancing at Simon.

  “Medium, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I am going to offer you one percent of the new company, in other words one share.”

  Simon didn’t comment, feeling confident Ronnie still hadn’t finished.

  “Aren’t you going to ask?” said Ronnie.

  “Ask what?” said Simon.

  “You politicians get dumber by the minute. If I am going to offer you a one-pound share, how much do you think I am going to demand in return?”

  “Well, I can’t believe it’s going to be one pound,” said Simon, grinning.

  “Wrong,” said Ronnie. “One percent of the company is yours for one pound.”

  “Will that be sufficient, sir?” said the carver, putting a plate of beef in front of Simon.

  “Hold it, Sam,” said Ronnie before Simon could reply. “I repeat I’m offering you one percent of the company for one. pound; now ask your question again, Sam.”

  “Will that be sufficient, sir?” repeated the carver.

  “It’s most generous,” said Simon.

  “Did you hear that, Sam?”

  “I certainly did, sir.”

  “Right, Simon, you owe me a pound.”

  Simon laughed, removed his wallet from his inside pocket, took out a pound note, and handed it over.

  “Now the purpose of that little exercise,” said Ronnie, turning back to the carver and pocketing the note, “was to prove that Sam here isn’t the only person who could make a quid for himself this afternoon.” Sam smiled, having no idea what Mr. Nethercote was talking about, and placed a large plate of well-done beef in front of him.

  Ronnie took out an envelope from his inside pocket and passed it to Simon.

  “Do I open it now?” asked Simon.

  “Yes—I want to see your reaction.”

  Simon opened the envelope and studied its contents. A certificate for one share in the new company with a true value of over £10,000.

  “Well, well, what do you say?” said Ronnie.

  “I’m speechless,” said Simon.

  “First politician I’ve known who’s ever suffered from that problem.”

  Simon laughed. “Thank you, Ronnie. It’s an incredibly generous gesture.”

  “No it’s not. You were loyal to the old company, so why shouldn’t you prosper with the new one?”

  “That reminds me, does the name ‘Archie Millburn’ mean anything to you?” asked Simon.

  Ronnie hesitated. “No, no, should it?”

  “Only that I thought he might be the man who convinced Morgan Grenfell that you were worth bailing out.”

  “No, that name doesn’t ring any bells. Mind you, Morgan Grenfell have never admitted where they obtained their information from but they knew every last detail about the old company. But if I come across the name Millburn I’ll let you know. Enough of business. Fill me in on what’s happening in your world. How’s your lady wife?”

  “Deceiving me.”

  “Deceiving you?”

  “Yes, she’s been putting on wigs and dressing up in strange clothes.”

  Clarissa wet her bed every night for the first month at Pelham Crescent but Louise never complained. Day by day Andrew watched as mother and daughter grew in mutual confidence. Clarissa assumed from her first meeting with Louise that she could talk as normally as any grown-up and chatted away to her night and day. Half the time Louise didn’t reply, only because she couldn’t get a word in.

  Just when Andrew felt everything was getting back on a normal footing at home trouble erupted in Edinburgh. His General Management Committee, which now included five members of Militant Tendency, tabled a motion of no confidence in their member. Their leader, Frank Boyle, had been building up a power base with the sole intention, Andrew suspected, of ousting the member and taking over himself. He didn’t discuss the problem with Louise, as the specialist had advised him to avoid any undue stress while Clarissa was settling in.

  The five men who wanted Andrew removed had chosen the following Thursday to hold the meeting because they knew the annual Defense Review was due for a full debate in the House that day. If Andrew was unable to attend their meeting Frank Boyle knew they would have a better chance of winning their motion. If he did turn up to defend himself they were also aware that an embarrassing explanation would have to be made for his absence during the debate. When the Prime Minister was informed of the dilemma by the Chief Whip he had no hesitation in telling Andrew to forget the defense debate and go to Edinburgh.