This Was a Man Read online

  “Yes, I had considered that,” said Emma. “In the past your strength has always been that it was your word against that of a young nurse. But this time you won’t be dealing with a frightened young woman but the chairman of the hospital. And yes, I am willing to risk my reputation against yours.”

  “You’re bluffing,” said Hands. “You’ve got less than a year to go, and you really wouldn’t want this to be the one thing you’re remembered for.”

  “Wrong again, Dr. Hands. When I expose you for what you are, I suspect your colleagues and the sixteen nurses who have provided written evidence—” Emma tapped a thick file on the desk in front of her, which was nothing more than a surveyor’s report—“will be only too grateful for my intervention, while you’ll find it difficult to get a job in a minor African state.”

  This time Hands hesitated before he spoke. “I’ll take my chances. I’m confident you don’t have enough evidence to open an inquiry.”

  Emma leaned forward, dialed an outside number, and switched the phone to speaker. A moment later they both heard the word, “Editor.”

  “Good morning, Reg. Emma Clifton.”

  “Which one of my reporters do you want strung up this morning, Emma?”

  “Not one of your reporters this time. One of my doctors.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I’m about to instigate an inquiry into the behavior of a doctor at the hospital, and I thought you’d want to hear about it before the nationals get hold of the story.”

  “That’s good of you, Emma.” Hands began waving at her frantically. “But if the story is going to make the final edition, I’ll need to send a reporter over to the hospital immediately.”

  “I have an appointment at eleven,” said Emma, looking down at her diary, “but I’ll call you back in a few moments if I can rearrange it.”

  As Emma hung up, she spotted beads of sweat appearing on Hands’s forehead.

  “If I’m to cancel my appointment with the reporter from The Bristol Evening News,” she said, once again tapping the file, “I’ll expect you to be off these premises by midday. Otherwise, I recommend you pick up today’s final edition, in which you’ll discover exactly what I think of doctors like you. Be sure to stay by your phone, as I have a feeling they’ll want to hear your side of the story.”

  Hands rose unsteadily from his seat and left the room without another word. Once the door had closed, Emma picked up the phone and redialed the number she had promised to call back.

  “Thank you,” she said, when a voice came on the line.

  “My pleasure,” said Harry. “What time will you be home for dinner?”

  * * *

  “If you’re going to spend the next month in London,” said Harry after he’d heard Emma’s news, “where do you intend to stay?”

  “With Giles. That way I’ll be able to keep a close eye on his every move.”

  “And he on yours. But I can’t see him agreeing to such a cozy little arrangement.”

  “He’s not going to be given much choice,” said Emma. “You’ve obviously forgotten I own the freehold of number Twenty-three Smith Square. So if anyone’s going to be looking for temporary accommodation, it will be Giles, not me.”

  GILES BARRINGTON

  1979–1981

  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 gray 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 fête, 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 t