This Was a Man Read online

  She was surprised how many people recognized her. Some even applauded as she passed by, while others stared at her in sullen silence. Then a cheer went up, and Emma turned to see her brother getting out of a car and waving to his party’s supporters before disappearing into Transport House.

  Emma reentered a building she had become all too familiar with during the past month, and was greeted by several leading party apparatchiks she’d come across while out on the campaign trail. People surrounded televisions in every room, as supporters, party workers, and Central Office staff waited for the first result to come in. Not a politician in sight. They were all back in their constituencies, waiting to find out if they were still Members of Parliament.

  Croydon Central was declared at 1:23 a.m., with a swing of 1.8 percent to the Conservatives. Only muted cheers were offered up because everyone knew that suggested a hung parliament, with Jim Callaghan returning to the palace to be asked if he could form a government.

  At 1:43 a.m. the cheers became louder when the Conservatives captured Basildon, which on Emma’s chart suggested a Conservative majority of around 30. After that, the results began to come in thick and fast, including a recount in Bristol Docklands.

  By the time Mrs. Thatcher drove over from her Finchley constituency just after three a.m., the lights were already going out in Transport House. As she entered Central Office, the doubters were suddenly long-term supporters, and the long-term supporters were looking forward to joining her first administration.

  The leader of the opposition paused halfway up the stairs and made a short speech of thanks. Emma was touched that hers was among the names mentioned in dispatches. After shaking several outstretched hands, Mrs. Thatcher left the building a few minutes later, explaining that she had a busy day ahead of her. Emma wondered if she would even go to bed.

  Just after four a.m., Emma dropped into John Lacy’s office for the last time to find him standing by the chart and filling in the latest results.

  “What’s your prediction?” she asked as she stared at a sea of blue boxes.

  “It’s looking like a majority of over forty,” Lacy replied. “More than enough to govern for the next five years.”

  “And our sixty-two marginal seats?” Emma asked.

  “We’ve won all except three, but they’re on their third recount in Bristol Docklands, so it could be just two.”

  “I think we can allow Giles that one,” Emma whispered.

  “I always knew you were a closet wet,” said Lacy.

  Emma thought about her brother, and how he must be feeling now.

  “Goodnight, John,” she said. “And thank you for everything. See you in five years’ time,” she added before making her way out of the building and back across to her home on the other side of the square, where she planned to return to the real world.

  * * *

  Emma woke a few hours later to find Harry seated on her side of the bed, holding a cup of tea.

  “Will you be joining us for breakfast, my darling, now that you’ve done your job?”

  She yawned and stretched her arms. “Not a bad idea, Harry Clifton, because it’s time I got back to work.”

  “So what’s the plot for today?”

  “I have to get back to Bristol, sharpish. I’ve got a meeting with the newly appointed chairman of the hospital at three this afternoon, to discuss priorities for the next year.”

  “Are you happy with your successor?”

  “Couldn’t be more pleased. Simon Dawkins is a first-class administrator and he was a loyal deputy, so I’m expecting the handover to be seamless.”

  “Then I’ll leave you to get dressed,” said Harry, before handing his wife her tea and heading back downstairs to join Giles for breakfast.

  Giles was seated at the far end of the table surrounded by the morning papers, which didn’t make good reading. He smiled for the first time that day when his brother-in-law entered the room.

  “How are you feeling?” asked Harry, placing a consoling hand on the shoulder of his oldest friend.

  “I’ve had better mornings,” admitted Giles, pushing the papers to one side. “But I’m hardly in a position to complain. I’ve served as a minister for nine of the past fourteen years, and I must still have a chance of holding office in five years’ time, because I can’t believe that woman will last.”

  Both men stood when Emma entered the room.

  “Congratulations, sis,” said Giles. “You were a worthy opponent, and it was a deserved victory.”

  “Thank you, Giles,” she said, giving her brother a hug, something she hadn’t done for the past twenty-eight days. “So what are you up to today?” she asked as she sat in the chair beside him.

  “Some time this morning I’ll have to hand in my seals of office so that woman,” he said, stabbing a finger at the photograph on the front page of The Daily Express, “can form her first, and I hope last, administration. Thatcher’s due at the palace at ten, when she’ll kiss hands before being driven to Downing Street in triumph. You’ll be able to watch it on television, but I hope you’ll forgive me if I don’t join you.”

  * * *

  After Emma had finished packing, Harry placed their suitcases by the front door before joining her in the drawing room, not surprised to find her glued to the television. She didn’t even look up when he entered the room.

  Three black Jaguars were emerging from Buckingham Palace. The crowds standing on the pavement outside the palace gates were waving and clapping as the convoy made its way up the Mall to Whitehall. Robin Day kept up a running commentary.

  “The new prime minister will spend the morning appointing her first Cabinet. Lord Carrington is expected to be foreign secretary, Geoffrey Howe chancellor, and Leon Brittan home secretary. As for the other appointments, we will have to wait and see who is preferred. I don’t suppose there will be many surprises, although you can be quite sure there will be several anxious politicians sitting by their phones hoping for a call from Number Ten,” he added as the three cars swept into Downing Street.

  As the prime minister stepped out of her car, another cheer went up. She made a short speech quoting Saint Francis of Assisi before disappearing into No. 10.

  “Better get moving,” said Harry, “or we’ll miss the train.”

  * * *

  Emma spent the afternoon with Simon Dawkins, her successor at Bristol Royal Infirmary, before clearing out her second office that day. She filled the backseat of her car as well as the boot with all the personal possessions she had accumulated over the past decade. As she drove slowly out of the hospital grounds for the last time, she didn’t look back. She was looking forward to a quiet supper at the Manor House with Harry, and later to placing her head on a pillow before midnight for the first time in weeks, while hoping for more than four hours’ sleep.

  * * *

  Emma was in her dressing gown enjoying a late breakfast when the call came.

  Harry picked up the phone on the sideboard and listened for a moment, before covering the mouthpiece and whispering, “It’s Number Ten.”

  Emma leapt up and took the phone, assuming it would be Mrs. Thatcher on the other end of the line.

  “This is Number Ten,” said a formal voice. “The prime minister wonders if you could see her at twelve thirty this afternoon.”

  “Yes of course,” said Emma without thinking.

  “When?” asked Harry as she put the phone down.

  “Twelve thirty at Number Ten.”

  “You’d better get dressed immediately while I bring the car around. We’ll have to get a move on if you hope to catch the ten past ten.”

  Emma ran upstairs and took longer than she intended deciding what to wear. A simple navy suit and a white silk blouse won the day.

  Harry managed “You look great,” as he accelerated down the driveway and out of the front gates, glad to have avoided the morning rush. He pulled up outside Temple Meads just after ten.

  “Call me as soon as you’ve