Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

The four men smiled and a few minutes later Charles suggested they adjourn to the State dining room where five places were set out round an oval table covered with silver which glittered in the candlelight. The four men waited until the Queen was seated at the head of the table.

Charles.had placed Raymond on the Queen’s right and Simon on her left while he and Andrew filled the other two places.

When the champagne was served Charles and his colleagues rose and toasted the Queen’s health. She reminded them that her birthday was not for another two weeks and remarked that she had twenty-four official birthday engagements during the month, which didn’t include the family’s private celebrations. “I would happily weaken but the Queen Mother attended more functions for her ninetieth birthday last year than I have planned for my sixty-fifth. I can’t imagine where she gets the energy.”

“Perhaps she would like to take my place in the election campaign,” said Raymond.

“Don’t suggest it,” the Queen replied. “She would leap at the opportunity without a second thought.”

The chef had prepared a simple dinner of smoked salmon followed by lamb in red wine and aspic. His only flamboyant gesture was a birthday cake in the shape of a crown resting on a portcullis of sponge. No candles were evident.

After the meal had been cleared away and the cognac served the servants left them alone. The four men remained in a light mood until the Queen without warning put to them a delicate question that surprised only Charles. She waited for an answer.

No one spoke.

“Perhaps I should ask you first,” said the Queen, turning to Raymond, “as you are standing in for the Prime Minister.”

Raymond didn’t hesitate. “I am in favor, ma’am,” he said quietly.

She next turned to Simon.

“I would also support such a decision, Your Majesty,” he replied.

“Thank you,” said the Queen, and turned to Andrew.

“At heart I am a traditionalist, Your Majesty, but I confess to having given the subject a great deal of thought over the last few years and I have come round to supporting what I think is described as the ‘modern approach.’”

“Thank you,” she repeated, her eyes finally resting on Charles Seymour.

“Against, ma’am,” he said without hesitation, “but then I have never been a modern man.”

“Mat is no bad thing in Mr. Speaker,” she said, and paused before adding: “Some years ago I asked a former Lord Chancellor to draw up the necessary papers. He assured me then that if none of my parliamentary leaders was against the principle the legislation could be carried through while both Houses were still in session.”

“That is correct, ma’am,” said Charles. “It would require two or three days at most if all the preparations have already been completed. It’s only a matter of proclamation to both Houses of Parliament: your decision requires no vote.”

“Excellent, Mr. Speaker. Then the matter is settled.”

Her Majesty’s proclamation passed through the Lords and Commons without a division.

Once the initial shock had been absorbed by the nation the election campaign took over. The first polls gave the Tories a two-point lead. The press attributed this to the public’s unfamiliarity with the new Labour leader, but by the end of the first week the Tories had slipped a point while the press had decided that Raymond Could had begun his stewardship well.

“A week is a long time in politics,” he quoted.

“And there are still two to go,” Joyce reminded him.

The pundits put forward the theory that Raymond had increased his popularity during the first week because of the extra coverage he had received as the new leader of the Labour party. He warned the press department at Transport House that it might well be the shortest honeymoon on record, and they certainly couldn’t expect him to be treated like a bridegroom for the entire three weeks. The first signs of a broken marriage came when the Department of Employment announced that inflation had taken an upturn for the first time in nine months.

“And who has been Chancellor for the last three years?” demanded Simon in that night’s speech in Manchester.

Raymond tried to dismiss the figures as a one-off monthly hiccup but the next day Simon was insistent that there was more bad news just around the corner.

When the Department of Trade announced the worst deficit in the balance of payments for fourteen months Simon took on the mantle of a prophet and the Tories edged back into a healthy lead, but with the Social Democrats stealing a point from both of them.

“Honeymoon, broken marriage, and divorce, all in a period of fourteen days,” said Raymond wryly. “What can happen in the last seven?”

“Reconciliation, perhaps?” suggested Joyce.

During the campaign all three leaders managed to visit most of the one hundred marginal seats in which the outcome of any general election is decided. None of them could afford to spend too much time worrying about those 550 of the 650 seats that could not change hands without a swing of at least eight percent.

Andrew was willing to make one exception to the eight percent rule in the case of Alec Pimkin’s seat in Littlehampton, which he had considered vulnerable for some time. The Social Democrats had selected an able young candidate who had nursed the constituency assiduously over the past three years and couldn’t wait to take on Pimkin.

Alec Pimkin eventually made an appearance in Littlehampton — only after the local chairman had tracked him down to his London flat to say they were becoming desperate. The Alliance yellow lines were almost as abundant on the canvass returns as the Conservative blue ones, he warned.

“Don’t you realize that I have had grave responsibilities in the Commons?” Pimkin declared. “No one could have anticipated that members would have been called back for a special declaration by the monarch.”

“Everyone knows about that,” said the chairman. “But the bill commanded by the Queen went through all its three readings last week without a division.”

Pimkin inwardly cursed the day they allowed television into the House. “Don’t fuss,” he soothed. “Come the hour, cometh the man and the voters will remember that I have had a long and distinguished parliamentary career. Damn it, old thing, have you forgotten that I was a candidate for the leadership of the Tory party?”

No, and how many votes did you receive on that occasion, the chairman wanted to say, but he took a deep breath and repeated his urgent request that the member visit the constituency as soon as possible.

Pimkin arrived seven days before the election and, as in past campaigns, settled himself in the private bar of the Swan Arms — the only decent pub in the constituency, he assured those people who took the trouble to come over and seek his opinion.

“But the Alliance candidate has visited every pub in the division,” wailed the chairman.

“More fool he. We can say that he’s looking for any excuse for a pub crawl,” said Pimkin, roaring with laughter.

From time to time Pimkin did stroll over to his local committee headquarters to find a few loyal workers, licking envelopes and folding election messages. On the one occasion on which he ventured into the high street he was appalled to discover Andrew Fraser standing on an upturned box extolling the virtues of the Alliance candidate to a large crowd. Pimkin wandered over to listen to what Andrew had to say and was not pleased to find that hardly anyone in the crowd recognized him.

“Humbug,” said Pimkin at the top of his voice. Andrew waved back. “Littlehampton needs a member who lives in the constituency,” declared Andrew genially, and went on with his speech. Pimkin turned to retreat to the warmth of the fireside at the Swan Arms. After all, as the landlord had assured him, put up a donkey with a blue ribbon as the Conservative candidate in Littlehampton and they would elect it. Pimkin had not been overwhelmed by the analogy.