Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

Louise never joined her husband again on these sessions, deciding she could be of more use working back in the Committee Rooms.

In the public meetings held each evening, Andrew made the same speech thirty-two times in twenty-four days with only slight variations to account for national developments. Louise sat loyally through every one of them, always laughing at his punch lines and starting the clapping whenever he made a telling point. Somehow she managed to remain fresh and lively even at the end of the day when she drove her husband home.

By the eve of the election all the press were predicting a clear majority for Labour, but Andrew observed the gleam in his father’s eye when he passed him in the street canvassing for McGregor.

At five-thirty on the morning of the election Louise woke Andrew with a cup of tea. He didn’t see another cup that day. To his relief the sun was shining when he pulled back the curtains after he had had his bath: bad weather invariably helped the Tories with their never-ending pool of cars, ferrying voters to the polling booths. He returned to the bedroom to find his wife pinning to the lapel of his jacket a vast red rosette bearing the exhortation, “Send Fraser back to Westminster.”

He was strolling through the streets of Edinburgh shaking hands, chatting to well-wishers, trying to convince last-minute “don’t knows” when he spotted his father heading toward him. They ended up facing each other in the middle of the street.

“It’s going to be a close-run thing,” said Sir Duncan.

“Then I’ll know who to blame if I lose by one vote,” said Andrew.

Sir Duncan looked conspiratorially about him, then lowered his voice. “If you win by one vote you’ll have me to thank, laddie.” He marched away entreating the citizens of Edinburgh to remove the turncoat Fraser.

The next time father and son met was at the count that evening. As the little piles of votes began to grow it became obvious that Andrew would be returned to Parliament, and Hector McGregor was soon shaking his head in disappointment.

But when the first result was announced in Guildford and showed a four percent swing to the Tories all the previous predictions of a strong Labour victory began to look unrealistic. As each return was announced from town hall platforms all over the country it became progressively more obvious that the Tories were going to end up with a large enough majority to govern.

“I would have thought,” Sir Duncan said to his son as the trend was confirmed across the nation, “that you’ll be in for a wee spell of Opposition.”

“Wee is the important word,” was all that Andrew replied.

Andrew retained his seat, keeping the swing against him down to one percent and his majority a safe 4,009. Scotland wasn’t as sure about Heath as the rest of the country, which showed an average swing against Labour of 4.7 percent.

Simon Kerslake managed a four-figure majority for the first time when he won Coventry Central by 2,118.

When Fiona was asked by the old earl how many votes Charles had won by, she said she couldn’t be certain but she did recall Charles telling a journalist it was more than the other candidates put together.

Raymond Gould suffered an adverse swing of only two percent and was returned with a 10,416 majority. The people of Leeds admire independence in a member, especially when it comes to a matter of principle.

The Conservatives captured Parliament with an overall majority of thirty. Her Majesty the Queen called for Edward Heath and asked him to form a Government. He kissed the hands of his sovereign and accepted her commission.

When Simon awoke on the morning after the election he felt both exhausted and exhilarated. He lay in bed trying to imagine how those Labour ministers, who only the previous day had assumed they would be returning to their departments, would be feeling now.

Elizabeth stirred, let out a small sleep-filled sigh. Simon stared down at his wife. In the seven years of their marriage she had lost none of her attraction for him, but he still took pleasure in just looking at her sleeping form. Her long fair hair rested on her shoulders and her slim, firm figure curved gently beneath the silk nightgown. He started stroking her back and watched her slowly come out of sleep. When she finally awoke she turned over and he took her in his arms.

“I admire your energy,” she said. “If you’re still fit after three weeks on the trail I can hardly claim to have a headache.”

He smiled, delighted to catch a moment of privacy between the seeming lunacy of electioneering and the anticipation of office. No voter was going to interrupt this rare moment of pleasure.

“Mum,” said a voice, and Simon quickly turned over to see Peter standing at the door in his pajamas. “I’m hungry.”

On the way back to London in the car Elizabeth asked, “What do you think he’ll offer you?”

“Daren’t anticipate anything,” said Simon. “But I would hope — Under-Secretary of State for Housing and Local Government.”

“But you’re still not certain to be offered a post?”

“Not at all. One can never know what permutations and pressures a new Prime Minister has to consider.”

“Like what?” asked Elizabeth.

“Left and right wings of the party, north and south of the country — countless debts to be cleared with those people who can claim they played a role in getting him into No. 10.” Simon yawned.

“Are you saying he could leave you out?”

“Oh yes. But I’ll be livid if he does, and I’d certainly want to know who had been given my job — and why.”

“And what could you do about it?”

“Nothing. There is absolutely nothing one can do and every back-bencher knows it. The Prime Minister’s power of patronage is absolute.”

“It won’t matter, if you continue driving on the center line,” she said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take a turn at the wheel?”

Louise let Andrew lie in on the Friday morning. She knew he had been expecting to return to a higher ministerial office and had been shattered by the election result.

By the time Andrew woke it was nearly eleven. He sat in silence in his dressing gown, unshaven, and tapped a hardboiled egg that refused to crack. An unopened Times lay by his side.

“Thank you for all your hard work,” he said once the second cup of coffee had taken effect. She smiled.

An hour later, dressed in sports jacket and gray flannels, he toured the constituency in a loudspeaker van, thanking his supporters for returning him to Westminster. Louise was by his side, often able to jog his memory on names he couldn’t recall.

After they had shaken the last hand they spent a quiet weekend with Sir Duncan in Stirling — who found it extremely hard to remove the smirk from his face.

Raymond was astonished by the election result. He couldn’t believe that the opinion polls had been so wrong. He didn’t confide in Joyce that he had hoped a Labour victory would bring him back into office after languishing on the back benches for what seemed an interminable time.

“There’s nothing for it,” he told her, “but to rebuild a career at the bar. We may be out of office for years.”

“But surely that won’t be enough to keep you fully occupied?”

“I have to be realistic about the future,” he said slowly. “Although I don’t intend to let Heath drag us into Europe without putting up one hell of a fight.”

“Perhaps they’ll ask you to Shadow someone?”

“No, there are always far fewer jobs available in Opposition, and in any case they always give the orators like Fraser the dispatch box when all you can do is to sit and make noises while we wait for another election.”