Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

Raymond wondered how he would broach what was really on his mind and tried to sound casual when he said, “Perhaps it’s time we considered having our own home in the constituency.”

“That seems an unnecessary expense,” said Joyce, “especially as there’s nothing wrong with your parents’ home. And, in any case, wouldn’t they be offended?”

“My first interest should be my duty to the constituents and this would be a chance to prove a long-term commitment to them. Naturally my parents will understand.”

“But we can’t afford the cost of two houses,” said Joyce uncertainly.

“I realize that, but it’s you who have always wanted to live in Leeds, and this will give you the chance to stop commuting from London every week. After I’ve done the rounds why don’t you stay up, contact a few local estate agents, and see what’s on the market?”

“All right, if that’s what you really want,” said Joyce. “I’ll start next week.”

Charles and Fiona spent a quiet weekend at their cottage in Sussex. Charles tried to do some gardening while he kept one ear open for the telephone. Fiona began to realize how anxious he was when she looked through the French windows and saw her finest delphinium being taken for a weed.

Charles eventually gave the weeds a reprieve and came in and turned on the television to catch Maudling, Macleod, Thatcher, and Carrington enter No. 10 Downing Street looking pensive, only to leave smiling. The senior appointments had been made: the Cabinet was taking shape. The new Prime Minister came out and waved to the crowds before being whisked away in his official car.

Would he remember who had organized the young vote for him before he was even the party leader?

“When do you want to go back to Eaton Square?” Fiona inquired from the kitchen.

“Depends,” said Charles.

“On what?”

“On whether the phone rings.”

Simon sat staring at the television. All those hours of work on Housing and Local Government, and the PM had offered the portfolio to someone else. He had left the set on all day but didn’t learn who it was, only that the rest of the Housing and Local Government team had remained intact.

“Why do I bother?” he said out loud. “The whole thing’s a farce.”

“What were you saying, darling?” asked Elizabeth as she came into the room.

The phone rang again. It was the newly appointed Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling.

“Simon?”

“Reggie, many congratulations on your appointment — not that it came as a great surprise.”

“That’s what I’m calling about, Simon. Would you like to join me at the Home Office as Under-Secretary?”

“Like to? I’d be delighted.”

“Thank heavens for that,” said Maudling. “It took me a dickens of a time to convince Ted Heath that you should be released from the Housing and Local Government team.”

When Andrew and Louise arrived back at Cheyne Walk after the weekend a red box was waiting for him in the drawing room. “Under-Secretary of State for Scotland” was printed in gold on the side.

“They’ll be round to collect that later today,” he told Louise. He turned the key to find the box was empty, and then he saw the small envelope in one corner. It was addressed to “Andrew Fraser Esquire, MP.” He tore it open. It contained a short handwritten note from the Permanent Secretary, the senior civil servant at the Scottish Office.

“In keeping with a long tradition, ministers are presented with the last red box from which they worked. Au revoir. No doubt we will meet again.”

“I suppose it could be used as a lunch box,” said Louise, standing by the door.

“Or perhaps an overnight case,” offered Andrew.

“Or a very small cot,” added his wife, trying to make her words casual.

Andrew looked up to see Louise looking radiant.

“I let your parents know last night, but I wasn’t going to tell you until dinner this evening.”

Andrew threw his arms around her.

“By the way,” Louise added, “we’ve already decided on her name.”

When Raymond arrived back at Lincoln’s Inn he let his clerk know that he wanted to be flooded with work. Over lunch with Sir Nigel Hartwell, the head of chambers, he explained that he thought it unlikely that the Labour party would be in Government again for some considerable time.

“Age is on your side, Raymond. Another full Parliament and you’ll be barely forty, so you can still look forward to many years in the Cabinet.”

“I wonder,” said Raymond, uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Well, you needn’t worry about briefs. Solicitors have been calling constantly since it was known you were back on a more permanent basis.”

Raymond began to relax.

Joyce phoned him after lunch with the news that she hadn’t found anything suitable, but the estate agent had assured her that they were expecting a lot more on the market in the autumn.

“Well, keep looking,” said Raymond.

“Don’t worry, I will,” said Joyce, sounding as if she was enjoying the whole exercise. “If we find something perhaps we can think of starting a family,” she added tentatively.

“Perhaps,” said Raymond brusquely.

Charles eventually received a call on the Monday night, not from No. 10 Downing Street but from No. 12, the office of the Chief Whip. Because the Chief Whip’s is not an official post, he is paid as the Parliamentary Secretary to the Treasury and he works from No. 12. The Prime Minister and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, being the first and second Lords of the Treasury, live at Nos. 10 and 11 Downing Street respectively.

The Chief Whip had phoned to say he hoped that Charles would be willing to soldier on as a junior Whip. When he heard the disappointment in Charles’s voice he added, “For the time being.”

“For the time being,” repeated Charles and put the phone down.

“At least you’re a member of the Government. You haven’t been left out in the cold,” said Fiona gamely.

“True,” he replied.

“People are sure to come and go during the next five years.”

Charles had to agree with his wife but it didn’t lessen his disappointment. Returning to the Commons as a member of the Government, however, turned out to be far more rewarding than he had expected. This time it was his party that were making the decisions.

The Queen traveled early that July morning to the House of Lords in the Irish State Coach. An escort of the Household Cavalry accompanied her, preceded by a procession of lesser state carriages in which the Imperial State Crown and other royal trappings were transported. Charles could remember watching the ceremony from the streets when he was a boy. Now he was taking part in it. When the Queen arrived at the Upper House she was accompanied by the Lord Chancellor through the Sovereign’s entrance to the robing room, where her ladies-in-waiting began to prepare her for the ceremony.

Charles always considered the State opening of Parliament a special occasion for members of both Houses. As a Whip he watched the members take their seats in the Commons and await the arrival of Black Rod. Once the Queen was seated on the throne the Lord Great Chamberlain commanded the Gentleman Usher of Black Rod to inform the Commons that: “It is Her Majesty’s pleasure they attend her immediately in this House.” Black Rod, wearing his black topcoat, black waistcoat, black knee-breeches, black stockings, and black shoes, resembled the devil’s advocate rather than the Queen’s messenger. He marched alone across the great tiled floor joining the two Chambers until he reached the doors of the House of Commons which were slammed in his face when he was just two paces away from them.

He struck the door three times with the silver tip of his long thin black rod. In response a little window in the door was flicked back to check on who it was — not unlike a sleazy nightclub, Charles’s father had once observed. Black Rod was then allowed admittance to the Lower House. He advanced toward the table and made three obeisances to the chair before saying, “Mr. Speaker, the Queen commands this Honorable House to attend Her Majesty immediately in the House of Peers.”