Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

Elizabeth was sympathetic when he explained the problem but told him not to concern himself too much until he had spoken to the vice-chairman of the party, who advised candidates which constituencies were likely to become available.

“It may even work out to your advantage,” she added.

“What do you mean?” said Simon.

“You could get a safer seat nearer London.”

“With my luck I’ll end up with a marginal in Newcastle.”

Elizabeth prepared his favorite meal and spent the evening trying to keep up his spirits. After three portions of shepherd’s pie Simon fell asleep almost as soon as he put his head on the pillow. But she stayed awake long into the night.

The casual conversation with the head of Gynecology at St. Mary’s kept running through her mind. Although she hadn’t confided in Simon, she could recall her supervisor’s every word.

“I notice from the roster that you’ve had far more days off than you are entitled to, Dr. Kerslake. You must make up your mind if you want to be a doctor or the wife of an MP.”

Elizabeth stirred restlessly as she considered the problem, but came to no conclusion except not to bother Simon while he had so much on his mind.

“Do these boundary changes affect you?” Louise asked, looking up from her copy of The Times.

Andrew was bouncing a small rubber ball on Robert’s head.

“You’ll give him brain damage,” said Louise.

“I know, but think of the goals he’ll score — and it won’t be long before I can start him on rugby.”

Robert started to cry when his father stopped to answer his mother’s question. “No, Edinburgh isn’t affected. There’s such a small movement in the population that the seven city seats will remain intact. The only real changes in Scotland will be in Glasgow and the Highlands.”

“That’s a relief,” said Louise. “I should hate to have to look for another constituency.”

“Poor old Simon Kerslake is losing his seat altogether and he daren’t do anything about it.”

“Why not?” asked Louise.

“Because he’s the minister in charge of the bill, and if he tried anything clever we would crucify him.”

“So what will he do?”

“Have to shop around for a new seat, or convince an older colleague to stand down in his favor.”

“But surely ministers find it easy to pick up a plum seat?”

“Not necessarily,” said Andrew. “Many constituencies don’t like to have someone foisted on them and want to choose their own man. And some actually prefer a local man who will never be a minister, because they feel he can devote more time to them.”

“Andrew, can you revert to being some use in Opposition?”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Andrew.

“Just keep throwing that ball at your stupid son’s head or he’ll be crying all day.”

“Take no notice of her, Robert. She’ll feel differently when you score your first goal against England.”

At exactly the time Raymond was ready to stop the affair Stephanie began leaving a set of court clothes in the flat. Although the two had gone their separate ways at the conclusion of the case they continued to see one another a couple of evenings a week. Raymond had had a spare key made so that Stephanie didn’t have to spend her life checking when he had a three-line whip.

At first he began simply to avoid her, but she would then seek him out. When he did manage to give her the slip he would often find her back in his flat when he returned from the Commons. When he suggested they should be a little more discreet she began to make threats, subtle at first, but after a time more direct.

During the period of their affair Raymond conducted three major cases for the Crown, all of which had successful conclusions and which added to his reputation. On each occasion his clerk made certain Stephanie was not assigned to be with him. Now that his residency problem had been sorted out Raymond’s only worry was how to end their relationship. He quickly discovered that getting rid of Stephanie Arnold was going to prove considerably more difficult than picking her up.

Simon was on time for his appointment at Central Office. He explained his dilemma to Sir Edward Mountjoy — vice-chairman of the party responsible for candidates — in graphic detail.

“What bloody bad luck,” said Sir Edward. “But perhaps I may be able to help,” he added, opening the green folder on the desk in front of him. Simon could see that he was studying a list of names. It made him feel once again like an undergraduate who needed someone to die.

“There seem to be about a dozen safe seats that will fall vacant at the next election, caused either by retirement or redistribution.”

“Anywhere in particular you could recommend?”

“I fancy Littlehampton.”

“Where’s that?” said Simon.

“It will be a new seat, safe as houses. It’s in Sussex, on the borders of Hampshire.” He studied an attached map. “Runs proud to Charles Seymour’s constituency which remains unchanged. Can’t think you would have many rivals there,” said Sir Edward. “But why don’t you have a word with Charles? He’s bound to know everyone involved in taking the decision.”

“Anything else that looks promising?” asked Simon, only too aware that Seymour might not prove altogether cooperative.

“Let me see. Can’t afford to put all your eggs in one basket, can we? Ah, yes — Redcorn, in Northumberland.” Again the vice-chairman studied the map. “Three hundred and twenty miles from London and no airport within eighty miles, and their nearest main line station is forty miles. I think that one’s only worth trying for if you get desperate. My advice would be to speak to Charles Seymour about Littlehampton. He must know the lay of the land in that neck of the woods.”

Two clichés in one sentence, thought Simon. Thank heavens Sir Edward would never have to make a speech from the dispatch box.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sir Edward,” he said.

“Selection committees are being formed already,” continued Sir Edward, “so you shouldn’t have to wait too long.”

“I appreciate your help,” said Simon. “Perhaps you could let me know if anything else comes up in the meantime.”

“Of course, delighted. The problem is that if one of our side were to die during the sessions you couldn’t desert your present seat because that would cause two by-elections. We certainly don’t want a by-election in Coventry Central with you being accused of being a carpetbagger somewhere else.”

“Don’t remind me,” said Simon.

Charles had whittled down the fifty-nine anti-Common Market members to fifty-one, but he was now dealing with the hard kernel who seemed quite immune to future advancement or bullying. When he made his next report to the Chief Whip Charles assured him that the Conservatives who would vote against entry into Europe were outnumbered by the Socialists who had declared they would support the Government. The Chief Whip seemed pleased, but asked if Charles had made any progress with Pimkin’s disciples.

“Those twelve mad right-wingers?” said Charles sharply. “They seem to be willing to follow Pimkin even into the valley of death. I’ve tried everything but they’re still determined to vote against Europe whatever the cost.”

“The maddening thing is that that bloody nuisance Pimkin has nothing to lose,” said the Chief Whip. “His seat disappears at the end of this Parliament in the redistribution. I can’t imagine anyone with his extreme views would find a constituency to select him, but by then he’ll have done the damage.” The Chief Whip paused. “If his twelve would even abstain I would feel confident of advising the PM of victory.”