Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

“The problem is to find a way of turning Pimkin into Judas and then urging him to lead the chosen twelve into our camp,” said Charles.

“You achieve that, and we’d certainly win.”

Charles returned to the Whips’ office to find Simon Kerslake waiting by his desk.

“I dropped by on the off-chance, hoping you might be able to spare me a few moments,” said Simon.

“Of course,” said Charles, trying to sound welcoming. “Take a pew.”

Simon sat down opposite him. “You may have heard that I lose my constituency as a result of the Boundary Commission report and Edward Mountjoy suggested I have a word with you about Littlehampton, the new seat that borders your constituency.”

“It does indeed,” said Charles, masking his surprise. He had not considered the problem as his own seat remained intact. He recovered quickly. “And how wise of Edward to send you to me. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“Littlehampton would be ideal,” said Simon. “Especially while my wife is still working in Paddington.”

Charles raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t think you’ve met Elizabeth. She’s a doctor at St. Mary’s,” Simon explained.

“Yes, I can see how convenient Littlehampton would be. Why don’t I start by having a word with Alexander Dalglish, the constituency chairman, and see what I can come up with?”

“That would be extremely helpful.”

“Not at all. I’ll call him at home this evening and find out what stage they’ve reached over selection, and then I’ll put you in the picture.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“While I’ve got you, let me give you the whip for next week,” said Charles, passing over a sheet of paper. Simon folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I’ll call you the moment I have some news.”

Simon left feeling happier and a little guilty about his past prejudice concerning Charles, whom he watched disappear into the Chamber to carry out his bench duty.

The European issue had been given six days for debate by back-benchers, the longest period of time allocated to one motion in living memory.

Charles strolled down the aisle leading to the front bench and took a seat on the end to check on another set of speeches. Usually he listened intently to see if he could spot a member wavering in his position; but on this occasion his thoughts were in Littlehampton. Andrew Fraser was on his feet, and Charles was delighted to be able to confirm the tick alongside his name before he drifted into deep thought.

“I for one shall vote for entry into Europe,” Andrew was telling the House. “When my party was in power I was a pro-European, and now we are in Opposition I can see no good reason to do a volte-face. The principles that held true two years ago hold true today. Not all of us...”

Tom Carson leaped up and asked if his Honorable friend would give way. Andrew resumed his seat immediately.

“Would my Honorable friend really support the peasant farmers of France before the sheep farmers in New Zealand?” asked Carson.

Andrew rose and explained to his colleague that he would certainly expect safeguards for New Zealand, but the initial vote on the floor of the House was on the principle of entry. The details could and should be dealt with in committee. He went on to express the view that had his Honorable friend talked of wogs or Jews in such a context the House would have been in uproar. “Why is it therefore acceptable to the anti-marketeers to describe French farmers as peasants?”

“Perhaps it’s you who is the peasant,” Carson shouted back, in seven words thus ruining his case for the lamb farmers of New Zealand.

Andrew ignored the jibe and went on to tell the House that he believed in a united Europe as a further insurance against a third world war. He concluded with the words:

“Britain has for a thousand years written history, even the history of the world. Let us decide with our votes whether our children will read that history, or continue to write it.” Andrew sat down to acclamation from both sides.

By the time Andrew had resumed his seat Charles had formed a plan and left the Chamber when one of his own colleagues started what promised to be a long, boring, and predictable speech.

Instead of returning to the Whips’ office which afforded no privacy, Charles disappeared into one of the telephone booths near the cloisters above the Members’ Cloakroom. He checked the number and dialed it.

“Alexander, it’s Charles. Charles Seymour.”

“Good to hear from you, Charles, it’s been a long time. How are you?”

“Well. And you?”

“Can’t complain. What can I do for a busy man like you?”

“Wanted to chew over the new Sussex constituency with you, Littlehampton. How’s your selection of a candidate going?”

“They’ve left me to draw up a short list of six for final selection by the full committee in about ten days’ time.”

“Have you thought of standing yourself, Alexander?”

“Many times,” came back the reply. “But the old lady wouldn’t allow it, neither would the bank balance. Do you have any ideas?”

“Might be able to help. Why don’t you come and have a quiet dinner at my place early next week?”

“That’s kind of you, Charles.”

“Not at all, it will be good to see you again. It’s been far too long. Next Monday suit you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, let’s say eight o’clock, 27 Eaton Square.”

Charles put the phone down, returned to the Whips’ Office and, penciled a note in his diary.

Raymond had just finished making his contribution to the European debate when Charles returned to take a seat on a half-empty Treasury bench. Raymond had made a coherent economic case for remaining free of the other six European countries and for building stronger links with the Commonwealth and America. He doubted that Britain could take the financial burden of entering a club that had been in existence for so long. If the country had joined at its inception it might have been different, he argued, but he would have to vote against this risky, unproven venture that he suspected could only lead to higher unemployment. When Raymond sat down he did not receive the acclamation that Andrew had and, worse, what praise he did elicit came from the left wing of the party who had spent so much time in the past criticizing Full Employment, at Any Cost? Charles put a cross by the name Gould.

A note was being passed along the row to Raymond from one of the House Badge messengers, dressed in white tie and black tails. It read, “Please ring head of chambers as soon as convenient.”

Raymond left the floor of the House and went to the nearest telephone in the corner of the Members’ Lobby. He was immediately put through to Sir Nigel Hartwell.

“You wanted me to phone?”

“Yes,” said Sir Nigel. “Are you free at the moment?”

“I am,” said Raymond. “Why? Is it something urgent?”

“I’d rather not talk about it over the phone,” said Sir Nigel ominously.

Raymond took a tube from Westminster to Temple and was in chambers fifteen minutes later. He went straight to Sir Nigel’s office, sat down in the comfortable chair in the corner of the spacious club-like room, crossed his legs, and watched Sir Nigel pace about in front of him. He was clearly determined to get something off his chest.

“Raymond, I have been asked by those in authority about you taking silk. I’ve said I think you’d make a damn good QC.” A smile came over Raymond’s face, but it was soon wiped off. “But I need an undertaking from you.”

“An undertaking?”

“Yes,” said Sir Nigel. “You must stop having this damn silly er... relationship with another member of chambers.” He rounded on Raymond and faced him.