Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

Simon felt guilty as he watched the man walk away. A few minutes later Elizabeth returned and tried to smile. “The only room left is smaller than Peter’s and it faces the main road, so it’s just about as noisy.”

“At least no children to say ‘I’m hungry’,” he said, touching her hand.

It was a little after nine when a weary chairman came out and asked all the candidates if he could have their attention. Husbands and wives all faced him. “My committee want to thank you for going through this grim procedure. It has been hard for us to decide something that we hope not to have to discuss again for twenty years.” He paused. “The committee are going to invite Mr. Bill Travers to fight the Redcorn seat at the next election.”

In a sentence it was all over. Simon’s throat went dry.

He and Elizabeth didn’t get much sleep in their tiny room at the Bell Inn, and it hadn’t helped that the agent told them the final vote had been twenty-five — twenty three.

“I don’t think Miss Pentecost liked me,” said Elizabeth, feeling guilty. “If I had told her that I would have been willing to live in the constituency I think you’d have been offered the seat.”

“I doubt it,” said Simon. “In any case it’s no use agreeing to their terms at the interview and then imposing your own when you have been offered the constituency. My guess is you’ll find Redcorn has chosen the right man.”

Elizabeth smiled at her husband, grateful for his support.

“There will be other seats,” said Simon, only too aware that time was now running out. “You’ll see.”

Elizabeth prayed that he would prove right, and that next time the choice of a constituency would not make her have to face the dilemma she had so far managed to avoid.

When Raymond took silk, the second Tuesday after the Easter holiday, and became a Queen’s Counsel, Joyce made one of her periodic trips to London. The occasion she decided warranted another visit to Harvey Nichols. She recalled her first trip to the store so many years before when she had accompanied her husband to meet the Prime Minister. Raymond had come so far since then although their relationship seemed to have progressed so little. She had given up hope of being a mother, but still wanted him to believe she was a good wife. She couldn’t help thinking how much better-looking Raymond had become in middle age, and feared the same could not be said of her.

She enjoyed watching the legal ceremony as her husband was presented in court before the judges. Latin words spoken but not understood. Suddenly her husband was Raymond Could, QC, MP.

She and Raymond arrived late in chambers for the celebration party. Everyone seemed to have turned out in her husband’s honor. Raymond felt full of bonhomie and was chatting to the chief clerk when Sir Nigel handed him a glass of champagne. Then he saw a familiar figure by the mantelpiece and remembered that the trial in Manchester was over. He managed to circle the room speaking to everyone but Stephanie Arnold. To his horror he turned to see her introducing herself to his wife. Every time he glanced toward them they seemed deeper in conversation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Sir Nigel, banging a table. He waited for silence. “We are always proud in chambers when one of our members takes silk. It is a comment not only on the man but also on his chambers. And when it is the youngest silk — still under forty — it adds to that pride. All of you, of course, know that Raymond also serves in another place in which we expect him to rise to even greater glory. May I add finally how pleasant it is to have his wife Joyce among us tonight. Ladies and gentlemen,” he concluded. “The toast is Raymond Gould, QC.”

“Raymond Gould, QC,” said everyone in chorus. Then, “Speech, speech.”

“I would like to thank all those people who made this great honor possible,” began Raymond. “My producer, my director, the other stars, and not forgetting the criminals, without whom I would have no profession to profess. And finally,” he said, “to those of you who want to see the back of me, I direct you all to work tirelessly to ensure the return of a Labour Government at the next election. Thank you.”

The applause was sustained and genuine and many of his colleagues were impressed by how relaxed Raymond had become of late. As they came up to congratulate him Raymond couldn’t help noticing that Stephanie and Joyce had resumed their conversation. Raymond was handed another glass of champagne just as an earnest young pupil called Patrick Montague who had recently joined them from chambers in Bristol engaged him in conversation. Although Montague had been with them for some weeks Raymond had never spoken to him at length before. He seemed to have very clear views on criminal law and the changes that were necessary. For the first time in his life Raymond felt he was no longer a young man.

Suddenly both women were at his side.

“Hello, Raymond.”

“Hello, Stephanie,” he said awkwardly and looked anxiously toward his wife. “Do you know Patrick Montague?” he asked, absentmindedly.

The three of them burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” asked Raymond.

“You do embarrass me sometimes, Raymond,” said Joyce. “Surely you realize Stephanie and Patrick are engaged?”

“With or without civil servants?” asked Simon as Andrew entered the minister’s office.

“Without, please.”

“Fine,” said Simon and pressed a switch on the intercom by his desk.

“I don’t want to be disturbed while I’m with Mr. Fraser,” he said and ushered his colleague toward a comfortable seat in the corner.

“Elizabeth was asking me this morning to find out how Robert was getting on.”

“It’s his second birthday next month and he’s overweight for a scrum-half,” replied Andrew. “And how’s your search for a seat working out?”

“Not too good. The last three constituencies to come up haven’t even asked to see me. I can’t put a finger on why, except they all seem to have selected local men.”

“It’s still a long time to the next election. You’re sure to find a seat before then.”

“It might not be so long if the Prime Minister decides to go to the country and test his strength against the unions.”

“That would be a foolish thing to do,” said Andrew. “He might defeat us but he still wouldn’t defeat the unions.”

A young woman came into the room with two cups of coffee, put them on the low Formica table, and left the two men alone.

“Have you had time to look at the file?” Andrew continued.

“Yes, I went over it last night between checking over Peter’s prep and helping Michael to build a model galleon.”

“And how do you feel?” Andrew asked.

“Not very good. I can’t get to grips with this new maths they’re now teaching, and my mast was the only one that fell off when Elizabeth launched the galleon in the bath.”

Andrew laughed.

“I think you’ve got a case,” said Simon, sounding serious.

“Good,” said Andrew. “Now the reason I wanted to see you privately is because I feel there are no party political points to be made out of this case for either of us. I’ve no plans to try to embarrass your department, and I consider it’s in the best interest of my constituents to cooperate as closely as I can with you.”

“Thank you,” said Simon. “So where do you want to go from here?”

“I’d like to table a planted question for your department in the hope that you would consider opening an inquiry. If the inquiry comes to the same conclusion as I have, I would expect you to order a retrial.”

Simon hesitated. “And if the inquiry goes against you will you agree to no reprisals for the Home Office?”