Jeffrey Archer - First Among Equals

“I can’t afford to be seen in Annabel’s.”

“With me, you mean?”

“No, no, you silly woman, because I’m a Socialist.”

“If members of the Labour party are not allowed to indulge in a good meal then perhaps it’s time for you to change parties. In my country one only sees the Democrats in the best restaurants.”

“Oh, do be serious, Kate.”

“I intend to be. Now what have you been up to in the House lately?”

“Not a lot,” said Raymond sheepishly. “I’ve been snowed under in court and...”

“Precisely. It’s time you did something positive before your colleagues in Parliament forget you exist.”

“Have you anything particular in mind?” asked Raymond, folding his arms across his chest.

“As a matter of fact, I have,” said Kate. “I read in the same Sunday paper as the one in which I discovered your best-kept secret that it is proving difficult for the Labour party to repeal the Tories’ trade union legislation. It appears there are long-term legal implications which the front bench are still trying to find a way round. Why don’t you set that so-called ‘first class’ mind of yours to working out the legal niceties?”

“Not such a stupid idea.” Raymond had become used to Kate’s political sense, and when he had remarked on it she had only said, “Just another bad habit I picked up from my ex-husband.”

“Now, where do we celebrate?” she asked.

“Compromise,” said Raymond.

“I’m all ears.”

“The Dorchester.”

“If you insist,” said Kate, not sounding over-enthusiastic.

Raymond started to change his shirt.

“No, no, no, Carrot Top, people have been known to wear blue shirts at the Dorchester.”

“But I haven’t got a tie to match,” said Raymond triumphantly.

Kate thrust her hand into the Turnbull and Asser bag and drew out a dark blue silk tie.

“But it’s got a pattern on it,” said Raymond in disgust. “What will you expect next?”

“Contact lenses,” said Kate.

Raymond stared at her, and blinked.

On the way out of the door Raymond’s gaze fell upon the brightly wrapped package that Joyce had posted from Leeds earlier in the week. He had completely forgotten to open it.

“Damn,” said Charles, putting down The Times and draining his coffee.

“What’s the problem?” asked Fiona as she poured out another cup.

“Kerslake’s been selected for Pucklebridge, which means he’s back in the House for life. Obviously my chat to Archie Millburn had no effect.”

“Why have you got it in for Kerslake?” asked Fiona.

Charles folded the paper and considered the question. “It’s quite simple really, old girl. I think he’s the only one of my contemporaries who could stop me leading the party.”

“Why him in particular?”

“I first came across him when he was President of the Union at Oxford. He was damn good then, and now he’s better. He had rivals, but he brushed them aside like flies. No, despite his background, Kerslake’s the one man left who frightens me.”

“It’s a long race yet, my darling, and he could still stumble.”

“So could I, but what he doesn’t realize is that I shall be putting out some of his hurdles.”

Andrew worded the letter very carefully. He assured Jock McPherson and his colleagues that he had been flattered by their approach, but explained that he had decided his loyalties were still firmly based in the Labour party.

He accepted the point Jock had made about the left trying to gain control, but felt that every democratic party was bound to have a maverick element within its ranks, which was not necessarily unhealthy. He added that he considered the offer to have been confidential on both sides.

“Why add that postscript?” asked Louise when she had read the letter through.

“It’s only fair to Jock,” said Andrew. “If it gets around I turned him down it will have the opposite effect to the one they were trying to create.”

“I’m not so sure they will act in the same magnanimous way when the next election comes round.”

“Ah, Jock will make a lot of noise, but he’s all right underneath...”

“That isn’t what your father says about him,” said Louise. “He’s sure they’ll want revenge.”

“Father always sees grubs under even the greenest leaf.”

“So if we’re not about to celebrate your leadership of the Scottish Nationalists we’ll have to be satisfied with celebrating your fortieth birthday.”

“But that’s not for at least—”

“—another month, a week before Robert’s fourth birthday.”

“How would you like to commemorate the occasion, darling?”

“I thought we might have a week in the Algarve on our own.”

“Why don’t we have two weeks? Then we can celebrate your fortieth birthday as well?”

“Andrew Fraser, you just lost yourself one vote in Edinburgh Carlton.”

Simon listened intently to Ronnie’s report at the monthly board meeting. Two tenants had not paid their quarterly rent, and another quarter date was fast approaching. Ronnie’s solicitors had sent firm reminders, followed a month later by writs, but this action had also failed to elicit any money.

“It only proves what I feared most,” said Ronnie.

“What’s that?” asked Simon.

“They just haven’t got the cash.”

“So we will have to replace them with new tenants.”

“Simon, when you next travel from Beaufort Street to Whitechapel start counting the To Let’ signs on office blocks along the way. When you’ve passed a hundred you’ll find you still haven’t reached the City.”

“So what do you think we should do about it?”

“Try and sell one of our larger properties to secure cash flow. We can at least be thankful that even at these prices they are still worth a lot more than our borrowings. It’s the companies who are the other way around that have to call in the receiver.”

Simon thought about his overdraft, now approaching £100,000, and was beginning to wish he had accepted Ronnie’s generous offer to buy back his shares. He accepted reluctantly that the opportunity had now passed.

When the board meeting was over he drove to St. Mary’s to pick up Elizabeth. It was to be one of their three-times-a-week journeys to Pucklebridge as Simon tried to get round all the villages before Wilson called an election.

Archie Millburn was turning out to be a conscientious chairman who had accompanied them on nearly every trip.

“He’s been very kind to us,” said Elizabeth, on their way down.

“He certainly has,” said Simon. “Remember he also has to run Millburn Electronics. But, as he reminds us so often, once he’s introduced us to every village chairman we’ll be on our own.”

“Have you ever discovered why he and Charles Seymour didn’t see eye to eye?”

“No, he hasn’t mentioned his name since that night. All I know for certain is that they were at school together.”

“So what do you intend to do about Seymour?”

“Not a lot I can do,” said Simon. “Except keep my eyes very wide open.”

“The man who has deserted Edinburgh once too often” — Andrew read the Scottish Nationalist leaflet that had been sent to him that morning by his father. It was full of half-truths and innuendos.

“Andrew Fraser, the man who has forgotten Edinburgh, should no longer be allowed to represent a Scottish seat.” It went on to declare: “He now lives far away from the problems of his constituents in a smart apartment building in fashionable Chelsea among his Tory friends. He visits the City of Edinburgh only a few times a year to make well-publicized appearances... Has being a minister gone to his head?”