David Belbin - Bone & Cane

‘If I’d known . . .’ She shook her head and looked around her. ‘I still can’t believe I’m back here.’

They were drinking tea on the wide terrace of the House of Commons. New MPs were avidly admiring the view over the river. They looked like teenagers dazed on ecstasy. All had just heard their leader tell them they were here ‘not to enjoy the trappings of power but to do a job and uphold the highest standards in public life’. There were so many Labour MPs that there was no room big enough to hold them in the Palace of Westminster. They’d had to go down the road to Church House to listen to the sermon.

‘It’s an exciting time,’ Andrew said.

Sarah described the meeting the previous day, when the fledgling Home Secretary had outlined her new duties. Then she tried to engage Andrew in conversation about the independence of the Bank of England. She quickly gathered that Andrew had no interest in politics, not even fiscal policy, except where it affected how much tax he paid on his profits from property development.

‘How does it feel to be one of Blair’s babes ?’ he asked.

‘I’m hardly a babe,’ Sarah said.

‘I think you are,’ Andrew assured her.

Sarah accepted the compliment. There had been a photoshoot that morning with all of the new female MPs. Their wide-eyed optimism reminded Sarah of herself, two years previously. An MP’s job quickly become mundane. Doable, even satisfying at times, but never glamorous. Sarah had missed out by arriving halfway through the government’s term, long after all the committees had been doled out and alliances between new MPs had been forged. The thrill of her by-election victory soon faded. The most exciting part of being an MP was campaigning to get the job. As this election drew closer, she’d helped prepare policies for the near-certainty of power. Her excitement had been dampened by the conviction that she would not be re-elected.

Yet here she was. Was there any feeling better than getting something you’d long since given up on? She couldn’t explain to Andrew how exhilarating this job was, how it made sense of everything she’d done up to this point in her life, how she was living in every moment and couldn’t wait to get out of bed in the morning. She spotted the Prime Minister’s Press Secretary.

‘Would you like me to introduce you to Alastair?’

Sarah watched her guest gladhanding, greasing. It was funny, she reflected, that in all of their conversations, neither she nor Nick had once mentioned Andy . . . she meant Andrew .

Her new office would be ready tomorrow. The Home Secretary had assured Sarah that her concerns about penal reform were shared at cabinet level. Her appointment had created little waves of approval in the liberal press and drew barbed comments about needle exchanges in prisons from The Times and Telegraph . But prisons were low-profile and Sarah was young. She was not being touted as a high-flyer, yet. Even if she did the job well, she couldn’t expect to get into the top team before the next general election. When she was more than likely to lose her seat.

At least the media no longer had her tagged as Jasper March’s totty. Jasper, having lost to a Liberal Democrat, was one of yesterday’s men. He would have to bugger a dozen blokes on Brighton Beach in broad daylight before he saw his name in the tabloids again.

‘So you’ll be spending the next few months slogging round Her Majesty’s high-security hotels, eh?’ Andrew said. ‘Not my idea of fun.’

‘As long as I don’t run into any more old boyfriends,’ Sarah said.

‘Alastair said something about a party for donors at Number Ten.’

‘Are you a donor?’ Sarah asked, surprised. At university, Andrew was always known for being tight with his money.

‘No, but he assumed I was, since you were giving me tea on the terrace. How much would I have to give to get the big invites?’

‘Ten grand is the smallest sum that would get their attention. You’d have to hint it was a down payment while you waited to see if the new government delivers on its promise. But do you like all that rubbing shoulders stuff? I run a mile from fundraising events.’

‘Business is business. Liking’s got nothing to do with it.’

Sarah had a meeting to go to. Visitors weren’t allowed to walk around the Commons unescorted, so she saw Andrew out of the building.

‘Let’s do dinner next time,’ he suggested.

‘As long as you don’t mind eating late. Lots of legislating to do. By the way, what job were you going to offer me, had I not won? I’m curious.’

‘It hardly matters now,’ Andrew replied. ‘I never worked out a title. Head of Public Relations might have done it.’

‘I don’t know anything about PR,’ Sarah protested.

‘Don’t underestimate yourself. I suspect you can do anything you turn your mind to. And thanks for giving me Gill Temperley’s number.’

‘Did you get on with her?’

‘I did. She’s weighing up offers, but reckons she’ll have a lot of time on her hands now her party’s out of power. She might be able to give me a couple of days a week to do the job I wanted you to do.’

The glint in Andrew’s eyes indicated that he hoped for more than work from Gill. Sarah wondered if the Tory MP was interested. Gill had scraped back into office, but had already made it clear that she wouldn’t be seeking a shadow cabinet post. Like most members of the last government, she would want to make money, catch up on the opportunities missed during eighteen years of power.

Sarah and Andrew exchanged pecks on the cheek. Andrew hailed a taxi. Sarah went back inside to meet a prospective secretary. Replacing Clare was her top priority. Sarah used to share her with her Nottingham East counterpart, but Clare had managed to get herself elected in what had hitherto been a safe Tory seat. Now that she was a junior minister, Sarah needed somebody full time. She would have to delegate nearly all of her constituency case work. The person she was about to see had short, blonde hair, blue eyes and a weak chin. He came highly recommended by his former boss, who had lost his seat.

‘I’m not a Tory,’ was the first thing Hugh Race told her.

‘So your reference says.’

‘And I’m not gay.’

‘I wouldn’t mind if you were. It might even be an advantage.’

‘I only say that because I know you’re aware of my previous employer’s . . . predilections, and I didn’t want you to think I got the job because there was anything going on.’

‘You want to follow a career path in Parliament because you’re more interested in government than you are in party politics. That’s fine. My last secretary was a candidate and she hardly got any work done in the last eight weeks. So there’s a big backlog and I need somebody who can catch up quickly, who can make minor decisions independently. According to Jasper, you’re very good at that.’

‘Mr March was a very good employer. He made my duties clear. I’d never take on anything that was properly a member’s remit.’

Sarah wondered whether Hugh would take charge of her, rather than the other way round. Good secretaries were hard to find, especially now, with all the new MPs sloshing about the house. Hugh was easy on the eye, too, good looking in a pale, effete way. He could be one of Gill Temperley’s ‘researchers’.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll put you on the same salary scale you were on with Jasper. Three months’ probation and no hard feelings if either of us wants to back out at the end of it. How does that sound?’

‘Excellent,’ Hugh said. ‘When do you want me start?’

Sarah pointed at the two bin bags full of mail waiting for attention.