A Woman's Place (19 page)

The manager glanced at Jayanti's retreating back, waited till the door clanged shut, shrugged, and tossed Betts over a couple of free packets.

‘Minister? I have your draft diary for next week. If you'd kindly glance through it…?'

Elaine finished wiping off the television make-up. ‘The worst thing about breakfast TV is having to rise at six o'clock and be bright and cheery when the world at large feels like death warmed up, but it does impress the electors,' she commented. ‘The best is having a complete make-over at a time when I can't see straight. But today they overdid it.'

Fiona Murray waited quietly. She had expected a promotion after two years in charge of a minister's office at the same junior level and felt put out, to her own discomfort, at having a woman boss instead. The senior ranks of the Civil Service were still predominantly male: status and praise for an ambitious woman official such as herself would be earned by coping well with a male master, the more difficult and macho the better. To be bag-carrier to another woman was like wearing vanishing
cream.

Elaine flicked through the pink pages, consulted her pocket diary and exclaimed in anger and despair, ‘But I said I couldn't do the Frost show! It's a Sunday, which means I lose my only part-day off; and it's in London, so not worth going home again. And it ought to be the Secretary of State doing it – a long prime-time interview, on all aspects of policy –'

‘I think he feels the same way as you do about his Sundays, Minister,' Fiona remarked delicately.

Elaine chewed her lip. ‘And I thought I asked for a pre-meeting before next week's nurses' conference – or am I to go straight in without a moment's reflection on what I'm to say?'

‘There's not really any time. Your diary's rather full. But officials will brief you the day before, if you wish.'

‘That'll give me no time to change anything. I'll be making your speech, not mine.' It couldn't be helped: as a newcomer Elaine was keenly aware of her lack of expertise to argue with staffers for whom detailed policy was meat and drink. Yet she was troubled that without a considerable effort she would become merely their mouthpiece. Perhaps that was the intention. ‘Will there be questions after? Better keep them to a minimum.'

‘It might help, Minister, if you did feel able to spend the occasional weekend in London. There are still many engagements here that you turn down. And although Mr Harrison has a London seat he is not always … ah … available for duty.'

I am not standing in for that lazy bugger any longer
, reflected Elaine grimly.
I am certainly not going to let down my constituents in order to cover for him
. She wondered whether to voice her mutiny aloud, glanced at Fiona's composed face with its disciplined superiority and thought better of it.

‘I think I'm going to minute the Secretary of State,' Elaine decided at last. ‘My diary's crackers; by the time I'm driven back to my flat on Thursday nights I've done sixty solid hours, not counting the boxes, with another couple of fifteen-hour days on Friday and Saturday, and you're planning to bag Sundays too. I'll ask his permission to cut down a bit.'

Fiona maintained her diplomatic silence. Elaine sensed her disapproval and threw the papers down with a weary gesture.

‘Don't you see? It's not on. I'll crack up, or lose my cool in public. Or get fed up. Worst of all, I'll start making mistakes. Nobody wants that, do they?'

The
Globe
was not one of the great movers and shakers, it had to be admitted. It drifted along in modest profit, aiming for readership gaps between the
Daily Mail, Daily Mirror
and the
Sun
, for those customers too simple-minded for the first, too right-wing for the second and two fastidious for the third. The
Globe
was keen on the environment and global warming and natural foods; in favour of a united Ireland by referendum and a disunited Europe by the same means. Articles abounded on staving off middle age, value for money in second-hand cars and home decoration. Not for the
Globe
exposed breasts and buttocks; their female readers would take offence.

Nevertheless the newspaper prided itself on sensing the pulse of the nation. More than once a campaign derided by rivals had taken off, resulting in increased circulation and delighted advertising agencies. The pressure was on its staff to come up with original ideas. That included Nick Thwaite, news editor, in the chair at the morning editorial conference, and Jim Betts, investigative reporter
extraordinaire
and Thwaite's deputy.

Suggestions of varied degrees of dottiness and gravity had been considered, sifted, rejected. The plague of newts in East Anglia had been overdone. The wilder sexual behaviour of MPs was old hat: either they'd been caught out or had learned to cover their tracks more effectively. Lady Bienvenida Buck was only of future interest if she
married
Max Clifford. Even ‘My son's father is a
priest' stories were ten a penny, though such peccadilloes went down well in the Irish edition. Betts reached for a cigarette; thoughtfully he examined the packet, then interrupted with a chortle.

‘I've got it: we ought to look at Asians in Britain,' he announced. ‘Bloody successful, lots of them. I read somewhere that they own ninety-five per cent of all the independent shops within the M25 area. Now they're moving on, multi-millionaires, coining it. And they want their share.'

Thwaite frowned; Betts cast a sidelong glance at his boss.

‘Oh, we'd dress it up, sure. Talk about their contribution to British life and so on. Praise them to the skies. Tell 'em we think it's about time their efforts were recognised, that sort of thing, so we'd get plenty of interviews, photos in their houses. That'd tell us a thing or two about lifestyles. Open a few eyes.'

He leaned forward and jabbed a finger in the air. ‘Corner shops, for instance. Young children work there. Late-night groceries. Cash and carries. Textile companies – bet we'll find a few sweatshops, no fire regulations, the odd illegal immigrant. Plenty of material for a hard-hitting newspaper. And we don't have to use it all at once, of course.'

‘You're an unpleasant bastard at times, Jim,' Thwaite parried mildly.

Betts was not to be deterred; his voice took on a self-righteous tone. ‘They come to this country but do they keep to the rules? Pay their taxes and National Insurance like the law says? What about all those relatives they employ – are they legit? How many jobs are they taking away from the rest of us? Lots of questions there.'

‘How would you avoid a whiff of racism, Jim? We have guidelines about that and the owner doesn't like it.'

Betts offered a cigarette. Thwaite hesitated, then accepted.

‘Not sure we'd want to, would we?'

She wished he wouldn't. Even the officials exchanged glances as Bampton lit his second cigar of the morning. If challenged, which nobody would dare do here, he would boast that he had given up cigarettes long ago. Nor was there much doubt, at least outwardly, about his rude health and energy. What a man did in private was of course his own business. But his puffing away so aggressively in the weekly departmental meeting attended by all Health Ministers, the whip, the special adviser, officials and PPSs including the new chap York was defiance of a high order.

A sudden twinge of dislike surfaced, but she pushed it away. She had no choice but to work with Bampton under whatever conditions he imposed. The issue she needed to raise with him was nothing to do with his actions but her own.

Elaine waited until the meeting had drawn to its close, then placed herself squarely in front of her boss.

‘Could I have a moment, Ted?'

Bampton turned impatiently to his junior Minister. She had spoken softly but her hand rested on his arm.

‘I've got a briefing in a minute for tomorrow's debate. You know we lost another vote in the Lords last night, drat 'em. It'll have to be quick.'

Elaine pushed away the reflection that it would have cost nothing had her boss's reaction been more kindly or courteous. Of the three Ministers at DHWF only Harrison knew how to be utterly charming. It was a talent Bampton professed to despise. Given Harrison's example, he had some justification.

She hesitated till the room was otherwise empty. He looked at his watch.

‘Go on. What's the problem?'

‘Well – there are two things, Ted. I put a note in your box over the weekend about diaries – did you see it?'

Bampton was shuffling through papers and did not look up. It was impossible to tell whether he had seen the note and ignored it, or had failed to read it. Bampton was not noted for his assiduity.

She ploughed on. ‘First, I am getting overwhelmed by invitations: to open new hospital units, to speak at conferences, do TV, attend charity events linked with our department. All are accompanied by advice that everyone will be terribly upset if I refuse, but the result is that I'm clocking on fiendishly long weeks and my constituency is suffering.'

Not to speak of my personal life
, she did not add. While she adhered willingly to Bampton's instruction about no outside activity during the week she did resent having virtually no free time. She and George Horrocks, with much manipulation of diaries, had managed to see each other just twice in the weeks since Christmas; and while Karen kept in touch by phone, usually when funds were low, mother and daughter had not been together at all, despite living barely a mile apart. If she didn't make a stand she would be working every waking hour. That could not be right.

Bampton sucked his teeth. ‘You said two things,' he grunted.

‘The point is, Ted, that I wondered whether it would be all right to start saying no – even if there's a fuss. And some of these events are more appropriate for a senior Minister – Derek, or yourself. They only ask for me because it'll attract loads of publicity if I go. But…'

She stopped, aware of her own tactlessness in hinting that her presence was preferred to her boss's. Except that it was so, and beyond her control, and becoming hateful.

‘Just tell 'em to sod off, Elaine.'

She swallowed. She was perfectly capable of doing that but, whereas a Secretary of State could withstand accusations of being high-handed and arrogant, her career was still too precarious. A male Minister might face less relentless scrutiny: fewer journalists would be waiting to catch him out. Men were not tall poppies as women Ministers were. It was tough at times being a woman. Maybe that was also the root of the second problem.

‘The other thing is, Ted … this is hard to put, but when you're handing around the projects during a departmental meeting, as we've just had, well, I don't seem to get very much. We have three Ministers here, not two. I am a hard worker. Maybe if I had more to do within the department, or the Commons, I'd have more reason to refuse a visit to Little Puddlecombe or wherever. Even the officials recognise that our job here comes first.'

Bampton looked at her as if she were mad. ‘You've just been telling me you've got too much on your plate, you can't cope, and now you say I don't give you enough? I wish you'd make your mind up, Elaine. Anyway, I'm busy, even if you're not. If you want a move, speak to the Chief Whip. Other than that, talk to your diary secretary. It's your job to sort her out, not mine.'

With that he swept up his papers and walked out.

‘I do hope I haven't kept you waiting.'

It occurred to Anthony, even as he shook hands with his father and kissed his mother on the cheek, that there ought to be a language of greater intimacy to use to one's parents. He hoped his smile was welcoming.

‘Not at all. Anyway it was so interesting to sit here.' As his mother moved he caught her favourite fragrance, faint and old-fashioned, the same she had used for years. At school there had been no women other than distant chambermaids and the housemaster's wife, who smelled of soap and clean linen. Karen, when she bothered, sported a distinctive sexy perfume, while Fred had been trying out different kinds of aftershave recently, to the mocking comments of his fellow bathroom users. His father smelled of his pipe.

‘I suppose congratulations are in order? You'll have to explain to us what exactly a PPS is, and what you'll be doing.'

Mr York was pleased at what was undoubtedly his son's promotion, but it would be a lot
easier if the title were more obvious.

Anthony demurred: ‘It means I'm a general gofer, that's all, in the new Department of Health, Welfare and the Family. An extra pair of hands, though I don't get to do much in public except hover. You'll probably see my back on TV when my Minister's being pursued by the press.'

It was nice to know his parents noticed the details of his life. Anthony, however, was aware that his elevation served mainly to swell the ranks of the obedient. His veiled threat to withhold his vote so early in his career must have had a lot to do with his being drawn quickly into the spider's web. From here onwards his role, in a small way, would include persuading other potential rebels that the government's agenda was both worthy and workable.

For a moment the Yorks stood, not touching, heads uplifted, and absorbed the magnificence of Central Lobby. Then Anthony took his mother's arm and propelled both parents gently down the corridor into the Lower Waiting Hall, past the bust of a preoccupied Disraeli and a cheerful policeman on what was effectively points duty. They turned right under the Gothic arch and entered the Strangers' Dining Room.

A high-ceilinged but small room, walls oak-panelled to waist height, then covered with lurid Pugin wallpaper, it had an intimidating air. Each chair sported the portcullis stamped in gold on the green leather. Square tables too small for the plates, cutlery, ashtrays, flower vases, cruets, menus and other paraphernalia were crowded a little too close. On the long wall hung
The Other Painting
, by Andrew Festing, paid for in 1986 by 156 cross Honourable Members omitted from the official picture painted by June Mendoza, which also hung in the room at the far end. Given the crisp figures captured by Festing relaxing in the Library and bars, so different from the watery Mendoza, Anthony knew who had obtained the better bargain for posterity.