First Among Equals (22 page)

Charles
gradually became aware that it was possible for marriages to have been over for
years without outsiders knowing it. Certainly the old earl never found out,
because even on his deathbed he told Fiona to hurry up and produce an heir.

“Do you think
you’ll ever forgive me?”

Fiona once
asked Charles.

“Never,” he
replied, with a finality that encouraged no further discourse.

During the
three-week election campaign in Sussex they both went about their duties with a
professionalism that masked their true feelings.

“How is your
husband bearing up?” someone would inquire.

“Much enjoying
the campaign and looking for-ward to returning to Government,” said Fiona’s
stock reply.

“And how is
dear Lady Fiona?” Charles was continuously asked.

“Never better
than when she’s helping in the constituency,” was his.

On Sundays, at
one church after another, he read the lesson with confidence; she sang “Fight
the Good Fight” in a clear contralto.

The demands of
a rural constituency are considerably different from those of a city. Every
village, however small, expects the member to visit them and to recall the local
chairmen’s names.

But subtle
changes were taking place; Fiona no longer whispered the names in Charles’s
ear. Charles no longer turned to her for advice.

During the
campaign, Charles would ring the photographer on the local paper to discover
which events his editor had instructed him to cover that day.

With the list
of places and times in his hand, Charles would arrive on each occasion a few
minutes before the photographer. The Labour candidate complained officially to
the local editor that Mr. Hampton’s photograph was never out of the paper.

“If you were
present at these functions we would be only too happy to publish your photo,”
said the editor.

“But they never
invite me,” cried the Labour candidate.

They don’t
invite Hampton either, the editor wanted to say, but he somehow manages to be
there. It was never far from the editor’s mind that his proprietor was a Tory
peer, so he kept his mouth shut.

All the way up
to Election Day Charles and Fiona opened bazaars, attended dinners, drew
raffles and only stopped shor-t of kissing babies.

Once, when
Fiona asked him, Charles admitted that he hoped to be moved to the Foreign
Office as a Minister of State.

On the last day
of February they dressed in silence and went off to their local polls to vote.
The photographer was there on the steps to take their picture. They stood
closer together than they had for some weeks, looking like a happily married
couple, he in a dark suit, she in a dark suit.

Charles knew it
would be the main photograph on the front page of the Sussex Gazette the
following day as surely as he knew the Labour candidate would be relegated to a
hall’-column mention in the back, not far from the obituaries.

Charles
anticipated that by the time he amiived in the Town Hall the Conservative
majority in the House would already be assured. But it was not to be, and as
Friday morning dawned the result still hung in the balance.

Edward Heath
did not concede when the newscasters predicted he would fail to be given the
overall majority he needed.

Charles spent
the day striding around the Town Hall with an anxious look on his face. The
little piles of votes soon became larger, and it was obvious that he would hold
the seat with at least his usual 2 1,000 – or was it 22,000?-maj ority. He
never could remember the exact figure. But as the day progressed it became more
and more difficult to assess the national verdict.

The last result
came in from Northern Ireland a little after four o’clock that afternoon and a
BBC commentator announced:

LA.-BOUR 301

CONSURVATI11F 296

LIBFRAL 14

ULSTER
UNIONISTS I I

SCOTTISH
NATIONALIST 7

WL
,I.SH
NATIONALISTS 2

O
,rf
– ERS 4

Ted Heath
invited the Liberal Leader to join him at Downing Street for talks in the hope
that they could form a coalition. The Liberals demanded a firm commitment to
electoral reform to help the small parties. Heath knew he could never get his
backbenchers to deliver. On Monday morning he told the Queen in her drawing
room at Buckingham Palace that he was unable to form a government. She called
for the Labour Leader, Harold Wilson. He accepted her commission and drove back
to Downing Street to enter the front door. Heath left by the back.

By Tuesday
afternoon every member, having watched the drama unfold, had returned to
London. Raymond had increased his majority and now hoped that the Prime
Minister had long since forgotten his resignation and would offer him a job.

Charles, still
unsure of the exact majority by which he had won, drove back to London,
resigned to returning to Opposition. The one compensation was that he would be
reinstated on the board of Hampton’s, where the knowledge he had gained in
Parliament as a Minister of Trade and Industry could only be of value.

Simon left the
Home Office on March 1,

1974. Ronnie
Nethercote immediately invited him to return to the board of Nethercote and
Company at five thousand pounds a year, which even Elizabeth acknowledged as a
generous gesture.

It did little
to lift Simon’s spirits, for an empty red box was all he had to show for nearly
ten years as a
member
of Parliament.

Simon had gone
from office to office saying goodbye, first to the senior and then to the
junior civil servants, until only the cleaner
,,,
were
left.

They all seemed
certain he would return soon.

“H
IS DIARY LOOKS RATHER FULL at the moment, Mr. Charles.”

“Well, as soon
as it’s convenient,” Charles replied. He held the phone as he heard the pages
being turned.

“March twelfth at ten-thirty, Mr. Charles?”

“But that’s
nearly two weeks away,” he said, irritated.

“Mr. Spencer
has only just returned from the States and...”

“How about a lunch, then-at my club?”

Charles
interrupted.

“That couldn’t
be until after March twelfth...”

“Very well,
then,” said Charles.
“March twelfth at ten-thirty.”

During the
fourteen-day wait Charles had ample time to become frustrated by his seemingly
aimless role in Opposition.

No car came to
pick him up and whisk him away to an office where real work had to be done.
Worse, no one sought his opinion any longer on matters that affected the nation.
He was going through a sharp bout of what is known as “ex-Minister’s blues.”

He was relieved
when the day for the appointment with Derek Spencer at last came around. But
although he arrived on time he was kept waiting for ten minutes before the chairman’s
secretary took him in.

“Good to see
you after so long,” said Derek Spencer, corning around his desk to greet him. “
it
must be nearly six years since you’vc visited the bank.”

“Yes, I suppose
it is,” said Charles. “But looking around the old place, it feels like
yesterday. You’ve been fully occupied, no doubt?”

“Like a (4binet
Minister, but I hope with better results.”

They both
laughed.

“Of course I’ve
kept in touch with what’s been happening at the bank.”

“Have you?”
said Spencer.

“Yes, I’ve read
all the reports you’ve sent out over the past years, not to mention the
Financial Times’s coverage.”

“I hope you
feel we’ve progressed in your absence.”

“Oh. Yes.” said
Charles, still standing.

“Very impressive.”

“Well, now what
can I do for you?” asked the chairman, returning to his seat.

“Simple
enough,” said Charles, finally taking an unoffered chair. “I wish to be
reinstated on the board.”

There was a
long s1ence.

“Well, it’s not
quite that easy, Charles. I’ve just recently appointed two new directors and...”

“Of course it’s
that easy,” said Charles, his tone changing. “You have only to propose my name
at the next meeting and it will go through, especially as you haven’t a member
of the family on the board at the present time.”

“We have, as a
matter of fact. Your broth-er, the Earl of Bridgewater has become a
nonexecutive director.”

“What?” said
Chades.
“Rupert never told me. Neither did you.”

“True, but
things have changed since...”

“Nothing has
changed except my estimation of the value of your word,” said Charles, suddenly
realizing that Spenci – r had never intended he should return to the board.
“You gave me your assurance...”

“I won’t be
spoken
io
like this in my own office.”

“If you’re not
careful, the next place I shall do it will be in your boardroom. Now, will you
honor your undertaking or not?”

“I don’t have
to li.iten to threats from you, Hampton. Get out of my offict before I have you
removed. I can assure you that you will never sit on the board again as long as
I’m chairman.”

Charles turned
and marched out, slamming the door as he left. He wasn’t sure with whom to
discuss the problem, and returned immediately to Eaton Square to
Consider
a plan of campaign.
tl
“What brings you home in the middle of the afternoon?” asked Fiona.

Charles
hesitated, considered the question and then joined his wife in the kitchen and
told her everything that had happened at the bank. Fiona continued to grate
some cheese as she listened to her husband.

“Well, one
thing is certain,” she said, not having spoken for several minutes, but
delighted that Charles had confided in her. “After that fracas, you can’t both
be on the board.”

“So what do you
think I ought to do, old girl?”

Fiona smiled;
it was the first time he had called her that for nearly two years. “Every man has
his secrets,” she said. “I wonder what Mr. Spencer’s
are?
”

“He’s such a
dull rnlidlalle-ciass fellow, I doubt that...”

“I’ve just had
a letter frorn Hampton’s Bank,” interrupted Fioi
)a
.

“What about?”

“Only a
shareholders’ circular. It seems Margaret Trubshaw i
– ,
retiring after twelve years as the board secretary. Rumor has it she wanted to
do five more years, but the chairman has someone else in mind. I think I might
have lunch with her.”

Charles
returned his wife’s smile.

Ronnie
Nethercote had made Simon the personnel director for a company that now had
nearly two hundred employees.

Simon enjoyed
negotiating with the trade union
,,,
at a level he had
not experienced before. Ronnie made it clear how he would have dealt with the
“Commie bastards” who had caused the fall of the Tory Government given half a
chance.

“You would have
lasted about a week in the House of Commons,” Simon told him.

“After a -week
with those windbags I would have been happy to return to the real world.”

Simon smiled.
Ronnie, like so many others, imagined all members of Parliament were
unemployable-except the one he knew.

Raymond waited
until the last Government appointment was announced before he finally gave up
any hope of a job. Several leading political journalists pointed out that he
had been left on the back benches while lesser men had been given Government
posts, but it was scant comfort. Raymond reluctantly returned to his legal
office to continue his practice at the bar.

The Prime
Minister, Harold Wilson, starting his third administration, made it clear that
he would govern as long as possible before calling an election. But few members
believed that he could hold out for more than a matter of months.

Fiona returned
home after her lunch with Miss Trubshaw with a large Cheshire cat grin on her
face. It remained firmly in place during the hours she had to wait for Charles
to get back from the Commons after the last division.

“You look
pleased with yourself,” said Charles, shaking out his umbrella before closing
the front door. His wife stood in the hallway, her arms crossed.

“How has your
day been?” she asked.

“So-so,” said
Charles, wanting to hear the news.
“But what about you?”

“Oh, pleasant enough.
I had coffee with your mother this
mornuig. She seems very well. A little cold in the head, otherwise – 2’

“To hell with my mother.
How did your lunch with Miss
Trubshaw go?”

“I wondered how
long it would take you to get around to that.”

She continued
to wait just as long as it took for them to walk into the drawing room and sit
down. “After seventeen years as secretary to your father and twelve years as
secretary to the board, there isn’t much Miss Trubshaw doein’t know about
Hampton’s or its present chairman,” Fiona began.

“So what did
you discover?”

“Which do you
want to hear about first, the name of his mistress or the number of his Swiss
bank account?”

Fiona revealed
everything she had learned over her two-hour lunch, explaining that Miss
Trubshaw usually only drank fortified wine, but on this occasion she had downed
most of a vintage bottle of Pommard. Charles’s smile grew wider and wider as
each fact came pouring out. To Fiona, he looked like a boy who has been given a
big box of chocolates and keeps discovering another layer underneath the one
he’s already eaten.

“Well done, old
girl,” he said when she had come to the end of her tale.

“But how do I
get all the proof I need?”