First Among Equals (45 page)

Three hours and
twenty minutes passed before the committee issued a one-line press release.
“Mr. Raymond Gould has been invited to lead the Party at the forthcoming
General Election.”

The press was
met by a unified voice once the meeting was over. As the editor of the Sunday
Express wrote in the center page of the paper, “The Labour Party, in selecting
their Leader, resembled nothing less than the old-fashioned magic circle of the
Tory Party in their determination to prove unity.” The only leak he had managed
to gather from the meeting was that “Raymond Gould’s acceptance speech had
impressed everyone present.”

But the editor
went on to point out that if the Labour Party should lose the General Election,
Raymond Gould could be the shortest-serving Leader in its history, as tinder
Standing Order 5(4) of the Constitution his appointment must be confirmed by
the delegates at the next Party conference in October.

It had been two
hours before Raymond was able to leave the committee room and escape the press.
When he eventually got away he went straight to Westminster Hospital to visit
the Prime Minister. The operation had visibly aged him. He was in good spirits,
but he admitted that he was glad not to be facing a grueling election campaign.
After he had congratulated Raymond on his new appointment he went on to say,
“You’re dining with the Queen tonight?”

“Yes, to
celebrate her sixty-fifth birthday,” said Raymond.

“You must be
prepared for more than that,” said the Prime Minister gravely, and he then
revealed the private conversation that he had had with the monarch the previous
day.

“And will her
decision depend on the three people in that room?”

“I suspect it
will.

“And where do
you stand?”

“That’s no
longer relevant. It’s more important what you consider is best for the
country.”

For the first
time Raymond felt like the Leader of the Party.

Elizabeth
straightened Simon’s white tie and took a pace back to look at him.

“Well, at least
you took like a Prime Minister,” she said, smiling.

Her husband
checked his watch. Still a few minutes to spare before he needed to be at the
Speaker’s private apartments – not that he was willing to risk being late for
this particular birthday celebration.

Elizabeth
helped him on with his overcoat and after a search realized he had lost another
pair of gloves.

“I do hope you
can take care of the nation’s belongings a little better than you do your own,”
she sighed.

“I’m sure I’ll
find it harder to lose a whole country,” said Simon.

“Do remember
that Raymond Gould will be trying to assist you,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes, that’s
true. I only wish I was fighting the present Prime Minister.”

“Why?” she
said.

“Because Gould
was born into the wrong party,” said Simon as he kissed his wife and walked
toward the front door, “and a lot of voters are coming to the same conclusion.”

The policeman
at the gates of New Palace Yard saluted as Simon was driven into the courtyard
and dropped at the members’ entrance. He glanced at his watch again as he
strode through the swinging doors: ten minutes to spare. The Commons had the
feel of a funeral
parlor,
with most of the members
already back in their constituencies preparing for the General Election.

Simon peeked
into the smoking room. A few members were scattered around, mainly from safe
seats that they felt did not need nursing. Pimkin, surrounded by his usual
cronies, hailed his Leader. His face lit up when he saw Simon formally dressed.
“I say, waiter, mine’s a double gin and tonic.” His companions duly laughed.
Simon responded by asking the barman to give Mr. Pimkin a large gin and tonic
and to charge it to his account.

Simon spent a
few minutes moving from group to group, chatting to members about how the
election might go in their constituencies. Pimkin assured Simon that the Tories
would win easily. “I wish everyone was as confident as you are,” Simon told him
before leaving for the Speaker’s private apartments as Pimkin ordered another
gin.

Simon strolled
along the library corridor, lined from floor to ceiling with venerable old journals
of the House, until he reached the Speaker’s private rooms. When he came to the
grand stairway dominated by Speaker Addington’s portrait, he was met by the
Speaker’s train bearer clad in white tie and black tails.

“Good evening,
Mr. Kerslake,” he said and led Simon down the corridor into the ante chamber
where a relaxed Charles Hampton stood ready to receive his guests. Charles
shook Simon’s hand formally. Simon thought how well – is colleague looked
compared with the way he looked ir, those days following the Leadership battle.
Both men were still ill at ease with each other.

“Gould did
himself proud today,” said Charles. Simon shifted uncomfortably from foot to
foot.

“Wouldn’t make
a bad Prime Minister,”

Charles added.
His face was unreadable.

Simon couldn’t
decide if the statement had been made matter-of-factly or if his old rival
simply still harbored a desire to see his downfall.

He was about to
test him when the train bearer announced, “The Right Honorable Raymond Gould.”

Charles went
over to greet his guest. “Many congratulations on your election as Leader,”
were his first words. “With all you’ve been through this week, you must be
exhausted.”

“Exhilarated,
to be honest,” replied Raymond. Raymond moved toward Simon, who, in turn,
offered his congratulations.

The two men
shook hands, and for a moment they looked like medieval knights who had lowered
their visors before the final joust. The unnatural silence that followed was
broken by Charles.

“Well I hope
it’s going to be a good, clean fight,” he said, as if he were the referee. Both
men laughed.

The train
bearer came to the Speaker’s side to inform him that Her Majesty had left
Buckingham Palace and was expected in a few minutes. Charles excused himself,
while the two Leaders continued their conversation.

“Have you been
told the real reason why we are bidden this evening?” asked Rayrnond.

“Isn’t the
Queen’ sixty-fifth birthday enough?” inquired Simon.

“No, that’s
just an excuse for us to meet without suspicion. I think it might be helpful
for you to know that Her Majesty has a highly sensitive proposition to put to
us both.”

Simon listened
as Raymond revealed the substance of his discussion with the Prime Minister.

“It was
considerate of you to brief me,” was all Simon said after he had taken in the
effect such a decision might have on the General Election.

“I feel sure
it’s no more than you would have done in my position,” said Raymond.

Charles waited
in the entrance of the courtyard of the Speaker’s house to welcome the Queen.
It was only a few minutes before he spotted two motorcycle escorts entering the
gates of New Palace Yard, followed by the familiar maroon Rolls-Royce which
displayed no license plate. The tiny white fight in the center of its roof
blinked in the evening dusk. As soon as the car had come to a halt, a footman
leaped down and opened the door.

The Queen
stepped out, to be greeted by the commoner whom history had judged to be the
monarch’s man. She was dressed in a simple aqua cocktail dress. The only
jewelry she wore was a string of pearls and a small diamond brooch. Charles
bowed before shaking hands and taking his guest up the carpeted staircase to
his private apartments. Her two Party Leaders stood waiting to greet her. She
shook hands first with her new Labour Leader, the Right Honorable Raymond
Gould, congratulated him on his new appointment that afternoon and inquired how
the Prime Minister was faring. When she had listened intently to Raymond’s
reply, she shook hands with her Leader of the Opposition, the Right Honorable Simon
Kerslake, and asked how his wife was coping at Pucklebridge General Hospital.
Simon was always amazed by how much the Queen could recall from tier past
conversations, most of which never lasted for more than a few moments.

She took the
gin and tonic proffered her on a silver tray and began to look around the
magnificent room. “My husband and I are great admirers of the Gothic revival in
architecture, though, being infrequent visitors to Westminster, alas, we are
usually forced to view the better examples from inside railway stations or
outside cathedrals.”

The three men
smiled, and after a few minutes of light conversation Charles suggested they
adjourn to the state dining room, where four places were set out at a table
covered with silver that glittered in the candlelight.

They all waited
until the Queen was seated at the head of the table.

Charles had
placed Raymond on the Queen’s right and Simon on her left, while he took the
seat directly opposite her.

When the
champagne was served, Charles and his colleagues rose and toasted the Queen’s
health. She reminded them that her birthday was not for another two weeks and
remarked that she had twenty-four official birthday engagements during the
month, which didn’t include the private family celebrations. “I would happily
weaken, but the Queen Mother attended more functions for her ninetieth birthday
last year than I have planned for my sixty-fifth. I can’t imagine where she
gets the energy.”

“Perhaps she
would like to take my place in the election campaign,” said Raymond.

“Don’t suggest
it,” the Queen replied. “She would leap at the offer without a second thought.”

The chef had
prepared a simple dinner of smoked salmon followed by lamb in red wine and
aspic. His only flamboyant gesture was a birthday cake in the shape of a crown
resting on a portcullis of sponge. No candies were evident.

After the meal
had been cleared away and the cognac served, the servants left them alone. The
three men remained in a warm spirit until the Queen stopped proceedings
abruptly with a question that surprised only Charles.

She waited for
an answer.

No one spoke.

“Perhaps I
should ask you first,” said the Queen, turning to Raymond, “as you are standing
in for the Prime Minister.”

Raymond didn’t hesitate.
“I am in favor, ma’am,” he said quietly, “and I have no doubt it will meet the
approval of the nation.”

“Thank you,”
said the Queen. She next turned to Simon.

“I would also
support such a decision, Your Majesty,” he replied. “At heart I am a traditionalist,
but I confess that on this subject I would support what I think is described as
the modern approach.”

“Thank you,”
she repeated, her eyes finally resting on Charles Hampton.

“Against,
ma’am,” he said without hesitation, “but then I have never been a modern man.”

“That is no bad
thing in Mr. Speaker,” she said, and paused before adding,

“
but
as I seem to have a consensus from my Party Leaders, I
intend to go through with it. Some years ago I asked a former Lord Chancellor
to draw tip the necessary papers. He assured me then that if none of my
parliamentary Leaders was against the principle, the legislation could be
carried through while Parliament was still in session.”

“That is
correct, ma’am,” said Charles. “It would require two or three days at most if
all the preparations have already been completed. It’s only a matter of
proclamation to both Houses of Parliament; your decision requires no vote.”

“Excellera, Mr.
Speaker. Then the matter is settled.”

Prime
Minister k

H
ER MAJESTY’S PROCLAMATION was passed through the Lords and the
Commons.

When the
initial shock had been absorbed by the nation, the election carapaign once
again took over the front pages.

The first polls
gave the Tories a two-point lead. The press attributed this to the public’s
relative unfamiliarity with the new Labour Leader, but by the end of the first
week the Tories had slipped a point, while the press had decided that Raymond
Gould had begun his stewardship well.

“A week is a
long time in politics,” he quoted. “And there are still two to go.”

The pundits put
forward the theory that Raymond had increased his popularity during the first
week because of the extra coverage he had received as the new Leader of the
Labour Party. He warned the press department at Labour Party headquarters that
it might well be the shortest honeymoon on record, and they certairdy couldn’t
expect him to be treated like a bridegroom for the entire three weeks. The
first signs of a broken marriage came when the Department of Ernployment
announced that inflation had taken an upturn for the first time in nine months.

“And who has
been Chancellor for the last three years?” demanded Simon in that night’s
speech in Manchester.

Raymond tried
to dismiss the figures as a one-time monthly hiccough, but the next day Simon
was insistent that there was more bad news just around the comer. When the
Department of Trade announced the worst deficit in the balance of payments for
fourteen months, Simon took on the mantle of a prophet and the Tories edged
back into a healthy lead.

“Honeymoon,
broken marriage and divorce, all in a period oi fourteen days,” said Raymond
wryly. “What can happen in the last seven?”

“Reconciliation,
perhaps?” suggested Joyce.

For some time
the Social Democratic Party had considered Alec Pirnkin’s seat in Littlehampton
vulnerable. They had selected an able young candidate who had nursed the
constituency assiduously over the past three years and couldn’t wait to take on
Pimkin this time, Alec Pinikin eventually made an appearance in Littlehampton –
-only after the local chairman had tracked him down to his London flat to say
they were becoming desperate. The SDP yellow lines were almost as abundant on
the canvas returns as the Conservative blue ones, he warned.