Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles 4)

“I’m rather hoping that eleven of them will feel the same way as you do.”

“Ah, that’s who it’s aimed at,” said Sir John. “How slow of me.”

Giles’s second surprise came when they drew up outside the European Parliament and he

was met by a large throng of officials, journalists and photographers, all waiting to greet the keynote speaker. Sebastian leaped out of the front seat and opened the back door for Giles, something he’d never done before.

The President of the European Parliament, Gaetano Martino, stepped forward and shook hands with Giles, before introducing him to his team. On the way to the conference hall, Giles met several other leading European political figures, all of whom wished him luck—and they weren’t referring to the speech.

“If you’ll be kind enough to wait here,” said the president after they’d climbed up on to the stage, “I’ll make some opening remarks and then hand over to you.”

Giles had gone over his speech one last time on the plane, making only one or two small emendations, and when he finally handed it back to Sebastian he almost knew it by heart. Giles peeped through a chink in the long black curtains to see a thousand leading Europeans waiting to hear his views. His last speech in Bristol during the general election campaign had been attended by an audience of thirty-seven, including Griff, Gwyneth, Penny, Miss Parish and Miss Parish’s cocker spaniel.

Giles stood nervously in the wings as he listened to Mr. Martino describe him as one of those rare politicians who not only spoke their mind, but didn’t allow the latest opinion poll to be their moral compass. He could almost hear Griff saying “Hear, hear,” in disapproving tones.

“… and we are about to be addressed by the next prime minister of Great Britain. Ladies and gentlemen, Sir Giles Barrington.”

Sebastian appeared at Giles’s side, handed him his speech and whispered, “Good luck, sir.”

Giles made his way to the center of the platform to prolonged applause. Over the years he had become used to the flashbulbs of over-enthusiastic photographers and even the whirr of television cameras, but he’d never experienced anything quite like this. He placed his speech on the lectern, took a step back and waited until the audience had settled.

“There are only a few moments in history,” began Giles, “that shape the destiny of a nation, and Britain’s decision to apply for membership of the Common Market must surely be one of them. Of course, the United Kingdom will continue to play a role on the world stage, but it has to be a realistic role, one that has come to terms with the fact that we no longer rule an Empire on which the sun never sets. I suggest that the time has come for Britain to take on the challenge of that new role alongside new partners, working together as friends, with past animosities consigned to history. I never want to see Britain involved in another European war. The finest youth of too many nations have spilled their blood on European soil, and not just in the last fifty years, but for the past thousand. Together we must make it possible for European wars to be found only on the pages of history books, where our children and grandchildren can read about the mistakes we made, and not repeat them.”

With each new wave of applause, Giles relaxed a little more, so that by the time he came to his peroration, he felt the whole room was under his spell.

“When I was a child, Winston Churchill, a true European, visited my school in Bristol to present the prizes. I didn’t win one, about the only thing I have in common with the great man”—this was greeted by loud laughter—“but it was because of his speech that day that I went into politics, and it was because of my experience in the war that I joined the Labor Party. Sir Winston said these words: ‘Our nation today faces another of those great moments in history when the British people may once again be asked to decide the fate of the free world.’ Sir Winston and I may be from different parties, but on that we would undoubtedly agree.”

Giles looked up at the packed gathering, his voice rising with every sentence.

“We in this hall today may be from different nations, but the time has come for us to work together as one, not in our own selfish interests, but in the interests of generations yet unborn. Let me end by saying, whatever the future might hold for me, you can be assured that I will dedicate myself to that cause.” Giles took a pace back as everyone in the room rose, and it was several minutes before he was allowed to leave the stage, and even then he was surrounded by parliamentarians, officials and well-wishers as he made his way out of the chamber.

“We’ve got about an hour before we have to be back at the airport,” said Sebastian, trying to appear calm. “Is there anything you need me to do?”

“Find a phone so we can call Griff, and see if there’s been any early reaction to the speech back home. I want to be sure this isn’t all just a mirage,” Giles said between shaking hands and thanking people for their good wishes. He even signed the occasional autograph; another first.

“The Palace Hotel is on the other side of the road,” said Sebastian. “We could phone the office from there.”

Giles nodded, as he continued his slow progress. It was another twenty minutes before he was back on the steps of the parliament saying good-bye to the president.

He and Sebastian quickly crossed the wide boulevard and made their way into the relative calm of the Palace Hotel. Sebastian gave the number to a receptionist who dialed London and when she heard a voice on the other end of the line said, “I’ll just put you through, sir.”

Giles picked up the phone to be greeted by Griff’s voice. “I’ve just been watching the six o’clock news on the BBC,” he said. “You’re the lead story. The phone hasn’t stopped ringing with people wanting a piece of you. When you get back to London, there’ll be a car waiting at the airport to take you straight to ITV, where Sandy Gall will interview you on the late night news, but don’t hang about, because the BBC want you to talk to Richard Dimbleby on Panorama at ten thirty. The press like nothing more than an outsider making a late run. Where are you now?”

“I’m just about to set off for the airport.”

“Couldn’t be better. Phone me the moment you land.”

Giles put the phone down and grinned at Sebastian. “We’ll need a taxi.”

“I don’t think so,” said Sebastian. “The ambassador’s car has just arrived, and it’s parked outside waiting to take us back to the airport.”

As the two of them made their way through the hotel foyer, a man thrust out his hand and said, “Congratulations, Sir Giles. A bravura performance. Let’s hope it tips the balance.”

“Thank you,” said Giles, who could see the ambassador standing by the car.

“My name is Pierre Bouchard. I am the deputy president of the European Economic Community.”

“Of course,” said Giles, pausing to shake hands. “I’m aware, Monsieur Bouchard, of all the tireless work you’ve done to assist Britain with its application to become a full Member of the EEC.”