“Your Majesty, this is your third visit to Barrington’s shipyard. You first came here as our Queen in 1939, when the company celebrated its centenary and my grandfather was chairman. You then visited again in 1942, to see for yourself the damage caused by the bombing raids during the war, and today you make a welcome return to launch a liner named after the home you have lived in for the past sixteen years. By the way, ma’am, should you ever need a room for the night”—Emma’s words were greeted with warm laughter—“we’ve got two hundred and ninety-two, though I feel I ought to point out that you’ve missed your chance of joining us on the maiden voyage, because we’re sold out.”
The crowd’s laughter and applause helped Emma relax and feel more confident.
“And can I add, ma’am, that your presence here today has made this an hysterical occasion—”
There was a gasp that turned into an embarrassed silence. Emma wished the ground would open up and swallow her, until the Queen Mother burst out laughing, and the whole crowd began to cheer and throw their caps into the air. Emma could feel her cheeks burning, and it was some time before she recovered sufficiently to say, “It is my privilege, ma’am, to invite you to name the MV Buckingham.”
Emma took a step back to allow the Queen Mother to take her place. This was the moment she had been dreading most. Ross Buchanan had once told her about a notorious occasion when everything had gone wrong and the ship had not only suffered a public humiliation, but crew and public alike had refused to sail on her, convinced that she was cursed.
The crowd fell silent once more, and waited nervously, the same fear passing through the minds of every worker in the yard as they looked up at the royal visitor. Several of the more superstitious of them, including Emma, crossed their fingers as the first chime of twelve rang out on the shipyard clock, and the lord lieutenant handed the bottle of champagne to the Queen Mother.
“I name this ship, the Buckingham,” she declared, “and may she bring joy and happiness to all who sail on her, and enjoy a long and prosperous life on the high seas.”
The Queen Mother raised the magnum of champagne, paused for a moment and then let go. Emma wanted to close her eyes as the bottle descended in a wide arc toward the ship. When it hit the hull, the bottle shattered into a hundred pieces, and champagne bubbles ran down the side of the ship as the crowd produced the loudest cheer of the day.
* * *
“I don’t see how that could have gone much better,” said Giles as the Queen Mother’s car drove out of the shipyard and disappeared.
“I could have done without the hysterical occasion,” said Emma.
“I don’t agree,” said Harry. “The Queen Mother clearly enjoyed your little faux pas, the workers will tell their grandchildren about it and for once you proved to be fallible.”
“That’s kind of you,” said Emma, “but we’ve still got a lot of work to do before the maiden voyage, and I can’t afford to have another hysterical moment,” she added as they were joined by her sister.
“I’m so glad I didn’t miss that,” said Grace. “But would it be possible for you not to choose term-time when you launch your next ship? And if I have a further piece of advice for my big sister: make sure you treat the maiden voyage as a celebration, a holiday, and not just another week at the office.” She kissed her brother and sister on both cheeks. “By the way,” she added, “I loved the hysterical moment.”
“She’s right,” said Giles as they watched Grace walk off toward the nearest bus stop, “you should enjoy every moment, because I can tell you I intend to.”
“You may not be able to.”
“Why not?”
“You could be a minister by then.”
“I’ve got to hold on to my seat, and the party’s got to win the election, before I can be a minister.”
“And when do you think the election will be?”
“If I had to guess, some time in October fairly soon after the party conferences. So you’re going to see a lot of me in Bristol over the next few weeks.”
“And Gwyneth, I hope.”
“You bet, although I’m rather hoping the baby will be born during the campaign. Worth a thousand votes, Griff tells me.”
“You’re a charlatan, Giles Barrington.”
“No, I’m a politician fighting a marginal seat, and if I win it, I think I just might make the Cabinet.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
45
GILES WAS PLEASANTLY surprised by how civilized the general election campaign turned out to be, not least because Jeremy Fordyce, his Conservative opponent, an intelligent young man from Central Office, never gave the impression that he really believed he could win the seat, and certainly didn’t involve himself in the sort of underhand practices Alex Fisher had engaged in when he was the candidate.
Reginald Ellsworthy, the perennial Liberal candidate, had only one aim, to increase his vote, and even Lady Virginia failed to land a blow, above or below the belt, possibly because she was still recovering from the knockout punch Emma had landed at the Barrington’s AGM.
So when the city clerk announced, “I, the returning officer for the constituency of Bristol Docklands, declare the total number of votes cast for each candidate to be as follows: