First Among Equals

By the time they reached item seven on the agenda Charles had made up his mind. Derek Spencer opened a discussion on the proposed loans to Mexico and Poland, and most of the board members agreed with him that the bank should participate in one but not risk both.

Cherles’s thoughts, however, were not in Mexico City or Warsaw. They were far nearer home and when the chairman called for a vote, Charles didn’t register.

“Mexico or Poland, Charles. Which of the two do you favor?”

“Heath,” he replied.

“I beg your pardon,” said Derek Spencer.

Charles snapped back from Westminster to Cheapside to find everyone around the boardroom table staring at him. With the air of a man who had been giving the matter considerable thought Charles said firmly, “Mexico,” and added, “The great difference between the two countries can best be gauged by their attitudes to repayment. Mexico might not want to repay, but Poland won’t be able to, so why not limit our risks and back Mexico? If it comes to litigation I’d prefer to be against someone who won’t pay rather than someone who can’t.” The older members round the table nodded in agreement; the right son of Bridgwater was sitting on the board.

When the meeting was over Charles joined his colleagues for lunch in the directors’ dining room. On the walls hung two Hogarths, a Brueghel, a Goya, and a Rembrandt that could distract even the most indulgent gourmet: just another reminder of his great-grandfather’s ability to select winners. Charles did not wait to make a decision between the Cheddar and the Stilton as he wanted to be back in the Commons for question time.

On arrival at the House he immediately made his way to the smoking room, long regarded by the Tories as their preserve. There in the deep leather armchairs and cigar-laden atmosphere the talk was entirely of who would be Sir Alec’s successor.

Charles could not avoid overhearing Pimkin’s high-pitched voice. “As Edward Heath is Shadow Chancellor while we debate the Finance Bill on the floor of the House, it is he who is bound to be the center of attention.”

Later that afternoon Charles returned to the Commons Chamber. He wanted to observe Heath and his Shadow team deal with the Government’s amendments one by one.

He was about to leave the Chamber when Raymond Could rose to move an amendment. Charles listened with grudging admiration as Raymond’s intellectual grasp and force of argument easily compensated for his lack of oratorial skill. Although Gould was a cut above the rest of his intake on the Labour benches he didn’t frighten Charles. Twelve generations of shrewd business acumen had kept large parts of Leeds in the hands of the Bridgwater family without the likes of Raymond Gould even being aware of it.

Charles took supper in the Members’ Dining Room that night and sat at the large table in the center of the room frequented by Tory back-benchers. There was only one topic of conversation and as the same two names kept emerging it was obvious that it was going to be a very close run thing.

When Charles arrived back at his Eaton Square home after the ten o’clock division Fiona was already tucked up in bed reading Philip Larkin’s The Whitsum Weddings.

“They let you out early tonight.”

“Not too bad,” said Charles, and began regaling her with how he had spent his day, before disappearing into the bathroom.

If Charles imagined he was cunning, his wife, Lady Fiona, only daughter of the Duke of Falkirk, was in a different league. She and Charles had been selected for each other at an early age and neither had questioned or doubted the wisdom of the choice. Although Charles had squired numerous girlfriends before their marriage in between he had a

lways assumed he would return to Fiona. Charles’s grandfather always maintained that the aristocracy was becoming far too lax and sentimental about marriage. “Women,” he declared, “are for bearing children and ensuring a continuation of the male line.” The old earl became even more staid in his convictions when he was made aware that Rupert showed little interest in the opposite sex, and was rarely to be found in the company of women. Fiona would never have dreamed of disagreeing with the old man to his face as she was determined that it would be a son of hers that would inherit the earldom. But despite enthusiastic and then contrived efforts Charles seemed unable to sire an heir. Fiona was later assured by a Harley Street physician that there was no reason she could not bear children. The specialist had suggested that perhaps her husband pay the clinic a visit. She shook her head, knowing Charles would dismiss such an idea out of hand, and never mentioned the subject to anyone again.

Fiona spent a considerable amount of her spare time in their Sussex Downs constituency furthering Charles’s political career. She had learned to live with the fact that theirs was not destined to be a romantic marriage and resigned herself to its other advantages. Although many men confessed covertly and overtly that they found the tall elegant lady desirable she either ignored their overtures or pretended not to notice them.

By the time Charles returned from the bathroom in his blue silk pajamas Fiona had formed a plan, but first she needed some questions answered.

“Whom do you favor?”

“I’d like Sir Alec to carry on: after all, the Homes have been friends of our two families for over 400 years.”

“But that’s a non-starter,” said Fiona. “Everyone knows Alec is on the way out.”

“I agree, and that’s exactly why I spent the entire afternoon observing the worthwhile candidates.”

“Did you come to any serious conclusions?” Fiona asked.

“Heath and Maudling are out on their own, though to be honest I’ve never had a conversation with either of them that lasted for more than five minutes.”

“In that case we must turn a disadvantage into an advantage.”

“What do you mean, old girl?” Charles asked as he climbed into bed beside his wife.

“Think back. When you were President of Pop at Eton, could you have put a name to any of the first-year boys?”

“Certainly not,” said Charles.

“Exactly. And I’d be willing to bet that neither Heath nor Maudling could put a name to twenty of the new intake on the Tory benches.”