First Among Equals

Andrew did not eat as much as the others because he couldn’t take his eyes off the guest who had been placed opposite him. She didn’t pay much attention to Andrew, but seemed always to be smiling or laughing, making those around her enjoy her company. When Andrew had last seen Louise Forsyth it had been scoring goals on a hockey pitch. She had been a dumpy little girl with long pigtails and a tendency to go for one’s ankles rather than for the ball. Now the jet black hair was short and curly, while the body had become slim and graceful. After dinner Andrew mixed among the guests and it was well after one o’clock when the party broke up: he never managed a moment alone with her. Andrew was relieved to discover that Alison wanted to spend the night with her parents at Bute House while the Frasers traveled back to their home in Stirling.

“You’re very silent for a Socialist,” his father said in the car on the way home.

“He’s in love,” said his mother fondly.

Andrew made no reply.

The next morning he rose early and traveled into Edinburgh to see his agent. The minister had caught the first flight back to London but had left a message asking if Andrew would be kind enough to see him at ten o’clock in Dover House, the London headquarters of the Scottish Office, the following day, “on an official matter.”

Andrew was delighted but it didn’t change his attitude.

Having answered his local post and dealt with some constituents’ problems he left his office and made his way over to the New Club to make a private phone call. He was relieved to find her still at home. She reluctantly agreed to join him for lunch. Andrew sat alone for forty minutes, checking the grandfather clock every few moments while pretending to read the Scotsman. When she was eventually ushered in by the steward, Andrew knew this was the woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. He would have laughed, if he had been told—before the previous evening—that he could change his well-ordered plans on what was nothing more than a casual meeting. But then he had never met anyone like Louise before and was already convinced he never would again.

“Miss Forsyth,” said the man wearing the green livery uniform of the club. He inclined his head slightly and left them alone.

Louise smiled and Andrew guided her to a table in the corner.

“It was kind of you to come at such short notice,” he said nervously.

“No,” she said. “It was very stupid of me.”

Over a lunch which he ordered but didn’t eat Andrew learned that Louise Forsyth was engaged to an old friend of his from university days and that they planned to be married the following spring. By the end of lunch he had convinced her they should at least meet again.

Andrew caught the five-ten flight back to London and sat alone in his flat and waited. Alison returned a little after nine o’clock and asked why he hadn’t traveled down from Scotland with her or at least phoned. Andrew immediately told her the truth. She burst into tears while he stood helplessly by. Within the hour she had moved all her possessions out of Andrew’s flat and left.

At ten-thirty he phoned Louise again.

The next morning Andrew dropped into the Commons to collect his mail from the Members’ Post Office, and to check with the Whips’ office as to what time they were anticipating the votes that day.

“One at six and two at ten,” shouted a junior Whip from behind his desk. “And we could lose the second so be certain you’re not far away if we need you.”

Andrew nodded and turned to leave.

“By the way, congratulations.”

“On what?” queried Andrew.

“Oh hell, another indiscretion to start the week on. It’s penciled in on the morning sheet,” said the Whip, tapping a piece of paper in front of him.

“What is?” asked Andrew impatiently.

“Your appointment as Parliamentary Private Secretary to Hugh McKenzie. For pity’s sake don’t let him know I told you.”

“I won’t,” promised Andrew, breathing a sigh of relief. He checked his watch: perfect timing to stroll over to Dover House and keep his appointment with the minister.

He whistled as he walked down Whitehall and the doorman saluted as he entered the ministry. They had obviously been briefed as well. He tried not to show too much anticipation. He was met at the top of the stone steps by the minister’s secretary.

“Good morning,” Andrew said, trying to sound as if he had no idea what was in store for him.

“Good morning, Mr. Fraser,” replied the secretary. “The minister has asked me to apologize for not being available to see you, but he has been called away to a Cabinet committee to discuss the new IMF standby credit.”

“I see,” said Andrew. “Has the minister rearranged my appointment?”

“Well, no, he hasn’t,” replied the secretary, sounding a little surprised. “He simply said that it was no longer important, and he was sorry to have wasted your time.”

Charles Seymour was enjoying the challenge of his new appointment as a junior Opposition spokesman. Even if he was not actually making decisions on future policy he was listening to them, and at least he felt he was near the center of affairs. Whenever a debate on housing took place in the Commons he was allowed to sit on the front bench along with the rest of the team. He had already caused the defeat of two amendments on the Town and Country Planning Bill in standing committee, and had added one of his own, relating to the protection of trees, during the report stage of the bill on the floor of the House. “It isn’t preventing a world war,” he admitted to Fiona, “but in its own way it’s quite important because if we win the election I’m confident of being offered junior office and then I’ll have a real chance to shape policy.”

Fiona continued to play her part, hosting monthly dinner parties at their Eaton Square house. By the end of the year every member of the Shadow Cabinet had dined with the Seymours at least once and Fiona never wore the same dress twice or allowed a menu to be repeated.