First Among Equals

He ended up having to respond to only one question from the Opposition benches, while fielding four from his own. Added to which, the timing was such that question number twenty-three from the Opposition member seemed unlikely to be reached by three-twenty, when the Solicitor General for Scotland would have to start answering questions himself.

Andrew’s first four answers to questions numbers five, nine, eleven, and fourteen, went smoothly enough. He opened his dark blue file and was pleased to confirm the well-prepared briefs to everything that was thrown at him. By three-fifteen, when question number nineteen was being answered, Andrew sat back on the front bench and began to relax for the first time that day.

The Solicitor General for Scotland entered a now packed Commons and, moving alongside the table in the center of the Chamber, he crouched slightly to be sure he did not obscure the Speaker’s view of the Government benches on his right. The Prime Minister had been left a place between the Chancellor and the Foreign Secretary and waited for the clock to reach three-twenty.

The Speaker called question number twenty-one but the member was not present. He called number twenty-two and once again the member was absent. Each had obviously considered that their question had little chance of being reached before three-twenty. At three-eighteen the Speaker called question twenty-three—Andrew’s heart sank—which read on the order paper, “Had the minister been invited to visit the Kinross Nursing Home?”

Andrew rose, opened his folder, and said, “No, sir.”

“No one in the House will be surprised by the minister’s reply,” said George Younger, the member for Ayr, “because the nursing home has forty-nine occupants, forty-seven of whom have their own television sets and yet the minister demands forty-seven separate license fees. If they were to congregate in one room, he would expect only one fee. Is this another example of the Labour party’s ‘Care for the Aged’ program that we hear so much about nowadays?”

Andrew rose to the dispatch box to cries of “Answer, answer,” from the Opposition benches. He had checked his crib sheet while sitting on the edge of his seat. Andrew had a prepared answer for medical facilities, old-age pensions, supplementary benefits, food allowances, medical charges—but nothing on TV licenses. As he stood stranded at the dispatch box he was aware for the first time of the pitfalls that a minister encounters when he is not fully prepared. Such a system might appear wonderfully democratic to onlookers, he thought, until you are the Christian facing the 300 hungry lions.

A handwritten note was quickly passed along the front bench to him from one of the civil servants who sit in the official box to the left behind the Speaker’s chair. With no time to consider its implications Andrew crossed his fingers and read the note out to the House.

“This was a decision taken by the last administration, of which the Honorable Gentleman was a member. We have seen no reason to reverse that decision,” he read, thinking how much like a parrot he sounded. He sat down to polite Government murmurs and some considerable relief.

Mr. Younger rose again and was allowed a second supplementary.

“Mr. Speaker, this is the sort of inaccuracy we have grown to expect from this Government. The decision he refers to was made by his Right Honorable friend, the Secretary of State, only last year, and I think the minister will find, if he does his research more fastidiously, that his party was in power at the time.” The Opposition howled their delight.

Andrew rose again and gripped the sides of the dispatch box to avoid anyone seeing that he was shaking in fear. Several members of the Government front bench had their heads bowed. The Opposition had drawn blood and were baying in triumph. Lord Attlee’s words came back to Andrew. “When you are caught out by the House admit it, apologize, and sit down.”

Andrew waited for the noise to subside before he replied. “The Secretary of State warned me that a new minister will never forget his first question time and I feel bound to agree with him.” Andrew, who knew how the atmosphere in the House can change in a moment, felt such a moment now, and before it could turn back added, “On the question of television licenses in the Kinross Nursing Home, I apologize to the Honorable Gentleman for Ayr for my mistake and I will look into the case immediately and send him a written reply within twenty-four hours.” “Hear, hears” could now be heard from his own benches and the Opposition benches were quietened. Mr. Younger was trying to interrupt again but as Andrew didn’t give way he had to resume his seat, knowing the Speaker would not call on him again once the clock had passed three-nineteen. Andrew waited for silence before adding, “And I blame my grandmother for this who, as President of the Kinross Nursing Home and a staunch Conservative, has always believed in increasing old-age pensions rather than looking for false subsidies that can never be fair to everyone.” By now the Labour members were laughing and all the heads on the front bench were looking toward the new minister, who remained at the dispatch box until the House was silent again. “My grandmother would be delighted to learn that this administration has raised that old-age pension by fifty percent in the three years since we have taken office.” The Labour back-benchers were now cheering and waving their order papers as Andrew resumed his seat, while th

e Opposition were silent and glum.

The hands of the clock touched three-twenty and the Speaker said, “The Solicitor General’s questions.”

Andrew Fraser had made a political reputation, and as the laughter echoed round the House the intense figure sitting on the end of the front bench put a hand through his red hair and wondered if he could ever match Andrew’s skill at the dispatch box. On the Opposition back benches Simon Kerslake made a mental note to be cautious if he ever thought of putting a sharp question to Andrew Fraser.

As soon as the Solicitor General’s questions were over Simon left the House and drove himself to Whitechapel Road. He arrived a few minutes after the four o’clock board meeting of Nethercote and Company had begun, quietly took his seat, and listened to Ronnie Nethercote describing another coup.

Ronnie had signed a contract that morning to take over a major city block at a cost of fifteen million pounds with a guaranteed rental income of over 1.1 million per annum for the first seven years of a twenty-one-year lease with seven-year rent reviews.

Simon formally congratulated him and asked if this made any difference to the company’s timing for going public.

“Why do you ask?” said Ronnie.

“Because I still feel it might be wise to wait until we know the result of the next general election. If the Conservatives return to power, as the opinion polls forecast, that could change the whole atmosphere for launching a new company.”

“If they don’t, I shan’t hold up going public much longer.”

“I wouldn’t disagree with that decision either, Mr. Chairman,” said Simon.

When the meeting was over he joined Nethercote in his office for a drink.

“I want to thank you,” Ronnie said, “for that introduction to Harold Samuel and Louis Freedman. It made the deal go through much more smoothly.”

“Does that mean you’ll allow me to purchase some more shares?”

Ronnie hesitated. “Why not? You’ve earned them. But only another 10,000. Don’t get ahead of yourself, Simon, or the other directors may become jealous.”

In the car on the way to pick up Elizabeth Simon decided to take a second mortgage out on the house in Beaufort Street to raise the extra cash needed for the new shares. He thought it might be wise not to trouble her with the details. He savored the prospect of the Conservatives winning the next election, perhaps being given office in the Government and selling his shares for a sum that would make it possible for him to stop the continual worries of how he would finance his children’s education. Perhaps he could even give Elizabeth that holiday in Venice she had talked about so often.

When he drove up to the hospital Elizabeth was waiting outside the gates. “We won’t be late, will we?” were her first words.

“No,” said Simon, checking the clock on the dashboard as he turned the car round in the direction of Beaufort Street.