By the time Andrew woke it was nearly eleven. He sat in silence in his dressing gown, unshaven, and tapped a hardboiled egg that refused to crack. An unopened Times lay by his side.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” he said once the second cup of coffee had taken effect. She smiled.
An hour later, dressed in sports jacket and gray flannels, he toured the constituency in a loudspeaker van, thanking his supporters for returning him to Westminster. Louise was by his side, often able to jog his memory on names he couldn’t recall.
After they had shaken the last hand they spent a quiet weekend with Sir Duncan in Stirling—who found it extremely hard to remove the smirk from his face.
Raymond was astonished by the election result. He couldn’t believe that the opinion polls had been so wrong. He didn’t confide in Joyce that he had hoped a Labour victory would bring him back into office after languishing on the back benches for what seemed an interminable time.
“There’s nothing for it,” he told her, “but to rebuild a career at the bar. We may be out of office for years.”
“But surely that won’t be enough to keep you fully occupied?”
“I have to be realistic about the future,” he said slowly. “Although I don’t intend to let Heath drag us into Europe without putting up one hell of a fight.”
“Perhaps they’ll ask you to Shadow someone?”
“No, there are always far fewer jobs available in Opposition, and in any case they always give the orators like Fraser the dispatch box when all you can do is to sit and make noises while we wait for another election.”
Raymond wondered how he would broach what was really on his mind and tried to sound casual when he said, “Perhaps it’s time we considered having our own home in the constituency.”
“That seems an unnecessary expense,” said Joyce, “especially as there’s nothing wrong with your parents’ home. And, in any case, wouldn’t they be offended?”
“My first interest should be my duty to the constituents and this would be a chance to prove a long-term commitment to them. Naturally my parents will understand.”
“But we can’t afford the cost of two houses,” said Joyce uncertainly.
“I realize that, but it’s you who have always wanted to live in Leeds, and this will give you the chance to stop commuting from London every week. After I’ve done the rounds why don’t you stay up, contact a few local estate agents, and see what’s on the market?”
“All right, if that’s what you really want,” said Joyce. “I’ll start next week.”
Charles and Fiona spent a quiet weekend at their cottage in Sussex. Charles tried to do some gardening while he kept one ear open for the telephone. Fiona began to realize how anxious he was when she looked through the French windows and saw her finest delphinium being taken for a weed.
Charles eventually gave the weeds a reprieve and came in and turned on the television to catch Maudling, Macleod, Thatcher, and Carrington enter No. 10 Downing Street looking pensive, only to leave smiling. The senior appointments had been made: the Cabinet was taking shape. The new Prime Minister came out and waved to the crowds before being whisked away in his official car.
Would he remember who had organized the young vote for him before he was even the party leader?
“When do you want to go back to Eaton Square?” Fiona inquired from the kitchen.
“Depends,” said Charles.
“On what?”
“On whether the phone rings.”
Simon sat staring at the television. All those hours of work on Housing and Local Government, and the PM had offered the portfolio to someone else. He had left the set on all day but didn’t learn who it was, only that the rest of the Housing and Local Government team had remained intact.
“Why do I bother?” he said out loud. “The whole thing’s a farce.”
“What were you saying, darling?” asked Elizabeth as she came into the room.
The phone rang again. It was the newly appointed Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling.
“Simon?”
“Reggie, many congratulations on your appointment—not that it came as a great surprise.”
“That’s what I’m calling about, Simon. Would you like to join me at the Home Office as Under-Secretary?”