First Among Equals

“I thought I ought to see you personally,” said Charles as he settled back in the comfortable leather chair and slowly lit a cigarette, “rather than raise my query at the AGM next month.”

The first sign of apprehension began to show on the chairman’s face, but he said nothing.

“I’m rather keen to discover why the bank should pay out a monthly check of £400 to an employee called Miss Janet Darrow, whom I have never come across, although it appears she has been on the payroll for over five years. The checks, it seems, have been going to a branch of Lloyds in Kensington.”

Derek Spencer’s face became flushed.

“What I am at a loss to discover,” continued Charles after he had inhaled deeply, “is what services Miss Darrow has been supplying to the bank. They must be quite impressive to have earned her £25,000 over the last five years. I appreciate that this is a small amount when you consider the bank’s turnover of 123 million last year, but my grandfather instilled in me at an early age the belief that if one took care of the pennies the pounds would take care of themselves.”

Still Derek Spencer said nothing, although beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead. Suddenly Charles’s tone changed. “If I find I am not a member of the board by the time of the Annual General Meeting I feel it will be my duty to point out this slight discrepancy in the bank’s accounts to the other shareholders present.”

“You’re a bastard, Seymour,” the chairman said quietly.

“Now that is not accurate. I am the second son of the former chairman of this bank and I bear a striking res

emblance to my father, although everyone says I have my mother’s eyes.”

“What’s the deal?”

“No deal. You will merely keep to your original agreement and see that I am reinstated on the board before the AGM. You will also cease any further payments to Miss Janet Darrow immediately.”

“If I agree, will you swear never to mention this matter to anyone again?”

“I will. And, unlike you, I am in the habit of keeping my word.”

Charles rose from his chair, leaned over the desk, and stubbed out his cigarette in the chairman’s ashtray.

Andrew Fraser was surprised when he heard that Jock McPherson wanted to see him. The two men had never been on good terms since McPherson had failed to be elected to the Scottish Labour Party Executive Committee and had then left the party to stand against him at Edinburgh Carton Since McPherson had switched his allegiance they had barely been on speaking terms. However, Andrew realized it would be foolish not to see him after the SNP’s sweeping successes in the election.

Andrew was even more surprised when McPherson asked if all seven SNP Members of Parliament could also attend the meeting, not in Andrew’s office but somewhere private. He agreed, even more mystified.

McPherson and his band of renegade Scots arrived together at Cheyne Walk, looking as though they had already held a meeting between themselves. Andrew offered them a variety of seats, including the dining room chairs, a pouffe, and even the kitchen stool, apologizing that his London flat had never been intended to accommodate nine men in the drawing room.

While the men settled themselves Andrew remained standing by the mantelpiece, facing Jock McPherson who had obviously been chosen to act as their spokesman.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” McPherson began. “We want you to fight under the SNP banner at the next election.”

Andrew tried not to show his disbelief, and began, “I don’t feel …”

“Hear me out,” said McPherson, raising his massive palms. “We want you to contest the Edinburgh Carlton seat not just as a Scottish Nationalist candidate but as leader of the party.”

Andrew still couldn’t believe what he was hearing but remained silent.

“We’re convinced you’ll) lose your seat in any case if you stand as a Socialist,” McPherson continued, “but we realize that there are many people in Scotland who, whatever their political views, admire what you have achieved in the nine years you have been in the House. After all, man, you were brought up and educated in Edinburgh. With you as leader, we believe we could capture forty to fifty of the seventy-one seats in Scotland. And I may add that your own party is moving inexorably to the left, a state of affairs that I can’t believe you are altogether happy about.”

Andrew still made no comment. He listened as each one of the MPs put his own view, which became predictable long before the last one had spoken. Every Scottish tone from a Highland lilt to a Glasgow growl was represented in the voices. It became clear that they had given the matter considerable thought and were obviously sincere. “I am very flattered, gentlemen,” he began when the last one had said his piece. “And I assure you I will give your offer my serious consideration.”

“Thank you,” said McPherson. They all stood up like clan leaders in the presence of a new chief.

“We’ll wait to hear from you then,” said McPherson. One by one they shook hands with their host before filing out.

As soon as they had left Andrew went straight into the kitchen where Robert was still waiting impatiently to play football before going to bed.

“In a moment, in a moment,” he said in response to his son’s noisy demands. “I’ll join you in the garden.”

“And what did that lot want?” inquired Louise, as she continued to peel the potatoes.

Andrew went over the details of their proposition.