“So what do you want this time?” demanded Spencer, sounding exasperated.
“Your job,” said Charles.
“My job?” said Spencer in disbelief. “Do you imagine because you’ve been a junior minister you’re capable of running a successful merchant bank?” he added scornfully.
“I didn’t say I would run it. I can buy a competent chief executive to do that.”
“Then what will you be doing?”
“I shall be the chairman of Seymour’s which will convince City institutions that we wish to continue in the traditions of generations of my family.”
“You’re bluffing,” stammered Spencer.
“If you are still in this building in twenty-four hours’ time,” said Charles, “I shall send these to the DPP.”
There was a long silence.
“If I agreed,” said Spencer at last, “I would expect two years’ salary as compensation.”
“One year,” said Charles. Spencer hesitated, then nodded slowly. Charles rose to his feet and put the papers resting on his lap back into his inside pocket.
They consisted of nothing more than the morning mail from Sussex Downs.
Simon felt the interview had gone well but Elizabeth was not so sure. They sat huddled in a room with five other candidates and their wives, patiently waiting.
He thought back to his answers, and to the eight men and four women on the committee.
“You must admit it’s the most ideal seat I’ve been considered for,” said Simon.
“Yes, but the chairman kept eyeing you suspiciously.”
“But Millburn mentioned that he had been at Eton with Charles Seymour.”
“That’s what worries me,” whispered Elizabeth.
“A 15,000 majority at the last election and only forty minutes from London. We could even buy a little cottage …”
“If they invite you to represent them.”
“At least this time you were able to tell them you would be willing to live in the constituency.”
“So would anyone in their right mind,” said Elizabeth.
The chairman came out and asked if Mr. and Mrs. Kerslake would be kind enough to return once more to see the committee.
Oh, God, thought Simon. What else can they want to know?
“It’s too near London to be my fault this time,” chuckled Elizabeth.
The committee sat and stared at them with long faces.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the chairman. “After our lengthy deliberations, I formally propose that Mr. Simon Kerslake be invited to contest Pucklebridge at the next election. Those in favor …?”
All twelve hands went up.
“Those against … ?”
“Carried unanimously,” said the chairman. He then turned to Simon. “Do you wish to address your committee?”