First Among Equals

The prospective Conservative Member of Parliament for Pucklebridge rose. They all waited expectantly.

“I don’t know what to say, except that I’m very happy and honored and I can’t wait for a general election.”

They all laughed and came forward and surrounded them. Elizabeth dried her eyes before anyone reached her.

About an hour later the chairman accompanied Simon and Elizabeth back to their car and bade them good night. Simon wound down his window.

“I knew you were the right man,” Millburn said, “as soon as Charles Seymour phoned”—Simon smiled—“and warned me to avoid you like the plague.”

“Could you tell Miss Trubshaw to come in?” Charles asked his secretary.

Margaret Trubshaw arrived a few moments later and remained standing in front of his desk. She couldn’t help but notice the change of furniture in the room. The modern Conran suite had been replaced by a leather clublike sofa. Only the picture of the eleventh Earl of Bridgwater remained in place.

“Miss Trubshaw,” began Charles, “since Mr. Spencer has felt it necessary to resign so suddenly I think it important for the bank to keep some continuity now that I’m taking over as chairman.”

Miss Trubshaw stood like a Greek statue, her hands hidden in the sleeves of her dress.

“With that in mind, the board has decided to extend your contract with the bank for a further five years. Naturally, there will be no loss in your pension rights.”

“Thank you, Mr. Charles.”

“Thank you, Miss Trubshaw.”

Miss Trubshaw almost bowed as she left the room.

“And Miss Trubshaw?”

“Yes, Mr. Charles,” she said, holding on to the door knob.

“I believe my wife is expecting a call from you. Something about inviting you to lunch at the Savoy Grill.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“A BLUE SHIRT,” said Raymond, looking at the Turnbull and Asser label with suspicion. “A blue shirt,” he repeated.

“A fortieth-birthday present,” shouted Kate from the kitchen.

I shall never wear it, he thought, and smiled to himself.

“And what’s more, you’ll wear it,” she said, her Boston accent carrying a slight edge.

“You even know what I’m thinking,” he complained as she came in from the kitchen. He always thought how elegant she looked in her tailored office suit.

“It’s because you’re so predictable, Carrot Top.”

“Anyway, how did you know it was my birthday?”

“A massive piece of detective work,” said Kate, “with the help of an outside agent and a small payment.”

“An outside agent. Who?”

“The local paper shop, my darling. In the Sunday Times they tell you the name of every distinguished person celebrating a birthday in the following seven days. In a week during which only the mediocre were born, you made it.”

Raymond had to laugh.

“Now listen, Carrot Top.”

Raymond pretended to hate his new nickname. “Do you have to call me by that revolting name?”