“Then who will if he doesn’t?” asked Fiona.
“Whoever’s got the guts to oppose him.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” said Fiona, beginning to clear away the plates.
“Everyone accepts that he has to allow his name to go forward for reelection now that he’s lost twice in a row.”
“That’s fair enough,” agreed
Fiona.
“But as he has appointed all possible contenders to the Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet over the last ten years, someone he has selected in the past will have to oppose him. No one of lesser stature would stand a chance.”
“Is there a member of the Shadow Cabinet willing to stand?” asked Fiona, returning to her seat at the end of the table.
“One or two are considering it, but the problem is that if they lose it could easily end their political career,” said Charles, folding his napkin.
“But if they win?”
“They will undoubtedly be the next Prime Minister.”
“Interesting dilemma. And what are you going to do about it?”
“I’m not supporting anyone at the moment, but I’ve got my eyes wide open,” said Charles, folding his copy of The Times and rising from the table.
“Is there a front runner?” asked Fiona, looking up at her husband.
“No, not really. Although Kerslake is trying to rally support for Margaret Thatcher, but that idea is doomed from the start.”
“A woman leading the Tory party? Your lot haven’t got the imagination to risk it,” said Elizabeth, tasting the sauce. “The day that happens I shall eat my one and only Tory hat in full view of all the delegates at the party conference.”
“Don’t be so cynical, Elizabeth. She’s the best bet we’ve got at the moment.”
“But what are the chances of Ted Heath standing down? I always thought the leader of the party stayed on until he was hit by the mythical bus. I don’t know Heath very well, but I can never imagine him resigning.”
“I agree,” said Simon. “So the 1922 Committee will have to change the rules.”
“You mean the back-benchers will put pressure on him to go?”
“No, but a lot of the committee in their present mood would be willing to volunteer as driver for that bus.”
“If that’s true, he must realize that his chances of holding on are slim?”
“I wonder if any leader ever knows that,” said Simon.
“You ought to be in Blackpool next week,” said Kate, resting her elbow on the pillow.
“Why Blackpool?” Raymond asked, staring up at the ceiling.
“Because, Carrot Top, that’s where they are holding this year’s Labour party conference.”
“What do you imagine I could hope to accomplish there?”
“You’d be seen to be alive. At present you’re just a rumor in trade union circles.”
“But if you’re not a minister or a trade union leader all you do at a party conference is spend four days eating foul food, sleeping in seedy guest houses, and applauding second-rate speeches.”
“I’ve no interest in where you put your weary head at night but I do want you to revive your contacts with the unions during the day.”