First Among Equals

“This,” he said, standing up and holding the file out to her.

She took off her coat and dropped it over the sofa. Then she opened the buff folder and started to read. He watched her carefully. First the color drained from her cheeks, then her legs gave way and she collapsed onto the sofa. Finally she started to sob.

“It’s not true, none of it,” she protested.

“You know very well that every detail is accurate.”

“Charles, it’s you I love, I don’t care about him, you must believe that.”

“I believe nothing of the sort,” said Charles. “You’re no longer someone I could live with.”

“Live with? I’ve been living on my own since the day you entered Parliament.”

“Perhaps I might have come home more often if you had showed some interest in starting a family.”

“And do you imagine I am to blame for that inadequacy?” she said.

Charles ignored the innuendo and continued. “In a few moments I am going to my club where I shall spend the night. I expect you to be out of this house within seven days. When I return I want there to be no sign of you or any of your goods or chattels, to quote the original agreement.”

“Where will I go?” she cried.

“You could try your lover first, but no doubt his wife might object. Failing that, you can camp down at your feather’s place.”

“What if I refuse to go?” said Fiona, turning to defiance.

“Then I shall throw you out, as one should a whore, and cite Alexander Dalglish in a very messy divorce case.”

“Give me another chance. I’ll never look at him again,” begged Fiona, starting to cry once more.

“I seem to remember your telling me that once before, and indeed I did give you another chance. The results have been all too plain to sec.” He pointed to the file where it had fallen to the floor.

Fiona stopped weeping when she realized that Charles remained unmoved.

“I shall not see you again. We shall be separated for at least two years, when we will carry through as quiet a divorce as possible in the circumstances. If you cause me a moment of embarrassment I shall drag you both through the mire. Believe me.”

“You’ll regret your decision, Charles. I promise you. I’ll not be pushed aside quite that easily.”

“They’ve done what?” said Joyce.

“Two Communists have put their names forward for election to the General Purposes Committee,” repeated Fred Padgett.

“Over my dead body.” Joyce’s voice was unusually sharp.

“I thought that would be your attitude,” said Fred.

Joyce searched for the pencil and paper that were normally on the table by the phone.

“When’s the meeting?” she asked.

“Next Thursday.”

“Have we got reliable people to stand against them?”

“Of course,” said Fred. “Councillor Reg Illingworth and Jenny Simpkins from the Co-op.”

“They’re both sensible enough but between them they couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding.”

“Shall I phone Raymond at the House and get him to come up for the meeting?”