“No,” said Joyce, “He’s got enough to worry about now that he’s in the Cabinet without piling up trouble for him in Leeds. Leave it to me.”
She replaced the receiver and sat down to compose her thoughts. A few minutes later she went over to her desk and rummaged about for the full list of the G.P. Committee. She checked the sixteen names carefully, realizing that if two Communists were to get themselves elected this time within five years they could control the committee—and then even remove Raymond. She knew how these people worked. With any luck, if they got bloody noses now they might slink off to another constituency.
She checked the sixteen names once more before putting on a pair of sensible walking shoes. During the next four days she visited several homes in the area. “I was just passing,” she explained to nine of the wives who had husbands on the committee. The four men who never listened to a word their wives said were visited by Joyce after work. The three who had never cared for Raymond were left well alone.
By Thursday afternoon thirteen people knew only too well what was expected of them. Joyce sat alone hoping he would call that evening. She cooked herself a Lancashire hotpot but only picked at it, then later fell asleep in front of the television when she tried to watch the final episode of Roots. The phone woke her at five past eleven.
“Raymond?”
“Hope I didn’t wake you,” said Fred.
“No, no,” said Joyce, now impatient to learn the outcome of the meeting. “What happened?”
“Reg and Jenny walked it. Those two Communist bastards only managed three votes between them.”
“Well done,” said Joyce.
“I did nothing,” said Fred, “except count the votes. Shall I tell Raymond what’s been happening?”
“No,” said Joyce. “No need to let him think we’ve had any trouble.”
Joyce fell back into the chair by the phone, kicked off her walking shoes, and went back to sleep.
She knew she had to plan the whole operation so that her husband would never find out. She sat alone in the house considering the sev
eral alternative ways in which she could deceive him. After hours of unproductive thought the idea finally came in a flash. She went over the problems and repercussions again and again until she was convinced that nothing could go wrong. She leafed through the Yellow Pages and made an appointment for the following morning.
The saleslady helped her to try on several wigs, but only one was bearable.
“I think it makes Modom look most elegant, I must say.”
She knew that it didn’t—it made Modom look awful—but she hoped it would serve its purpose.
She then applied the eye makeup and lipstick she had acquired at Harrods, and pulled out from the back of her cupboard a floral dress she had never liked. She stood in front of the mirror and checked herself. Surely no one would recognize her in Sussex and she prayed that if he found out he would be forgiving.
She left and drove slowly toward the outskirts of London. How would she explain herself if she was caught? Would he remain understanding when he discovered the truth? When she reached the constituency she parked the car in a side road and walked up and down the high street. No one showed any sign of recognition which gave her the confidence to go through with it. And then she saw him.
She had hoped he’d be in the City that morning. She held her breath as he walked toward her. As he passed she said, “Good morning.” He turned and smiled, replying with a casual “Good morning,” as he might to any constituent. Her heartbeat returned to normal and she went back to find her car.
She drove off completely reassured she could now get away with it. She went over once again what she was going to say, then all too suddenly she had arrived. She parked the car outside the house opposite, got out, and bravely walked up the path.
As Raymond stood outside the Cabinet room several of his colleagues came over to congratulate him. At exactly ten o’clock the Prime Minister walked in, bade everyone “Good morning,” and took his place at the center of the oblong table, while the other twenty-one members of the Cabinet filed in behind him and took their places. The Leader of the House, Michael Foot, sat on his left, while the Foreign Secretary and Chancellor were placed opposite him. Raymond was directed to a seat at the end of the table between the Secretary of State for Wales and the Secretary of State for Education.
“I would like to start the meeting,” said the Prime Minister, “by welcoming David Owen as Foreign Secretary and Raymond Gould as Secretary of State for Trade.” The other nineteen Cabinet members murmured, “Hear, hear” in a discreetly conservative way. David Owen smiled slightly while Raymond could feel himself going red.
“The first item we must discuss in detail is the proposed pact with the Liberals …”
Raymond sat back and decided that today he would only listen.
Andrew sat in the small office and listened carefully to the specialist’s opinion. Louise was restored to almost perfect health in every way except for her speech. She was reading regularly and had even begun to write short messages in reply to Andrew’s questions. The specialist now felt that she needed some other outside interest to take her mind off Robert. Over a year had passed and she could still spend hours simply staring at his photograph.
“I managed to reach Dr. Kerslake at home,” the specialist said, “and I must concur with her opinion that it would be unwise for your wife to contemplate another pregnancy. But Dr. Kerslake does accept my judgment that you should both consider adoption.”
“I’ve already given the idea a lot of thought, even discussed it with my father,” Andrew replied. “But both of us felt that Louise would never agree to it.”
“It’s a calculated risk in the circumstances,” said the specialist. “We mustn’t forget it’s been a whole year. We know to our cost that Mrs. Fraser loves children, and if she is set against such a course she is now well capable of letting you know.”
“If Louise shows any response I’d be only too willing to give it a try. But in the end it will all depend on her.”