First Among Equals

“Deceiving you?”

“Yes, she’s been putting on wigs and dressing up in strange clothes.”

Clarissa wet her bed every night for the first month at Pelham Crescent but Louise never complained. Day by day Andrew watched as mother and daughter grew in mutual confidence. Clarissa assumed from her first meeting with Louise that she could talk as normally as any grown-up and chatted away to her night and day. Half the time Louise didn’t reply, only because she couldn’t get a word in.

Just when Andrew felt everything was getting back on a normal footing at home trouble erupted in Edinburgh. His General Management Committee, which now included five members of Militant Tendency, tabled a motion of no confidence in their member. Their leader, Frank Boyle, had been building up a power base with the sole intention, Andrew suspected, of ousting the member and taking over himself. He didn’t discuss the problem with Louise, as the specialist had advised him to avoid any undue stress while Clarissa was settling in.

The five men who wanted Andrew removed had chosen the following Thursday to hold the meeting because they knew the annual Defense Review was due for a full debate in the House that day. If Andrew was unable to attend their meeting Frank Boyle knew they would have a better chance of winning their motion. If he did turn up to defend himself they were also aware that an embarrassing explanation would have to be made for his absence during the debate. When the Prime Minister was informed of the dilemma by the Chief Whip he had no hesitation in telling Andrew to forget the defense debate and go to Edinburgh.

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Andrew took the shuttle up on Thursday afternoon and was met at the airport by his chairman, Hamish Ramsey.

“I apologize about you being put through this ordeal, Andrew,” he said at once. “I can assure you it’s none of my doing, but I must also warn you it’s not the same Labour party that I joined over twenty years ago.”

“How do you think the vote will go tonight?” asked Andrew.

“You’ll win this time. The votes have been decided before the meeting takes place. There’s only one waverer and he’s so gutless that your very presence will stop him siding with the Trotskies.”

When Andrew arrived at his Edinburgh headquarters he was left alone outside the committee room in a cold corridor for over an hour. He knew his opponents were holding things up in the hope he would become frustrated before he eventually had to face them. At last they invited him to join them and he immediately sensed what the Spanish Inquisition must have felt like: question after question from sour-faced men who had never helped him win the seat in the first place and were now alleging that he had shown scant interest in the constituency. Andrew stood his ground and became angry only when Frank Boyle referred to him as “that son of a Tory.”

“When did you last see your father?” flashed through his mind.

“My father has done more for this city than you could ever hope to do in your lifetime,” he told Boyle.

“Then why don’t you join his party?” came back Boyle’s retort.

Andrew was about to answer when Hamish Ramsey banged the table with his gavel and said, “Enough, enough. It’s time to stop this squabbling and vote.”

Andrew felt a stab of anxiety as the little slips were passed up to the chairman to be counted. The outcome was five-all and Hamish Ramsey immediately cast his vote in favor of Andrew.

“At least you’ll be safe for the coming election, laddie,” said Hamish as they drove to the Airport Hotel. “But I wouldn’t like to account for much beyond that.”

When Andrew arrived back in Pelham Crescent the next morning Louise greeted him at the door.

“Everything all right in Edinburgh?” she asked.

“Fine,” said Andrew, taking her in his arms.

“Do you want to hear the good news?”

“Yes,” said Andrew, smiling.

“Clarissa didn’t wet her bed last night. Perhaps you should stay away more often.”

Finally Charles knew he had to discuss what could be done about the stolen Holbein with his solicitor, Sir David Napley. Sir David instructed leading counsel and six weeks later Charles was told that if he sued the Holbein might eventually be returned but not before the story had been on the front page of every national paper. Charles had Albert Cruddick’s opinion confirmed: “Grin and bear it.”

Fiona had been out of touch for well over a year when the letter came. Charles immediately recognized her handwriting and ripped open the envelope. Only one glance at the writing was enough to make him tear up the missive and deposit the little pieces in the wastepaper basket by his desk. He left for the Commons in a rage.

All through the day he thought of the one word he had taken in from the scrawled hand. Holbein. When he returned from the Commons after the ten o’clock division Charles searched for the remains of the letter, which the daily had conscientiously deposited in the dustbin. After rummaging among potato peelings, eggshells, and empty tins Charles spent over an hour Sellotaping the little pieces of paper together. Then he read the letter carefully.

24 The Boltons,

London, SW 10

11 October 1978

Dear Charles,