First Among Equals

During the all-party meetings both factions began to treat him with respect and—privately—with affection. Even the Opposition spokesman at Westminster openly acknowledged that Simon Kerslake was turning out to be an excellent choice for the “dangerous and thankless ministry.”

Andrew also knew he would require a handful of men of goodwill when Hamish Ramsey resigned as chairman of Edinburgh Carlton.

“I don’t need the hassle any longer,” Hamish told him. “I’m not in politics for the same reason as that bunch of troublemakers.” Andrew reluctantly let him go and had to work hard to convince Hamish’s deputy, David Connaught, that he should stand in his place. When David finally agreed to allow his name to go forward he was immediately opposed by Frank Boyle, who had already made his opinion of the sitting member abundantly clear. Andrew canvassed every person on the committee during the run up to election for the new chairman. He estimated the voting was going to be seven-all, which would still allow Hamish to give his casting vote in favor of Connaught.

Andrew phoned Hamish at home an hour before the meeting was due to begin. “I’ll call and leave a message for you at the House when it’s all over,” Ramsey told him. “Don’t worry, you’re safe this time. At least I’ll leave you with the right chairman.”

Andrew left Pelham Crescent after he had tucked Clarissa up in bed and read her another chapter of Jacob Two Two. He told Louise he would return from Westminster straight after the ten o’clock vote. He sat in the Chamber and listened to Charles Seymour deliver a well-argued discourse on monetarist policy. Andrew didn’t always agree with the logic of Seymour’s case and he had never cared much for the man himself; but he had to admit that such talent was wasted on the back benches.

During the speech a note was passed to Andrew by an attendant. He unfolded the little white slip. Stuart Gray, the lobby correspondent for The Scotsman, needed to speak to him urgently. Andrew slipped from his place on the front bench, stepping over the feet of Shadow ministers still intent on Seymour’s speech. He felt like a small boy leaving a cinema in the middle of a film in pursuit of an ice lolly. He found Gray waiting for him in the Members’ Lobby.

Andrew had known Stuart since he had first entered the House, when the journalist had told him, “You and I are each other’s bread and butter, so we’d better make a sandwich.” Andrew had laughed, and they had had few differences of opinion in the fifteen years since. Stuart suggested that they go down to Annie’s Bar for a drink. They strolled along the corridor and took the stairway near the tea room to the basement bar, named after a former barlady.

Andrew settled down on a couch at the side of a pillar while Stuart went up to the bar to order two whiskies.

“Cheers,” said the journalist, putting Andrew’s glass down on the table in front of him.

Andrew took a long gulp. “Now, what can I do for you?” he asked. “Is my father being tiresome again?”

“I’d call him a supporter compared with your new chairman.”

“What do you mean? I’ve always found David Connaught to be a sound fellow myself,” said Andrew, a little pompously.

“I’m not interested in your views of David Connaught,” said Stuart. “I want an opinion on your new chairman, Frank Boyle.” The journalist sounded very much on the record.

“What?”

“He won the vote tonight seven to six.”

“But …” Andrew fell silent.

“Come on, Andrew. We both know the bloody man’s a Commie troublemaker, and my editor is screaming for a quote.”

“I can’t say anything, Stuart, not until I know all the facts.”

“I’ve just told you all the facts: now, are you going to give me a quote?”

“Yes.” Andrew paused. “I am sure Mr. Boyle will continue to serve in the best traditions of the Labour party, and I look forward to working in close cooperation with him.”

“Balls,” said Stuart. “They will only print that in Pseuds Corner in Private Eye.”

“It’s the only quote you’re going to get out of me tonight,” said Andrew.

Stuart looked at his friend and could see lines on his face that he had never noticed before. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I went too far. Please get in touch when the time’s right. With that bastard Boyle in charge you might be in need of my help.”

Andrew thanked him absentmindedly, downed his whisky in one gulp, then walked out of Annie’s Bar and along the terrace corridor to the phone booths at the foot of the stairs. He dialed Ramsey’s home number.

“What in heaven’s name happened?” was all he could ask.

“One of our voters didn’t show,” said Hamish Ramsey. “Claimed he was held up in Glasgow and couldn’t get back

in time. I was just about to ring you.”

“Bloody irresponsible of him,” said Andrew. “Why didn’t you postpone the vote?”

“I tried to, but Frank Boyle produced the rule book. ‘Any motion proposed fourteen days before a meeting cannot be postponed without the agreement of the proposer and seconder.’ I’m sorry, Andrew; my hands were tied.”

“It’s not your fault, Hamish. I couldn’t have had a better chairman than you. I’m only sorry you didn’t leave in a blaze of glory.”