When ten days had passed and Elizabeth had not yet heard from Miss Wallace she decided she had no choice but to contact her direct. She flicked through her personal file and noted the latest number Amanda had given.
Elizabeth picked up the phone and dialed. It was some time before anybody answered.
“730-9712. Charles Seymour speaking.” There was a long silence. “Is anyone there?”
Elizabeth couldn’t reply. She replaced the receiver and felt her whole body come out in a cold sweat. She closed Amanda Wallace’s file and returned it to the cabinet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SIMON HAD SPENT nearly a year preparing a White Paper entitled “A Genuine Partnership for Ireland” for consideration by the House. The Government’s aim was to bring north and south together for a period of ten years at the end of which a more permanent arrangement could be considered. During those ten years both sides wou
ld remain under the direct rule of Westminster and Dublin. Both Protestants and Catholics had contributed to “the Charter,” as the press had dubbed the complex agreement. With considerable skill, patience, and fortitude Simon had convinced the political leaders of Northern Ireland to append their names to the final draft when and if it was approved by the House.
He admitted to Elizabeth that the agreement was only a piece of paper, but he felt it was a foundation stone on which the House could base an eventual settlement. On both sides of the Irish Sea politicians and journalists alike were describing the Charter as a genuine breakthrough.
The Secretary of State for Northern Ireland was to present the White Paper to the Commons when Irish business was next scheduled on the parliamentary calendar. Simon, as the architect of the Charter, had been asked to deliver the winding-up speech on behalf of the Government. He knew that if the House backed the concept of the document he might then be allowed to prepare a parliamentary bill and thus overcome a problem so many other politicians had failed to solve before him. If he succeeded Simon felt that all the sacrifices he had made in the past would prove worthwhile.
When Elizabeth sat down to read through the final draft in Simon’s study that evening even she admitted for the first time that she was pleased he had accepted the Irish appointment.
“Now, embryonic statesman,” she continued, “are you ready for your dinner like every normal human being at this time in the evening?”
“I certainly am.” Simon moved his copy of the 129-page Charter from the dining room table to the sideboard, planning to go over it yet again once he had finished dinner.
“Damn,” he heard Elizabeth say from the kitchen.
“What is it?” he asked, not looking up from his toy, like a child studying a jigsaw and wondering where a colorless piece fitted in.
“I’m out of Bisto.”
“I’ll go and buy some,” Simon volunteered. The two policemen on the door were chatting when the minister came out.
“Come on, my wife needs a packet of Bisto, so affairs of state must be held up for the time being.”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” said the sergeant. “When I was told you would be in for the rest of the evening I allowed the official car to go off duty. But Constable Barker can accompany you.”
“That’s no problem,” said Simon. “We can take my wife’s car. I’ll just find out where she’s parked the damn thing.”
He slipped back into the house but returned a moment later. “Been in the force long?” he asked Constable Barker as they walked down the road together.
“Not that long, sir. Started on the beat just over a year ago.”
“Are you married, Constable?”
“Fine chance on my salary, sir.”
“Then you won’t have encountered the problem of being Bisto-less.”
“They’ve never heard of gravy in the police canteen, sir.”
“You should try the House of Commons sometime,” said Simon. “I don’t think you’d find it any better—the food, that is, not to mention the salary.”
The two men laughed as they headed off toward the car.
“What does your wife think of the Mini Metro?” the constable asked as Simon put the key in the door.
Like everyone else in Beaufort Street, Elizabeth heard the explosion, but she was the first to realize what it had to be. She ran out of the front door in search of the duty policeman. She saw him running down the road and quickly followed.
The little red Metro was scattered all over the side street, the glass from its windows making the pavement look as though there had been a sudden hailstorm.