First Among Equals

“I suspect it will.”

“And what’s your attitude?”

“That’s no longer relevant because I shall resign as Prime Minister the day after the election, so it’s more important the new Prime Minister considers what is best for the country.”

For the first time Raymond felt like the leader of the party.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ELIZABETH STRAIGHTENED SIMON’S white tie and took a pace back to look at him.

“Well, at least you look like a Prime Minister,” she said, smiling.

Her husband checked his watch. Still a few minutes to spare before he needed to be at the Speaker’s private apartments—not that he was willing to risk being late for this particular birthday celebration. Elizabeth helped him on with his overcoat and after a search realized he had lost another pair of gloves.

“I do hope you can take care of the nation’s belongings a little better than you do your own.” She sighed.

“I’m sure I’ll find it hard to lose a whole country,” said Simon.

“Do remember that Raymond Gould will be trying to help you,” said Elizabeth.

“Yes, that’s true. I only wish I was fighting Kinnock.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because Could was born into the wrong party,” said Simon as he kissed his wife and walked toward the front door, “and a lot of the electorate have already reached the same conclusion.”

The policeman on the gates of New Palace Yard saluted as Simon was driven into the courtyard and dropped at the Members’ Entrance. He glanced at his watch again: ten minutes to spare. He never could resist checking how many people were in the Chamber or what the latest news was on the ticker-tape machine.

He put his head round the door of the smoking room. A few members were scattered around, mainly from safe seats they felt did not need nursing. Pimkin, surrounded by his usual cronies, hailed him. His face lit up when he saw Simon formally dressed. “I say, waiter, mine’s a double gin and tonic.” His companions duly laughed. Simon responded by asking the barman to give Mr. Pimkin a large gin and tonic and to charge it to his account.

He spent a few minutes moving from group to group chatting to members about how the election might go in their constituencies. Pimkin assured Simon that the Tories would return in triumph. “I wish everyone was as confident as you are,” Simon told him before leaving for the Speaker’s private apartments as Pimkin ordered another gin.

He strolled along the library corridor, lined from floor to ceiling with venerable old journals of the House, until he reached the Speaker’s office, which is the route members take to the Speaker’s private rooms. When Simon reached the Grand Stairway dominated by Speaker Addington’s portrait he was met by the Speaker’s train-bearer clad in white tie and black tails.

“Good evening, Mr. Kerslake,” he said and led Simon down the corridor into the antechamber where a relaxed Charles Seymour stood ready to receive his guests. Charles shook Simon’s hand warmly. Simon thought how well his colleague looked compared with their meeting of a few months before.

Andrew Fraser had already arrived and soon the three men were deep into a discussion about the course the election would take when another guest walked in.

“The Right Honorable Raymond Gould,” announced the train-bearer. Charles went over to greet his guest.

“Many congratulations on your election as leader,” were his first words. “You’ve had one hell of a week; you must be exhausted.”

“Exhilarated, to be honest,” replied Raymond.

He moved toward Simon, who in turn offered his congratulations. The two men shook hands and for a moment resembled medieval knights who had lowered their visors before the final joust. The unnatural silence that followed was broken by Andrew.

“Well, I hope it’s going to be a clean fight,” he said. Both men laughed.

The train-bearer came to the Speaker’s side to inform him that Her Majesty had left Buckingham Palace a few moments earlier.

Charles excused himself while the three leaders continued their conversation.

“Has either of you been told the real reason why we are bidden here this evening?” asked Raymond.

“Isn’t the Queen’s sixty-fifth birthday enough?” said Simon.