A Woman's Place (55 page)

He had hung around the village for an hour. The local publican had polished beer glasses and regaled yet another visitor with tales of how Mrs Stalker was liked in the neighbourhood, but how it had often been asserted that sooner or later the lady's enemies would catch up with her. Asserted, that was, by wiser creatures like himself. Dunn had longed to strike him for that.

He didn't want to find her in the constituency anyway. That was too far. The return journey in the van would not have been impossible, but the shorter the better. She might not see it his way. She might not want to come.

He rummaged in his pocket and gave each of the items there a comforting squeeze. Not long now. The park's well-tilled beauty soothed him and brought him back to the present. He squinted upwards at the dying sun. Might it be possible tonight? What he had in mind was so tricky. There might be press around. He didn't want to get caught and spoil everything.

He raised his head and sniffed the wind as if its mixed odours of hyacinths and petrol would guide him. Then he turned towards the south.

Fred sat hunched in his room in Commons Court and tried to ignore the whine of the ventilation. To have been allocated this office to himself was a recognition of his elevation as a junior Minister, but the niggle remained that a ten-by-twelve cubby-hole with no window was not exactly the best he could do. Still, at least he was almost directly over the Commons Chamber. When the division bell rang he could saunter down the stairs at the back of the Speaker's Chair. It gave him a vicarious thrill to arrive at the ‘Aye' lobby as other colleagues came panting from their more glamorous suites in Abbey Gardens. Not everyone qualified for an office on the main site. He ought to be grateful.

It had been especially convenient when his boss Elaine Stalker had worked across the narrow corridor on the smarter, window side. Her room was much the same size as his own, which meant that it was crowded when three people were in it. Yet it had a cachet. Hers had long been a ministerial room. Its occupation indicated a high position on the ladder. And now it was empty.

He groaned and laid down his pen. If he were a proper politician he would have hassled to transfer to that better room. As it was, he was trying to keep thoughts of Elaine's resignation at bay,
and failing. Why hadn't she fought? Why the silence – not a peep after that fateful MIND speech? Alternatively, why hadn't she run for cover, backed off, recanted? Even were it true that she had been told to keep quiet, she could still have found a way. She had plenty of friends in high places – why hadn't she activated them? It was rumoured that the PM thought highly of her. She could have survived, had she wanted to. Maybe not wanting to was the root of the problem.

Fred recognised that, if he were ever faced with the choice between obscurity and a job he could not carry out with enjoyment, the former might be preferable. Those who were ambitious enough to rise and stay at the top would take whatever was offered and contrive to make a success of it – or, at the very least, arrange that cronies would declare them a success, which amounted to much the same. Elaine wasn't like that. Such connivance, he felt intuitively, was not her style. Maybe that too was a weakness on her part.

She had not said a word after; she'd just disappeared, probably to the home of her constituency chairman, that stalwart lady Betty Horrocks, whom Fred had met at Anthony's memorial service. Betty would have put Elaine to bed in the spare room, folded her clothes and left her jacket neatly on a hanger. He could picture Mrs Horrocks bringing hot chocolate and aspirin, or Scotch and biscuits, and sitting for hours in her dressing gown, encouraging Elaine to talk. But somehow he felt that was unlikely. Elaine would not have said anything, not to Betty, not to anyone.

Karen had shrugged dolefully when he asked her. Her face had indicated she had been crying, but there was a determined set to her mouth. Her mother, she averred, would confide when she was ready. Meanwhile she, Karen, would go about her everyday activities as if nothing untoward had occurred and she recommended Fred do the same. But she had refused point-blank though politely to sleep with him since, saying she too preferred to be on her own. His exclusion from her innermost thoughts grieved him more than anything else.

The vacancy had not yet been filled. The Prime Minister was taking advice, it was said. A reshuffle was not due till the summer and the PM hated being rushed. The media hinted that an amalgamation of departments was a possibility. The health side, it was pointed out, had for two decades functioned in tandem with social security. These days health authorities and trusts by and large ran themselves and needed less ministerial interference. Such a merger would obviate the appointment of another Minister. So ran the official line. Meanwhile Fred had been discreetly asked to carry on as normal – and should he learn anything from Elaine about exactly what had gone on behind the scenes, what rows had taken place or remarks been exchanged, he should let the whips know at once.

For in the firing line was the Secretary of State himself. The PM had let it be known that he was not pleased. After the loss of three good Ministers in a row, sharp comments were made an the more hostile media about Bampton's fitness for senior office, though it was conceded that the events were probably unconnected.

Yet Ted Bampton was hardly a victim – not unless Elaine made him so. What was missing as yet was the vindictive statement, the howl of revenge, which a Norman Lamont or a Geoffrey Howe had delivered with the express intention of damaging their masters. The press waited to see whether Elaine would oblige. Fred suspected that she might, but in her own good time.

The object of Fred's musings crouched huddled on the edge of the sofa where she had been for hours. Her jeans were crumpled, the shirt was not clean. In her hand lay a scrunched-up ball of damp tissue.

On the coffee table sat the remains of a ham sandwich and a half-drunk cup of soup. The sink held two dirty cereal bowls and spoons. On the draining board were several unwashed mugs alongside an unopened bouquet of dying flowers. There was no point in cooking, while eating out would be an
ordeal. She could have ordered a pizza, but Elaine could envisage the delivery boy's face as he recognised his customer. Pity would have demolished her: curiosity was worse. Anyway she was not hungry.

It was six days since her world had fallen apart. Margaret Thatcher had opined on her own forced resignation that it was as if a map of one's life, printed on glass, had been thrown to the ground and shattered. Not only were all the patterns confused but no way existed to restore them.

Margaret had never adjusted. In the years since, she had drifted round the world attending expensive dinners hosted by admirers, ostensibly to raise money for the Thatcher Foundation, though few were clear what that organisation did. Her interventions in British politics had at first been restricted to criticisms of her successors not quite
sotto voce
in private houses, then expanded noisily into her memoirs and world-wide promotion tours. The result was a travesty of a great woman; she seemed to have lost her dignity and sense of purpose entirely.

As for Elaine, she felt numb. She did not comprehend what had happened; only that her dismissal had not been part of any plan. It had been as much a surprise to her as to the press and public and she had been unable to respond. Some Ministers use the weapon of resignation to get their own way; some leave government because the fun has vanished or because of lack of progress on a pet project. What no one else could see was the weary acquiescence, the imploding will, with which Elaine had confronted defeat. She might have fought, and perhaps should have tried. She could, indeed, have insisted on seeing Roger and – what? – as a last resort, perhaps, made veiled threats against him and demanded a move away from Bampton's malevolence. But the dangerous game of blackmail had not entered her head. Indeed, quitting her ministerial career at all had never been on the agenda. When George had hinted that she should consider it if the job no longer gave her satisfaction, she had rejected the notion out of hand, and him along with it.

How could she have so misjudged events? Elaine passed her hand slowly over her eyes. Here was a question to which she had no answer, save that it probably served to confirm her unfitness to govern. She couldn't have been much good as a politician if she could not see that black hole coming. It was all very well being a good communicator: a valuable skill, certainly, and lacking in many colleagues, but not in itself sufficient. Her talents as a populariser, her high level of credibility with the electorate, had brought her to government, but were not enough to keep her there. What was missing was sure-footedness, that ability to sidestep trouble. She smiled wryly. Not that these qualities were in great abundance on either front bench. Yet most of those in high office or hankering after it would not end up trapped as she had been.

Elaine had hardly noticed the press: the numbness had so frozen her that it was as if she had gone into suspended animation. Betty had been wonderful and had insisted on taking her in for the crucial first few days. She responded to no one. The answerphone was left permanently on and she did not listen to the recorded calls.

At the office, according to Betty's report, Diane had fielded every enquiry with brutal efficiency. Sackloads of letters and cards had arrived. Most of the correspondents were sad or incredulous; nearly all were friendly, though Elaine had no way of knowing how much hostile mail had been redirected into Diane's overflowing bin. Intrigued, she had started to read some letters but had been convulsed by tears and soon laid them to one side.

If only she had been allowed to defend herself. That was the crunch. Bampton had told her to keep her mouth shut, had taken her place at the dispatch box, had spoken for her. It was not merely that he had overruled her, though that was bad enough. He had implied by his action that she did not count; that she was incapable of accepting accountability for her own behaviour and was not to be trusted. That hurt. And was wrong.
He
was wrong. But he had destroyed her as thoroughly as if he had taken a pickaxe to her. After that, there was no recovery.

It was getting dark. How long had she been sitting there? It was hardly strange that,
preoccupied with recent events, churning them round in her mind in a futile attempt at analysis, she was barely able to focus on anything else. The vote was at ten: after a week's permitted absence her attendance was required, roughly at the hour most civilised people were preparing a nightcap and heading for bed.

A bath might refresh her; then she could start to don the uniform, the tailored suit, the crisp blouse, the dark tights, make-up, earrings, pearls, the slim gold watch on her wrist which marked the minutes, so long and empty, since everything she had hoped for had ended.

She felt groggy and helpless. Yet she would have to face the world sooner or later; delay only made things worse. With a sigh, Elaine rose and trudged towards the bedroom.

‘Hello, Karen.'

She had been standing, one foot forward, as she studied yet another lanky maiden whose gilded form adorned the Palm Court area. The sculpture had, she felt, a lamentable mixture of
pre-pubescent
innocence and voluptuousness. She noted Betts's eyes roaming rapidly over both the inert and the human curves displayed before him.

He made a noise which sounded like smacking his lips. ‘You look terrific.'

‘Thanks.' She kept her voice cool. The coat and dress she had chosen were simple. His remark told her plainly what was in his mind.

‘So – you ready to eat, or would you like a drink first?'

She considered. His manner was almost gauche; he looked younger and tidier than normal. Was she really doing the right thing? It virtually amounted to leading him on, which meant taking a huge risk. She shuddered inwardly. Karen was neither vindictive nor vengeful and would in normal circumstances have shunned all contact with the man. For a moment her resolve wavered.

‘Let's drink first. We can look at a menu at the same time.'

A waiter brought vodka and ice for him, an orange juice for her, a bowl of nuts, which Karen began absent-mindedly to nibble, and a set of oversized menus. Another waiter whisked away her coat. The two perched slightly awkwardly on high chairs, their glasses precarious on a tiny marble table.

‘A place like this makes me want to turn cartwheels in the foyer,' Karen confided.

‘Yeah, it's not my usual stamping ground either.' Betts offered her a cigarette; she refused. He lit one for himself, then sipped his drink and grinned. ‘So, how's your mother?'

‘Fine, thank you.' Karen was instantly on her guard.

‘When can we expect her to make a statement? She can't stay silent forever. The whole press has been trying to phone her but she won't return our calls.' Betts was watching her. ‘What happened, exactly? She must have spoken to you. Had a brainstorm, or what?'

The offensive remark was designed to breach her defences. Karen paused, picked up her drink and examined it carefully as if the answer were written on the liquid's surface.

‘She's very down. You have to understand. Leave her alone – you won't get anything out of her, nor out of me.'

Betts wriggled irritably. ‘That boyfriend of yours, then,' he suggested. ‘Laidlaw. Done well for himself, hasn't he? You two planning to get hitched?'

‘No, we are not.' This time Karen failed to keep the annoyance out of her voice. She recovered control quickly: her listener would magnify any clue she gave him. ‘It's pure chance that we're the remaining tenants of that house. I have another year and a bit of university. Then I don't know what – I have to get a job, but it probably won't be in London.'

‘Don't fancy being an MP's wife, is that it?' Betts gave a knowing leer.