First Among Equals (17 page)

“The maddening
thing is that that bloody nuisance Pimkin has nothing to lose,” said the Chief
Whip. “His seat disappears at the end of this Parliament in the redistribution.
I can’t imagine anyone with his extreme views would find a constituency to
select him, but by then he’ll have done the damage.”
The
Chief Whip .paused.
“If his twelve would even abstain, I would feel
confident of advising the PM of victory.”

“The problem is
to find a way of turning Pimkin into Judas and then urge him to lead the chosen
twelve into our camp,” said Charles.

“You achieve
that, Charles, and we’d certainly win.”

Charles
returned to the Whip’s office to find Simon Kerslake waiting by his desk.

“I dropped by
on the off chance, hoping you might be able to spare me a few moments,” said
Simon.

“Of course,”
said Charles, trying to sound welcoming. “Take a seat.”

Simon sat down
opposite him. “You may have heard that I lose my constituency as a result of
the Boundary Commission report, and Edward Mountjoy suggested I have a word
with you about Littlehampton, the new seat that borders your constituency.”

“It does
indeed,” said Charles masking his surprise.
fie
had
not considered the problem, as his own constituency was not affected by the
Boundary Commission’s 139 report. He recovered quickly. “I’ll do everything I
can to help.
And how wise of Edward to send you to me.”

“Littlehampton
would be ideal,” said Simon.
“Especially while my wife is
still working here in London.”

Charles raised
his eyebrows.

“I don’t think
you’ve met Elizabeth. She’s a doctor at St. Mary’s,” Simon explained.

“Yes, I see
your problem. Why don’t I start by having a word with Alexander Dalglish, the
constituency chairman, and see what I can come up with?”

“That would be
extremely helpful.”

“Not at all.
I’ll call him at home this evening and find out
what stage they’ve reached over selection, and then I’ll put you in the
picture.”

“I’d appreciate
that.”

“While I’ve got
you, let me give you ‘The Whip’ for next week,” said Charles, passing over a
sheet of paper, Simon folded it up and put it in his pocket. “I’ll call you the
moment I have some news.”

Simon left
feeling happier and a little guilty about his past prejudice concerning
Charles, whom he watched disappear into the chamber to carry out his bench
duty.

In the chamber,
the European issue had been given six days for debate by backbenchers, the
longest period of time allocated to one motion in living memory.

Charles
strolled down the aisle leading to the front bench and took a seat on the end
to check on another set of speeches. Tom Carson, the Labour member from
Liverpool Dockside, was launching into a tirade of abuse against the
Government. Charles rarely listened to Carson’s left-wing rantings – and the
under-the-breath remarks and coughing that continued during his speech proved
Charles was not alone in his opinion. By the time Carson concluded, Charles had
worked out a plan.

He left the
chamber, but instead of returning to the Whip’s office, which afforded no
privacy, he disappeared into one of the telephone booths near the clois140 ters
above the members’ cloakroom. He checked the number in his book and dialed.

“Alexander,
it’s
Charles. Charles Hampton.”

“Good to hear
from you, Charles, it’s been a long time. How are you?”

“Well. And
you?”

“Can’t complain.
What can I do for a busy man like you?”

“Wanted to chew over the new Sussex constituency with yoti –
Littlehampton.

How’s your
selection of a candidate going?”

“They’ve left
me to draw up a short list of six for final selection by the full committee in
about ten days’ time.”

“Have you
thought of running yourself, Alexander?”

“Manv times,”
was the reply that came back. “But the missus –
ouldn’t allow
it; neither would the bank balance. Do you have any idcas?”

“Might be able to help.
Why don’t you come and have a quiet
dinner at my place early next week?”

“That’s kind of
you, Charles.”

“Not at all, it
will be good to see you again.

It’s been far
too long. Next Monday suit you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, let’s
say eight o’clock, Twenty-sev-en Eaton Square.”

Charles put the
phone down and returned to the Whip’s office to make a note in his diary.

Raymond hadjust
finished making his contribution to the European debate when Charles returned
to the House. Raymond had made a coherent economic case for remaining free of
the other six European countries and for building stronger links with the
Commonwealth and America. He had doubted that Britain could take the financial
burden of entering a club that had been in existence for so long. If the
country had joined at its inception, it might have been different, he argued,
but he would have to vote against this risky unproven venture that he suspected
could only lead to higher unemployment. Before he finished his speech, Charles
put a cross by the name Gould.

A note was
being passed along the row to Raymond from one of the House messengers dressed
in white tie and black tails. It read “Please ring Sir Nigel Hartwell as soon
as convenient.”

Raymond left
the floor of the House and went to the nearest telephone in the corner of the
members’ lobby. He called his law offices and was immediately put through to
Sir Nigel.

“You wanted me
to phone?”

“Yes,” said Sir
Nigel. “Are you free at the moment?”

“I am,” said
Raymond. “Why? Is it anything urgent?”

“I’d rather not
talk about it over the phone,” said Sir Nigel ominously.

Raymond took a
subway from Westminster to Temple and was in the law chambers fifteen minutes
later. He went straight to Sir Nigel’s office, sat down in a comfortable chair
in the spacious clublike room, crossed his legs and watched Sir Nigel pace
about in front of him. He was clearly determined to get something off his
chest.

“Raymond, I
have been asked by those in authority about you becoming a Queen’s Counsel.
I’ve said I think you’d make a damn good QC.” A smile came over Raymond’s face,
but it was soon wiped off. “But if you’re going to take silk I need an
undertaking from you.”

“An undertaking?”

“Yes,” said Sir
Nigel. “You must stop having this damn silly, er... relationship with another
member of our chambers.” He rounded on Raymond and faced him.

Raymond turned
scarlet, but before he could speak, the head of chambers continued.

“Now I want
your word on it,” said Sir Nigel, “that it will end, and end imniediately.”

“You have my
word,” said Raymond quietly.

“I’m not a
prig,” said Sir Nigel, pulling down on his waistcoat, “but if you are going to
have an affair, for God’s sake make it as far away from the office as possible,
and, if I may advise you, that should include the House of Commons and Leeds.
There’s still a lot of the world left over, and it’s full of women.”

Raymond nodded
his agreement; he could not fault the head of chambers’s logic.

Sir Nigel
continued, obviously embarrassed. “There’s a nasty fraud case starting in
Manchester next Monday. Our client has been accused of setting up a senes of
companies that specialize in life insurance but avoid paying out on the claims.
I expect you remember all the publicity.

Miss Arnold has
been put on the case as a reserve junior. They tell me it could last several
weeks.”

“She’ll try and
get out of it,” said Raymond glumly.

“She has
already, but I made it quite clear that if she felt unable to take the case on,
she would have to find other chambers.”

Raymond
breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said.

“Sorry about
this. I know you’ve earned your silk, old boy, but I can’t have members of our
chambers going around with egg on their faces. Thank you for your cooperation.
I can’t pretend I enjoyed that.”

“Got time for a
quiet word?” asked Charles.

“You’re wasting
your time, dear thing, if you imagine the disciples will change their minds at
this late stage,” said Alec Pimkin. “AA twelve of them will vote against the
Government on Europe. That’s final.”

“I don’t want to
discuss Europe this time, Alec; it’s far more serious, and on a personal level.
Let’s go and have a drink on the terrace.”

Charles ordered
the drinks, and the two men strolled out onto the quiet end of the terrace
toward the Speaker’s house. Charles stopped when he was certain there was no
longer anyone within earshot.

“If it’s not
Europe, what is it?” said Pinikin, staring out at the Thames as he nervously
fingered the rose in his lapel.

“What’s this I
hear about you losing your seat?”

Pimkin turned
pale and touched his spotted bow tie nervously. “It’s this bloody boundary
business. My constituency is swallowed up, and no one seems willing to
interview me for a new one.”

“What’s it
worth it’l secure you a safe seat for the rest of your life?”

Pimkin looked
suspiciously up at Charles.

“Anything up to a pound of flesh, dear boy.”
He added a
false laugh.

“No, I won’t
need to cut that deep.”

The color
returned to Pimkin’s fleshy cheeks. “Whatever it is, you can rely on me, old
fellow.”

“Can you
deliver the disciples?” said Charles.

Pimkin turned
pale again.

“Not on the
small votes in committee,” said Charles, before Pimkin could reply. “Not on the
clauses evenjust on the second reading, the principle itself. Standing by the
Party in their hour of need, no
desire to cause an
unnecessary general election, all that stuffyou fill
in the details for
the disciples. I know you can convince them, Alec.”

Pimkin still
didn’t speak.

“I delivei a
copper-bottomed seat, you deliver twelve votes. I think we can call that a fair
exchange.”

“What if I get
them to abstain?” said Pimkin.

Charles waited,
as if giving the idea considerable thought. “It’s a deal,” he said, never
having hoped for anything more.

Alexander
Dalglisb arrived at Eaton Square a little after eight. Fiona met the tall,
elegant man at the door and explained that Charles had not yet returned from
the Commons.

“But I expect
him any moment,” she added. “May I offer you a sherry?” she asked. Another
thirty minutes had passed before Charles hurried in.

“Sorry I’m late,
Alexander,” he said, shaking hands with his guest.

“Hoped I might make it just before you.”

He kissed his
wife on the forehead.

“Not at all,
dear boy,” said Alexander, raising his sherry. “I couldn’t have asked for more
pleasant company.

“What will you
have, darling?” asked Fiona.

“A strong whiskey, please.
Now, let’s go straight into
dinner. I’ve got to be back at the talkshop by ten.”

Charles guided
his guest toward the dining room and seated him at the end of the table before
taking his place below the Holbein portrait of the first Earl of Bridgewater,
an heirloom his grandfather had left him.

Fiona took a
seat opposite her husband.

During the meal
of beef Wellington, Charles spent a great deal of time catching up on what
Alexander had been doing since they had last met. He made no mention of the
real purpose behind the meeting until Fiona provided the opportunity when she
served coffee.

“I know you two
have a lot to talk about, so I’ll leave you to get on with it.”

“Thank you,” said
Alexander. He looked up at Fiona and smiled “For a lovely dinner.”

She returned
his smile and left them alone.

“Now, Charles,”
said Alexander, picking up the file he had left on the floor by his side, “I
need to pick your brains.”

“Go ahead, old
fellow,” said Charles.
“Only too delighted to be of
assistance.”

“Sir Edward
MountJoy has sent me a pretty long list for us to consider, among them a Home
Office Minister and one or two other members of Parliament who’ll be losing
their present seats. What do you think of
...

T’

Dalglish opened
the file in front of him as Charles poured him a generous glass of port and
offered him a cigar from a gold case that he picked up from the sideboard.

“What a
magnificent object,” said Alexander, staring in awe at the crested box and the
engraved C.G.H. along its top.

“A family
heirloom,” said Charles. “Should have been left to my brother Rupert, but I was
lucky enough to have the same initials as my grandfather.”

Alexander
handed it back to his host before returning to his notes.

“Here’s the man
who impresses me,” he said at last. “Kerslake, Simon Kerslake.”

Charles
remained silent.

“You don’t have
an opinion, Charles?”

“Yes.

“So what do you
think of Kerslake?”

“Strictly off the record?”

Dalglish nodded
but said nothing.

Charles sipped
his port. “Very good,” he said.

“Kerslake?”

“No, the port.
Taylor’s Thirty-five. I’m afraid Kerslake is
not the same vintage. Need I say more?”

“No. What a
pity. He looks good on paper.”

“On paper is
one thing,” said Charles, “but having him as your member for twenty years is
quite another. And his wife ... Never seen in the constituency, you know.” He
frowned. “I’m afraid I’ve gone too far.”

“No, no,” said
Alexander. “I’ve got the picture. Next one is Norman Lamont.”