First Among Equals (32 page)

“Your cocoa’s
gone cold and I’ve eaten all the biscuits,” she said brightly, “but thank you
for leaving the radio on. At least I knew where you were.”

Simon started
to laugh.

Elizabeth
started to cry.

“What’s the
matter, darling?” said Simon, coming to her side.

“Peter would
have been so proud of you.”

C
HARLES AND AMANDA were married at the most inconspicuous registry
office in Hammersmith. They then departed for a long weekend in Paris. Charles
had told his bride that he preferred not to let anyone learn of the marriage
for at least another week. He didn’t want Fiona to find a further excuse for
not returning the Hotbein.

Amanda readily
agreed, and then she remembered; but surely Alec Pirnkin didn’t count?

When they
arrived on Friday night at the PlazaAth6n6e, they were escorted to a suite
overlooking the courtyard. Later, over dinner, Amanda astonished the waiters
with her appetite as well as the cut of her dress.

Paris turned
out to be fun, but when Charles read in the Herald Tribune the next day that
Mrs. Thatcher was considering a reshuffle that very weekend, he cut their
honeymoon short and returned to London on Sunday, two days earlier than
planned. Amanda was not overjoyed. Her husband spent Saturday evening and the
whole of Sunday at Eaton Square next to a phone that never tang.

That same
Sunday evening the Prime Minister called for Simon Kerslake and told him that
he was to be made a Privy Councillor and would be moved from the Northern
Ireland Office to the Foreign Office as Minister of State.

He had started
to protest, but Mrs.

Thatcher
forestalled any discussion. “I don’t want any more dead heroes, Simon,” she
said sharply. “Your family has been through enough.”

Elizabeth was
relieved when she heard the news – although Simon doubted if she would ever
fully recover from the ordeal. Whereas his scars were visible for all to see,
hers, he suspected, were deeper-grained.

Mrs. Thatcher
finally called Charles Hampton on Tuesday morning while he was waiting in Eaton
Square for the return of the Holbein. His lawyers had agreed with Fiona’s that
the first Earl of Bridgewater should he back at Charles’s home by eleven that
morning.

Only the Queen
or Mrs. Thatcher could have kept Charles from being there to receive it. The
Prime Minister’s call came long after he thought the reshuffle was over.

Charles took a
taxi to Downing Street and was quickly ushered into the Prime Minister’s study.
Mrs. Thatcher began by complimenting him on the work he had carried out on successive
finance bills in Opposition and in Government. She then invited him to join the
front-bench team as a Minister of State at the Treasury.

Charles
accepted gracefully, and after a short policy discussion with the Prime
Minister drove back to Eaton Square to celebrate both his triumphs.

Amanda met him
at the door to tell him the Holbein had been returned. Fiona had kept her part
of the bargain: the painting had been delivered at eleven o’clock sharp.

Charles strode
confidently into his drawing room, delighted to find the bulky package awaiting
him. He was by no means so pleased to be followed by Amanda, a cigarette in one
hand and a glass of gin in the other-, but this was not a day for quarrels, he
decided. He told her 309 of his appointment, but she didn’t seem to take in its
significance until her husband opened a bottle of champagne.

Charles poured
out two glasses and handed one to his bride.

“A double celebration.
What fun,” she said, first finishing
her gin.

Charles took a
quick sip of the champagne before he began to untie the knots and tear away the
smart red wrapping paper that covered his masterpiece. Once the paper had been
removed he pulled back the final cardboard covers. Charles stared with delight
at the portrait.

The first Earl
of Bridgewater was
back
home. Charles picked up the
gold frame he knew so well to return it to its place in the dining room, but he
noticed that the picture had come a little loose.

“Damn,” he
said.

“What’s the
matter?” asked Amanda, still leaning against the door,

“Nothing
important, only I shall have to get the frame fixed. I’ll drop it at Oliver
Swann’s on the way to the bank. I’ve waited nearly three years-another couple
of days won’t make any difference.”

Now that
Charles had accepted the post of Minister of State at the Treasury he knew
there was one little arrangement he had to clear up before the appointment
became public knowledge. With that in mind, he drove to the bank and summoned
Clive Reynolds to his office. It was clear from Reynolds’s manner that the news
of Charles’s Ministerial appointment had not yet become public.

“Clive
– ”
Charles called him that for the first time...”I have a
proposition to put to you.”

Clive Reynolds
remained silent.

“The Prime
Minister has offered me a post in the Government.”

“Congratulations,”
said Reynolds, “and well deserved, if I may say so.”

“Thank you,”
said Charles. “Now-I’m considering offering you the chance to stand in for me
as chairman during my absence.”

Clive Reynolds
looked surprised.

“On the clear
understanding that if the Conservatives were to return to Opposition or I
were
to lose my appointment in Government, I would be
reinstated as chairman immediately.”

“Naturally,”
said Reynolds. “I should be delighted to fill the appointment for the interim
period.”

“Good man,”
said Charles. “It can’t have escaped your notice what happened to the last
chairman in the same situation.”

“I shall make
certain that will not happen again.”

“Thank you,”
said Charles. “I shall not forget your loyalty when I return.”

“And I shall
also endeavor to carry on the traditions of the bank in your absence,” said
Reynolds, his head slightly bowed.

“I feel sure
you will,” said Charles, 1011/1424

The board
accepted the recommendation that Clive Reynolds be appointed as temporary
chairman, and Charles vacated his office happily to take up his new post at the
Treasury.

Charles
considered it had been the most successful week of his life, and on Friday
evening on the way back to Eaton Square he dropped into Oliver Swann’s gallery
to pick up the Holbein.

“I’m afraid the
picture didn’t quite fit the frame,” said Mr. Swann.

“Oh, I expect
it’s worked loose over the years,” Charles said.

“No, Mr.
Hampton, this frame was put on the portrait quite recently,” said Swann.

“That’s not possible,”
said Charles. “I remember the
frame as well as I remember
the picture. The portrait of the first Earl of Bridgewater has been in my
family for over four hundred years.”

“Not this
picture,” said Swann.

“What (to you
mean?” said Charles, beginning to sound
anxious.

“This picture
came up for sale at Sotheby’s about three weeks ago.”

Charles went
cold as Swann continued.

“It’s the
school of Holbein, of course,” he said.
“Probably painted by
one of his pupils around the time of his death.
I should think there are
a dozen or so in existence.”

“A dozen or
so,” repeated Charles, the blood quite drained from his face.

“Yes, perhaps
even more. At least it’s solved one mystery for me,” said Swann, chuckling.

“What’s that?”
asked Charles, choking out the words.

“I couldn’t
work out why Lady Fiona was bidding for the picture, and then I remembered that
your family name is Bridgewater.”

“At least this
wedding has some style,”

Pimkin assured
Fiona between mouthfuls of sandwiches at the reception after her marriage to
Alexander Dalglish. Pimkin always accepted wedding invitations as they allowed
him to devour mounds of smoked-salmon sandwiches and consume unlimited
quantities of champagne. “I particularly enjoyed that short service of blessing
in the Guards’ Chapel; and Claridge’s can always be relied on to understand my
little proclivities.” He peered around the vast room and only stopped to stare
at his reflection in a chandelier.

Fiona laughed.
“Did you go to Charles’s wedding?”

“My darling,
I’m told that only Amanda was invited, and even she nearly found she had
another engagement. With her doctor, I believe.”

“And he
certainly can’t afford another divorce?”

“No, not in Chafles’s present position as Her Majesty’s Minister of
State.
One divorce might go unnoticed but two would be considered
habit-forming, and all diligent readers of the gossip columns have been able to
observe that consummation has taken place.”

“But how long
will Charles be able to tolerate her behavior?”

“As long as he
still believes she has given him a son who will inherit the family title. Not
that a marriage ceremony will prove legitimacy,” added Pimkin.

“Perhaps Amanda
won’t produce a son?”

“Perhaps
whatever she produces will be obviously not Charles’s offspring,” said Pimkin,
falling into a chair that had been momentarily vacated by a large buxom lady.

“Even if it
was, I can’t see Amanda as a housewife.”

“No, but it
suits Amanda’s current circumstances to be thought of as the loving spouse.”

“Time may
change that too,” said Fiona.

“I doubt it,”
said Pimkin. “Amanda is stupid; that has been proven beyond reasonable
doubt-but she has a survival instinct second only to a mongoose’s. So while
Charles is spending all the hours of the day advancing his glittering career,
she would be foolish to search publicly for greener pastures. Especially when
she
can
always he in them privately.”

“You’re a
wicked old gossip,” said Fiona.

“I cannot deny
it,” said Pimkin.

“Fhank you for
such a sensible wedding present,” said Alexander, joining his wife of two hours.
“You selected my favorite claret.”

“Giving a dozen
bottles of the finest claret serves two purposes,” said Pimkin, his hands
resting lightly on his stomach. “First, you can always be assured of a decent
wine when you invite yourself to dine.”

“And second?”
asked Alexander.

“When the happy
couple split up you can feel relieved that they will no longer have your
present to quarrel over.”

“Did you give
Charles and Amanda a present?” asked Fiona.

“No,” said
Pimkin, deftly removing another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. “I
felt your return of the bogus Earl of Bridgewater was quite enough for both of
us.”

“I wonder where
he is now?” said Alexander.

“The Earl no
longer resides in Eaton Square,” said Pirnkin with the air of one who has
divulged a piece of information which can only guarantee further rapt
attention.

“Who would want
the phony Earl?”

“We are not
aware of the provenance of the buyer, as he emanates from one of Her Majesty’s
former colonies, but the seller
. ..
”

“Stop teasing,
Alec.
Who?”

“None other than the Honorable Mrs.

Amanda Hampton.”

“Amanda
?
”

“Yes. Amanda, no less.
The
dear, silly creature retrieved the false Earl from the cellar, where Charles
had buried him with full military honors.”

“But she must
have realized it was a fake?”

“My dear,
Amanda wouldn’t know the difference between a Holbein and an Andy Warhol, but
she still happily accepted ten thousand pounds for the impersonation. I am
assured that the dealer who purchased this fabricated masterpiece made what I
think vulgar people in the city describe as ‘a quick turn.’ “

“Good God,”
said Alexander. “I only paid eight thousand for it myself”

“Perhaps you
should get Amanda to advise you on these matters in the future,” said Pimkin.
“In exchange for my invaluable piece of information, I’m bound to inquire if
the real Earl of Bridgewater is to remain in hiding?”

“Certainly not, Alec.
He is merely awaiting the right moment
to make a public appearance,” said Fiona, unable to hide a smile.

“And where is
Amanda now?” asked Alexander, obviously wanting to change the subject.

“In
Switzerland, producing a baby, which we can but hope will bear sufficient
resemblance to a white Caucasian to convince one of Charles’s limited
imagination that he is the father.”

“Where do you
get all your information from?” asked Alexander.

Pimkin sighed
dramatically. “Women have a habit of pouring their hearts out to me, Amanda
included.”

“Why should she
do that?” asked Alexander.

“She lives safe
in the knowledge that I am the one man she knows who has no interest in her
body.” Pimkin drew breath, but only to devour another smoked salmon sandwich.

Charles phoned
Amanda every day while she was in Geneva. She kept assuring him all was well,
and that the baby was expected on time. He had considered it prudent for Amanda
not to remain in England advertising her pregnancy, a less than recent
occurrence to even the most casual observer. She for her part did not complain.
With ten thousand pounds safely tucked away in a private Swiss account, there
were few little necessities she could not have brought to her, even in Geneva.

It had taken a
few weeks for Charles to become accustomed to Government after such a long
break. He enjoyed the challenge of the Treasury and quickly fell in with its
strange traditions.
fie
was constantly reminded that
his was the department on which the Prime Minister kept her closest eye, making
the challenge even greater. The civil servants, when asked their opinion of the
new Minister of State, would reply variously: able, competent, efficient,
hardworking
-but without any hint of affection in their
voices.