Sarah had a meeting to go to. Visitors weren’t allowed to walk around the Commons unescorted, so she saw Andrew out of the building.
‘Let’s do dinner next time,’ he suggested.
‘As long as you don’t mind eating late. Lots of legislating to do. By the way, what job were you going to offer me, had I not won? I’m curious.’
‘It hardly matters now,’ Andrew replied. ‘I never worked out a title. Head of Public Relations might have done it.’
‘I don’t know anything about PR,’ Sarah protested.
‘Don’t underestimate yourself. I suspect you can do anything you turn your mind to. And thanks for giving me Gill Temperley’s number.’
‘Did you get on with her?’
‘I did. She’s weighing up offers, but reckons she’ll have a lot of time on her hands now her party’s out of power. She might be able to give me a couple of days a week to do the job I wanted you to do.’
The glint in Andrew’s eyes indicated that he hoped for more than work from Gill. Sarah wondered if the Tory MP was interested. Gill had scraped back into office, but had already made it clear that she wouldn’t be seeking a shadow cabinet post. Like most members of the last government, she would want to make money, catch up on the opportunities missed during eighteen years of power.
Sarah and Andrew exchanged pecks on the cheek. Andrew hailed a taxi. Sarah went back inside to meet a prospective secretary. Replacing Clare was her top priority. Sarah used to share her with her Nottingham East counterpart, but Clare had managed to get herself elected in what had hitherto been a safe Tory seat. Now that she was a junior minister, Sarah needed somebody full time. She would have to delegate nearly all of her constituency case work. The person she was about to see had short, blonde hair, blue eyes and a weak chin. He came highly recommended by his former boss, who had lost his seat.
‘I’m not a Tory,’ was the first thing Hugh Race told her.
‘So your reference says.’
‘And I’m not gay.’
‘I wouldn’t mind if you were. It might even be an advantage.’
‘I only say that because I know you’re aware of my previous employer’s . . . predilections, and I didn’t want you to think I got the job because there was anything going on.’
‘You want to follow a career path in Parliament because you’re more interested in government than you are in party politics. That’s fine. My last secretary was a candidate and she hardly got any work done in the last eight weeks. So there’s a big backlog and I need somebody who can catch up quickly, who can make minor decisions independently. According to Jasper, you’re very good at that.’
‘Mr March was a very good employer. He made my duties clear. I’d never take on anything that was properly a member’s remit.’
Sarah wondered whether Hugh would take charge of her, rather than the other way round. Good secretaries were hard to find, especially now, with all the new MPs sloshing about the house. Hugh was easy on the eye, too, good looking in a pale, effete way. He could be one of Gill Temperley’s ‘researchers’.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll put you on the same salary scale you were on with Jasper. Three months’ probation and no hard feelings if either of us wants to back out at the end of it. How does that sound?’
‘Excellent,’ Hugh said. ‘When do you want me start?’
Sarah pointed at the two bin bags full of mail waiting for attention.
‘Now.’
She collected an inch-thick pile of faxes that had arrived during her absence. Near the top, she saw that the BMA foundation for AIDS was about to publish its survey on the availability of condoms in state prisons. That was something she ought to be able to move on quickly; it probably wasn’t ‘sexy’ enough to be one of the hundred projects in a hundred days to be announced over the next three months. But things might change.
There was no need for the new government to be as cautious as the party had had to be until now. The size of their majority had shocked everyone. After a landslide, people expected large changes. Prisons didn’t work and they were her responsibility. If she got everyone who didn’t belong in prison out, the government would make a huge financial saving. The biggest cut, she liked to say at meetings, would be in human misery. That was what she had come into politics to do, the kind of achievement it was worth making sacrifices for. Nick knew that. He would understand.
She had waited all of her life for this.
EPILOGUE
AUTUMN 1997
The meeting took several weeks to set up. Sarah had not forgotten the favour Eric did for Nick Cane on her behalf. The Chief Constable would want something in return. Men always did. But first, he reminded Sarah of an offer he had made before the election.
‘In four years time, you’ll be even better qualified to run the association. So if you don’t hold on to your seat . . .’
‘That’s awfully nice of you, Eric, but I’m not looking to pack a parachute just yet. And I may not be so popular with your colleagues once they’ve seen what I do when I actually have some power.’
‘Power, in my experience, is largely an illusion. While you have it, you’re most conscious of what you lack, and of how little you can affect the things that matter to you. Only when it’s gone do you realize what you had.’
The coffee arrived. Both of them took it black.
‘How are the kids?’ Sarah asked, delaying the question she’d invited him over to answer.
‘Youngest started at university this week. Strange feeling, the empty nest. Makes you wonder why you go home at the end of the day.’
That was enough small talk. They only had ten minutes before her next appointment.
‘I wanted to clear up a loose end or two.’
‘Of course,’ Eric said. ‘I looked into that matter for you. I checked out your friend as well, Nicholas Cane.’
‘I didn’t ask you to . . .’
Eric shrugged. ‘I put my neck on the line where he was concerned. I wanted to make sure I hadn’t left either of us open to embarrassment. But he’s living an exemplary life, as far as we can tell. Volunteers at a drugs rehabilitation drop-in centre, keeps his probation appointments, hasn’t done any more illicit cab driving.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Sarah said. ‘We’ve not spoken.’
‘Who knows, in time, you might be able to use him as a consultant,’ Eric said. Seeing that he’d got her attention, he went on. ‘I hear rumours. Downgrading cannabis from Class B to Class C, virtually decriminalising the stuff. Any truth in that?’
‘Not my department,’ Sarah said.
‘Be a good thing, if you want my opinion. The laws at the moment, we make outlaws out of the middle-class punters we need on our side, make youngsters think that if we’ve got cannabis wrong, we’re probably wrong about the hard drugs, too. And we’re not.’
‘I agree.’
‘Cane, he wasn’t just growing the stuff, you know. He was a cocaine dealer.’
‘Really?’ Sarah thought it best to affect ignorance, even though Nick had told her about the coke.
‘Not big-time, but it made his sentence a lot heavier.’
‘How did you catch him?’ Sarah asked, remembering the bitter hints that Nick had given. He even suspected his own brother. ‘Nosy neighbour smelt something?’
Eric shook his head. ‘Same as the way we caught him driving illegally. Anonymous tip-off.’
‘How anonymous?’ Sarah asked, her heartbeat accelerating.
‘Not very. We traced the call to his brother’s home.’
‘His brother told you about the dope growing?’
‘No, it was a woman’s voice on the phone. Some kind of family trouble, it’s often the way. You rarely get to the bottom of it.’