Despite the renewed demand the solicitor’s advice remained the same.
Andrew Fraser never stopped moving from one city to another because the Scottish Office had to show a presence in Edinburgh and Glasgow as well as in London. Louise did not complain; she had never seen her husband so happy. The only moment of light relief during his first three months as a minister came when Andrew found it necessary to send a letter to his father addressed, “Dear Sir Duncan,” which went on to explain why he had to reject his offered advice on a Highlands and Islands Board project. Andrew was particularly pleased with the line, “I have for some considerable time listened to both sides of the argument.”
Once he had settled in his favorite chair that night with a large whisky in his hand Louise told him she was pregnant again. “When did I find the time?” he asked, taking her in his arms.
“Maybe the half-hour between your meeting with the Norwegian Fishing Minister and the address to the Oil Conference in Aberdeen?”
When the AGM of the Sussex Downs Conservative Association came round in October Charles was pleased to learn that Mrs. Blenkinsop’s “no confidence” motion had been withdrawn. The local press tried to build up the story but the nationals were full of the Aberfan coal-tip disaster, in which 116 schoolchildren had lost their lives. No editor could find space for Sussex Downs.
Charles delivered a thoughtful speech to his association which was well received. During question time he was relieved to find no embarrassing questions directed at him.
When the Seymours finally said good night, Charles took the chairman to one side and inquired: “How did you manage it?”
“I explained to Mrs. Blenkinsop,” replied the chairman, “that if her motion of no confidence was discussed at the AGM it would be awfully hard for the member to back my recommendation that she should receive an OBE in the New Year’s Honors for service to the party. That shouldn’t be too hard for you to pull off, should it, Charles?”
Every time the phone rang Raymond assumed it would be the press asking him if he knew someone called Mandy. Often it was a journalist, but all that was needed was a quotable remark on the latest unemployment figures, or a statement of where the minister stood on devaluation of the pound.
It was Mike Molloy, a reporter from the Daily Mirror, who was the first to ask Raymond what he had to say about a statement phoned in to his office by a girl with a West Indian accent called Mandy Page.
“I have nothing to say on the subject. Please speak to my solicitor, Sir Roger Pelham,” was the Under-Secretary’s succinct reply. The moment he put the phone down he felt queasy.
A few minutes later when the phone rang again Raymond still hadn’t moved. He picked up the receiver, his hand still shaking. Pelham confirmed that Molloy had been in touch with him.
“I presume you made no comment,” said Raymond.
“On the contrary,” replied Pelham. “I told him the truth.”
“What?” exploded Raymond.
“Be thankful she hit on a fair journalist because I expect he’ll let this one go. Fleet Street are not quite the bunch of shits everyone imagines them to be,” Pelham said uncharacteristically, and added, “they also detest two things, bent policemen and blackmailers. I don’t think you’ll see anything in the press tomorrow.”
Sir Roger Pelham was wrong.
Raymond was standing outside his local newsagent the next morning when it opened at five-thirty and he surprised the proprietor by asking for a copy of the Daily Mirror. Raymond Gould was plastered all over page five saying, “Devaluation is not a course I can support while the unemployment figures remain so high.” The photograph by the side of the article was unusually flattering.
Simon Kerslake read a more detailed account of what the minister had said on devaluation in The Times, and noted Raymond Gould’s firm stand against what was beginning to look like inevitable Government policy.
Simon looked up from his paper and started to consider a ploy that might trap Gould. If he could make the minister commit himself again and again on devaluation in front of the whole House he knew that when the inevitable happened Gould would be left with no choice but to resign. Simon penciled a question on the top of the paper before returning to the political columns.
The devaluation news had caused a Tory lead in the opinion polls of eight percent, and despite a majority of ninety-five in the Commons the Government had actually lost a vote on the floor of the House the previous day. Nevertheless, Simon still could not envisage a general election for at least another two years.
On the business front Simon had advised Ronnie Nethercote not to allow his company shares to be traded on the Stock Exchange until the Tories returned to power. “The climate,” he assured Ronnie, “should be much easier then.”
Charles Seymour was glad to be behind the wheel again after his driving ban had been completed, and he had the grace to smile when Fiona showed him the photograph of the happy Mrs. Blenkinsop displaying her OBE outside Buckingham Palace to a reporter from the Sussex Gazette.
It was six months to the day of his first meeting with Sir Roger Pelham that Raymond Gould received an account from the solicitor for services rendered — £500. He sent the check by return of post in a parcel that also contained a copy of the recently published edition of Wisden.
Chapter eight
Andrew had been warned by his ministerial colleagues that the first day answering questions at the dispatch box would be an experience he was unlikely to forget.
Questions for the Scottish Office appear on the order paper on a Wednesday once every four or five weeks, and each minister answers on behalf of his own department between two-thirty-five and three-twenty. There are usually four or five ministers of the Crown, not including the law officer available to represent each great department of state. During the forty-minute to one-hour period the ministers would expect to reply to about twenty-five questions, but it is rarely the questions that are the problem; it is the supplementaries.
Any member can place a question through the table office to any minister, and can word it in a seemingly innocuous way. “When does the minister hope next to visit Aberdeen?” to which the minister concerned may reply anything from “next week” to “I have no plans to do so in the foreseeable future” — but when the member who put down the question rises from his seat to ask his supplementary he can change the subject completely. “Does the minister realize that Aberdeen has the highest rate of unemployment in the United Kingdom, and what new ideas does his department have to deal with this problem?” The hapless minister must then come up with a convincing reply on the spot.
In an attempt to see that a minister is adequately briefed, his department will spend the morning scrutinizing each tabled question and looking for pitfalls he might encounter. A variety of possible supplementaries will be placed in his brief with appropriate answers. Ministers can, of course, always ask colleagues on their own side what they are hoping to find out from their tabled questions, but Opposition members use question time to test a minister in the hope of discovering some weakness in his armory, thus making the Government appear incompetent.