“Not at all. One can never know what permutations and pressures a new Prime Minister has to consider.”
“Like what?” asked Elizabeth.
“Left and right wings of the party, north and south of the country — countless debts to be cleared with those people who can claim they played a role in getting him into No. 10.” Simon yawned.
“Are you saying he could leave you out?”
“Oh yes. But I’ll be livid if he does, and I’d certainly want to know who had been given my job — and why.”
“And what could you do about it?”
“Nothing. There is absolutely nothing one can do and every back-bencher knows it. The Prime Minister’s power of patronage is absolute.”
“It won’t matter, if you continue driving on the center line,” she said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to take a turn at the wheel?”
Louise let Andrew lie in on the Friday morning. She knew he had been expecting to return to a higher ministerial office and had been shattered by the election result.
By the time Andrew woke it was nearly eleven. He sat in silence in his dressing gown, unshaven, and tapped a hardboiled egg that refused to crack. An unopened Times lay by his side.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” he said once the second cup of coffee had taken effect. She smiled.
An hour later, dressed in sports jacket and gray flannels, he toured the constituency in a loudspeaker van, thanking his supporters for returning him to Westminster. Louise was by his side, often able to jog his memory on names he couldn’t recall.
After they had shaken the last hand they spent a quiet weekend with Sir Duncan in Stirling — who found it extremely hard to remove the smirk from his face.
Raymond was astonished by the election result. He couldn’t believe that the opinion polls had been so wrong. He didn’t confide in Joyce that he had hoped a Labour victory would bring him back into office after languishing on the back benches for what seemed an interminable time.
“There’s nothing for it,” he told her, “but to rebuild a career at the bar. We may be out of office for years.”
“But surely that won’t be enough to keep you fully occupied?”
“I have to be realistic about the future,” he said slowly. “Although I don’t intend to let Heath drag us into Europe without putting up one hell of a fight.”
“Perhaps they’ll ask you to Shadow someone?”
“No, there are always far fewer jobs available in Opposition, and in any case they always give the orators like Fraser the dispatch box when all you can do is to sit and make noises while we wait for another election.”
Raymond wondered how he would broach what was really on his mind and tried to sound casual when he said, “Perhaps it’s time we considered having our own home in the constituency.”
“That seems an unnecessary expense,” said Joyce, “especially as there’s nothing wrong with your parents’ home. And, in any case, wouldn’t they be offended?”
“My first interest should be my duty to the constituents and this would be a chance to prove a long-term commitment to them. Naturally my parents will understand.”
“But we can’t afford the cost of two houses,” said Joyce uncertainly.
“I realize that, but it’s you who have always wanted to live in Leeds, and this will give you the chance to stop commuting from London every week. After I’ve done the rounds why don’t you stay up, contact a few local estate agents, and see what’s on the market?”
“All right, if that’s what you really want,” said Joyce. “I’ll start next week.”
Charles and Fiona spent a quiet weekend at their cottage in Sussex. Charles tried to do some gardening while he kept one ear open for the telephone. Fiona began to realize how anxious he was when she looked through the French windows and saw her finest delphinium being taken for a weed.
Charles eventually gave the weeds a reprieve and came in and turned on the television to catch Maudling, Macleod, Thatcher, and Carrington enter No. 10 Downing Street looking pensive, only to leave smiling. The senior appointments had been made: the Cabinet was taking shape. The new Prime Minister came out and waved to the crowds before being whisked away in his official car.
Would he remember who had organized the young vote for him before he was even the party leader?
“When do you want to go back to Eaton Square?” Fiona inquired from the kitchen.
“Depends,” said Charles.
“On what?”
“On whether the phone rings.”
Simon sat staring at the television. All those hours of work on Housing and Local Government, and the PM had offered the portfolio to someone else. He had left the set on all day but didn’t learn who it was, only that the rest of the Housing and Local Government team had remained intact.
“Why do I bother?” he said out loud. “The whole thing’s a farce.”
“What were you saying, darling?” asked Elizabeth as she came into the room.
The phone rang again. It was the newly appointed Home Secretary, Reginald Maudling.
“Simon?”
“Reggie, many congratulations on your appointment — not that it came as a great surprise.”
“That’s what I’m calling about, Simon. Would you like to join me at the Home Office as Under-Secretary?”
“Like to? I’d be delighted.”
“Thank heavens for that,” said Maudling. “It took me a dickens of a time to convince Ted Heath that you should be released from the Housing and Local Government team.”
When Andrew and Louise arrived back at Cheyne Walk after the weekend a red box was waiting for him in the drawing room. “Under-Secretary of State for Scotland” was printed in gold on the side.
“They’ll be round to collect that later today,” he told Louise. He turned the key to find the box was empty, and then he saw the small envelope in one corner. It was addressed to “Andrew Fraser Esquire, MP.” He tore it open. It contained a short handwritten note from the Permanent Secretary, the senior civil servant at the Scottish Office.
“In keeping with a long tradition, ministers are presented with the last red box from which they worked. Au revoir. No doubt we will meet again.”
“I suppose it could be used as a lunch box,” said Louise, standing by the door.
“Or perhaps an overnight case,” offered Andrew.
“Or a very small cot,” added his wife, trying to make her words casual.
Andrew looked up to see Louise looking radiant.
“I let your parents know last night, but I wasn’t going to tell you until dinner this evening.”
Andrew threw his arms around her.
“By the way,” Louise added, “we’ve already decided on her name.”
When Raymond arrived back at Lincoln’s Inn he let his clerk know that he wanted to be flooded with work. Over lunch with Sir Nigel Hartwell, the head of chambers, he explained that he thought it unlikely that the Labour party would be in Government again for some considerable time.
“Age is on your side, Raymond. Another full Parliament and you’ll be barely forty, so you can still look forward to many years in the Cabinet.”
“I wonder,” said Raymond, uncharacteristically hesitant.
“Well, you needn’t worry about briefs. Solicitors have been calling constantly since it was known you were back on a more permanent basis.”
Raymond began to relax.
Joyce phoned him after lunch with the news that she hadn’t found anything suitable, but the estate agent had assured her that they were expecting a lot more on the market in the autumn.
“Well, keep looking,” said Raymond.