“Raymond Gould, QC,” said everyone in chorus. Then, “Speech, speech.”
“I would like to thank all those people who made this great honor possible,” began Raymond. “My producer, my director, the other stars, and not forgetting the criminals, without whom I would have no profession to profess. And finally,” he said, “to those of you who want to see the back of me, I direct you all to work tirelessly to ensure the return of a Labour Government at the next election. Thank you.”
The applause was sustained and genuine and many of his colleagues were impressed by how relaxed Raymond had become of late. As they came up to congratulate him Raymond couldn’t help noticing that Stephanie and Joyce had resumed their conversation. Raymond was handed another glass of champagne just as an earnest young pupil called Patrick Montague who had recently joined them from chambers in Bristol engaged him in conversation. Although Montague had been with them for some weeks Raymond had never spoken to him at length before. He seemed to have very clear views on criminal law and the changes that were necessary. For the first time in his life Raymond felt he was no longer a young man.
Suddenly both women were at his side.
“Hello, Raymond.”
“Hello, Stephanie,” he said awkwardly and looked anxiously toward his wife. “Do you know Patrick Montague?” he asked, absentmindedly.
The three of them burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” asked Raymond.
“You do embarrass me sometimes, Raymond,” said Joyce. “Surely you realize Stephanie and Patrick are engaged?”
Chapter fifteen
“With or without civil servants?” asked Simon as Andrew entered the minister’s office.
“Without, please.”
“Fine,” said Simon and pressed a switch on the intercom by his desk.
“I don’t want to be disturbed while I’m with Mr. Fraser,” he said and ushered his colleague toward a comfortable seat in the corner.
“Elizabeth was asking me this morning to find out how Robert was getting on.”
“It’s his second birthday next month and he’s overweight for a scrum-half,” replied Andrew. “And how’s your search for a seat working out?”
“Not too good. The last three constituencies to come up haven’t even asked to see me. I can’t put a finger on why, except they all seem to have selected local men.”
“It’s still a long time to the next election. You’re sure to find a seat before then.”
“It might not be so long if the Prime Minister decides to go to the country and test his strength against the unions.”
“That would be a foolish thing to do,” said Andrew. “He might defeat us but he still wouldn’t defeat the unions.”
A young woman came into the room with two cups of coffee, put them on the low Formica table, and left the two men alone.
“Have you had time to look at the file?” Andrew continued.
“Yes, I went over it last night between checking over Peter’s prep and helping Michael to build a model galleon.”
“And how do you feel?” Andrew asked.
“Not very good. I can’t get to grips with this new maths they’re now teaching, and my mast was the only one that fell off when Elizabeth launched the galleon in the bath.”
Andrew laughed.
“I think you’ve got a case,” said Simon, sounding serious.
“Good,” said Andrew. “Now the reason I wanted to see you privately is because I feel there are no party political points to be made out of this case for either of us. I’ve no plans to try to embarrass your department, and I consider it’s in the best interest of my constituents to cooperate as closely as I can with you.”
“Thank you,” said Simon. “So where do you want to go from here?”
“I’d like to table a planted question for your department in the hope that you would consider opening an inquiry. If the inquiry comes to the same conclusion as I have, I would expect you to order a retrial.”
Simon hesitated. “And if the inquiry goes against you will you agree to no reprisals for the Home Office?”
“You have my word on it.”
“Shall I ask the civil servants to come in now?”
“Yes, please do.”
Simon returned to his desk and pressed a button. A moment later three men in almost identical suits, white shirts with stiff collars, and discreet ties entered the room. Between them they could have ruined any police identification parade.
“Mr. Fraser,” began Simon, “is asking the Home Office to consider...”
“Can you explain why Simon Kerslake missed a vote yesterday?”
Charles looked across the table at the Chief Whip.
“No, I can’t,” he said. “I’ve been distributing the weekly whip to him the same as every member of my group.”
“What’s behind it then?”
“I think the poor man has been spending a lot of his time traipsing around the country looking for a seat to fight at the next election.”
“That’s no excuse,” said the Chief Whip. “Duties in the House must come first, every member knows that. He missed a vote on a vital clause during the European Bill last Thursday while everyone else in your group has proved reliable. Despite our majority we seem to be in single figures for almost every clause. Perhaps I should have a word with him?”
“No, no, I’d rather you didn’t,” said Charles, fearing he sounded a little too insistent. “I consider it my responsibility. I’ll speak to him and see that it doesn’t happen again.”
“All right, Charles, if that’s the way you want to play it. Thank God it can’t last much longer and the damn thing will soon be law, but we must remain vigilant over every clause. The Labour party know only too well that if they defeat us on certain key clauses they can still scupper the whole bill, and if I lost one of those by a single vote I would cut Kerslake’s throat. Or anyone else’s who was responsible.”
“I’ll make sure he gets the message,” said Charles.
“How’s Fiona reacting to all these late nights?” the Chief Whip asked, finally relaxing.
“Very well, considering. In fact now that you mention it I have never seen her looking better.”
“Can’t say my wife is enjoying ‘the prep school antics,’ as she describes our continual late-night sittings. I’ve had to promise to take her to the West Indies this winter to make up for it. Well, I’ll leave you to deal with Kerslake then. Be firm, Charles. Just remember, we can’t afford to lose a vote at this late stage.”
“Norman Edwards?” repeated Raymond in disbelief. “The General Secretary of the Haulage Union?”
“Yes,” said Fred Padgett, getting up from behind his desk.
“But he burned Full Employment at Any Cost? on a public bonfire with every journalist he could lay his hands on to witness the conflagration.”
“I know,” said Fred, returning a letter to the filing cabinet. “I’m only your agent, I’m not here to explain the mysteries of the universe.”
“When does he want to see me?” asked Raymond.
“As soon as possible.”
“Better ask him if he can come for a drink back at the house round six o’clock.”
Raymond had had a heavy Saturday morning surgery and thanks to the still imminent Martians had only found time to grab a sandwich at the pub before going off to pursue his favorite pastime. This week Leeds were playing Liverpool at Elland Road. Sitting in the directors’ box every other week in full view of his constituents while he supported his local football team killed 30,000 birds with one stone. Later, when talking to the lads in the dressing room after the match, he found himself lapsing into a pronounced Yorkshire accent that bore no resemblance to the one he used to address high court judges during the week.