“Let’s hope this does the trick,” she said.
Andrew prayed for nothing more. The move from Cheyne Walk took about a fortnight, and Louise could still walk only a few paces before she had to sit down. Louise’s mother rarely left the house and Andrew began to feel guilty about how much he was enjoying his new job at the Ministry of Defense. Each night and then again in the morning he would try a few words to Louise. She nodded occasionally, touched him once in a while and even began writing notes to him, but never spoke and never cried. The doctor became even more pessimistic. “The crucial time has passed,” he explained.
Andrew would sit with her for hours while he worked through the red boxes. Harrier jump jets for the RAF, Polaris missiles for the Royal Navy, Chieftain tanks for the Army, what should Labour’s attitude be to Trident when Polaris was phased out? Should we allow Cruise to be based on British soil? There was so much to learn before he could face the civil servants on their own ground or the members from the dispatch box. As the months passed Andrew was always asking questions; a year had gone by and he was beginning to know some of the answers.
He looked up at his wife once again. She was gazing at the portrait of Robert on the mantelpiece.
On the anniversary of his son’s sixth birthday Andrew stayed at Pelham Crescent all day with Louise. For the first time a tear lodged in her eye. As he held her, he kept remembering the lorry. He could see it so clearly now as if in slow motion. If only the phone hadn’t gone, if only the gate had been closed, if only he had turned earlier, if only he had run a little faster. “No goal, Dad, no goal.”
If only he had scored that goal.
Chapter twenty-one
Raymond entered a Washington ablaze with red, white, and blue as the Americans prepared for their bicentennial. He was among the three ministers chosen to represent the United Kingdom when they presented a copy of Magna Carta to the United States Congress. He was making his first trip to America on Concorde only a few weeks after its inaugural flight. Tom Carson had complained to the House about the expense of the trip but his words had fallen upon a silent Chamber.
As the plane taxied to a halt at Dulles airport three limousines drew up. The three ministers were given a car each and motorcycle outriders rushed them to the grounds of the British Embassy on Massachusetts Avenue in less than thirty minutes.
Raymond had an immediate love affair with America, perhaps because it reminded him so much of Kate with its bubbling enthusiasm, its spirit, and sense of perpetual innovation. During the ten-day visit he managed to forge several useful contacts in the Senate and House, and over the weekend became an unrepentant sightseer of the beautiful Virginia countryside. He concentrated on getting to know those contemporaries whom he felt would be on the American political stage for the next twenty years, while his more senior colleagues dealt with President Ford and his immediate entourage.
Raymond enjoyed starting each day with the Washington Post and the New York Times. He quickly learned how to reject those sections that seemed full of endless advertisements for non-essentials he couldn’t believe anyone really bought. Once he had finished reading both papers he found he had to wash his hands as they were always black with newsprint. The one occasion he kept the Outlook section of the Washington Post was when it did profiles on the three ministers from London. He tucked the paper away as he wanted to show Kate the paragraph that read: “The two Secretaries of State are interesting men at the end of their careers, but it is Raymond Gould we should keep our eyes on because he has the look of a future Prime Minister.”
As Raymond flew out of Washington on his way back to London he presumed, like any lover, that the affair with America could be continued whenever he chose to return.
Simon was in Manchester as a guest of the Business School when he received Elizabeth’s message to call her. It was most unusual for Elizabeth to phone in the middle of the day and Simon assumed the worst: something must have happened to the children. The Principal of the Business School accompanied him to his private office, then left him alone.
Dr. Kerslake was not at the hospital, he was told, which made him even more anxious. He dialed the Beaufort Street number.
Elizabeth picked up the receiver so quickly that she must have been sitting by the phone waiting for him to call.
“I’ve been sacked,” she said.
“What?” said Simon, unable to comprehend.
“I’ve been made redundant — isn’t that the modern term meant to lessen the blow? The hospital governors have been instructed by the Department of Health and Social Security to make cutbacks and three of us in gynecology have lost our jobs. I go at the end of the month.”
“Darling, I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how inadequate his words must have sounded.
“I didn’t mean to bother you, but I just wanted someone to talk to,” she said. “Everyone else is allowed to complain to their MP, so I thought it was my turn.”
“Normally what I do in these circumstances is to put the blame on the Labour party.” Simon was relieved to hear Elizabeth laugh.
“Thanks for ringing me back so quickly, darling. See you tomorrow,” she said and put the phone down.
Simon returned to his group and explained that he had to leave for London immediately. He took a taxi to the airport and caught the next shuttle to Heathrow. He was back at Beaufort Street within three hours.
“I didn’t mean you to come home,” Elizabeth said contritely when she saw him on the doorstep.
“I’ve come back to celebrate,” Simon said. “Let’s open the bottle of champagne that Ronnie gave us when he closed the deal with Morgan Grenfell.”
“Why?”
“Because Ronnie taught me one thing. You should always celebrate disasters, not successes.”
Simon hung up his coat and went off in search of the champagne. When he returned with the bottle and two glasses Elizabeth asked, “What’s your overdraft looking like nowadays?”
“Down to £16,000, give or take a pound.”
“Well, that’s another problem then, I won’t be giving any pounds in the future, only taking.”
“Don’t be silly. Someone will snap you up,” he said, embracing her.
“It won’t be quite that easy,” said Elizabeth.
“Why not?” asked Simon, trying to sound cheerful.
“Because I had already been warned about whether I wanted to be a politician’s wife or a doctor.”
Simon was stunned. “I had no idea,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was my choice, darling, but I will have to make one or two decisions if I want to remain in medicine, especially if you’re going to become a minister.”
Simon remained silent: he had always wanted Elizabeth to make this decision herself and he was determined not to try to influence her.
“If only we weren’t so short of money.”
“Don’t worry about the money,” said Simon.
“I do worry, but it may just be an excuse because I worry more about becoming bored when the children have grown up. I just wasn’t cut out to be a politician’s wife,” she added. “You should have married someone like Fiona Seymour and you’d be Prime Minister by now.”
“If that’s the only way I can be sure of getting the job I’ll stick with you,” said Simon, taking Elizabeth in his arms. Simon couldn’t help thinking of all the support his wife had given him during their marriage and even more so since his financial crisis. He knew exactly what his wife must do.
“You mustn’t be allowed to give up being a doctor,” he said. “It’s every bit as important as wanting to be a minister. Shall I have a word with Gerry Vaughan? As Shadow spokesman for Health he might—”