The clause Charles most wanted to see removed from the bill concerned a client’s right to privacy when dealing with a merchant bank. The Shadow Chancellor was aware of Charles’s specialized knowledge on this subject and invited him to oppose clause 110 from the front bench. Charles realized that if he could defeat the Government on this clause he might be invited to join the Shadow finance team in the run-up to the general election.
Judging by the chairman of Ways and Means’ selection of amendments the Whips estimated that clause 110 on banking privacy would be reached some time on Thursday afternoon.
On Thursday morning Charles rehearsed his arguments thoroughly with Clive Reynolds, who only had one or two minor amendments to add before Charles set off for the House. When he arrived at the Commons there was a note on the message board asking him to phone the Shadow Chancellor urgently.
“The Government are going to accept a Liberal amendment tabled late last night,” the Shadow Chancellor told him.
“Why?” said Charles.
“Minimum change is what they’re really after, but it gets them off the hook and at the same time keeps the Liberal vote intact. In essence nothing of substance has changed, but you’ll need to study the wording carefully. Can I leave you to handle the problem?”
“Certainly,” said Charles, pleased with the responsibility with which they were now entrusting him.
He walked down the long corridor to the vote office and picked up the sheet with clause 110 on it and the proposed Liberal amendment. He read them both through half a dozen times before he started to make notes. Parliamentary counsel, with their usual expertise, had produced an ingenious amendment. Charles ducked into a nearby phone booth and rang Clive Reynolds at the bank. Charles dictated the amendment over the phone to him and then remained silent while Reynolds considered its implications.
“Clever bunch of sharpies. It’s a cosmetic job, but it won’t change the power it invests in the Government one iota. Were you thinking of returning to the bank? That would give me time to work on it.”
“No,” said Charles. “Are you free for lunch?”
Clive Reynolds checked his diary: a Belgian banker would be lunching in the boardroom but his colleagues could handle that. “Yes, I’m free.”
“Good,” said Charles. “Why don’t you join me at White’s around one o’clock?”
“Thank you,” said Reynolds. “By then I should have had enough time to come up with some credible alternatives.”
Charles spent the rest of the morning rewriting his speech which he hoped would counter the Liberal argument and make them reconsider their position. If it met with Reynolds’s imprimatur the day could still be his. He read through the clause once more, convinced he had found a way through the loophole the civil servants couldn’t block. He placed his speech and the amended clause in his inside pocket and went down to the Members’ Entrance and jumped into a waiting taxi.
As the cab drove up St. James’s Charles thought he saw his wife coming down the opposite side of the road. He pushed down the window to be sure but she had disappeared into Prunier’s. He wondered with which of her girlfriends she was lunching.
The cab traveled on up St. James’s and came to a halt outside White’s. Charles found he was a few minutes early so he decided to walk down to Prunie’s and ask Fiona if she would like to come to the House after lunch and hear him oppose the clause. Reaching the restaurant he glanced through the pane-glass window. He froze on the spot. Fiona was chatting at the bar with a man whose back was to Charles but he thought he recognized his profile although he couldn’t be certain. He noticed that his wife was wearing a dress he had never seen before. He didn’t move as he watched a waiter bow, then guide the pair toward a corner table where they were conveniently out of sight. Charles’s first instinct was to march straight in and confront them, but he remained outside. For what seemed an interminable time he stood alone, uncertain what to do next. Finally he crossed back over St. James’s Street and stood in the doorway of the Economist building going over several plans. In the end he decided to do nothing but wait. He stood there so cold and so incensed that he did not consider returning for his lunch appointment with Clive Reynolds a few hundred yards up the road.
An hour and twenty minutes later the man came out of Prunier’s alone and headed up St. James’s. Charles felt a sense of relief until he saw him turn into St. James’s Place. He checked his watch: Reynolds would have left by now but he would still be well in time for clause number 110. A few minutes later Fiona stepped out of the restaurant and followed in the man’s footsteps. Charles crossed the road, causing a cab to swerve while another motorist slammed on her brakes. He didn’t notice. He shadowed his wife, careful to keep a safe distance. When she reached the far end of the passage he watched Fiona enter the Stafford Hotel. Once she was through the swing doors Fiona stepped into an empty lift.
Charles came up to the swing doors and stared at the little numbers above the lift, watching them light up in succession until they stopped at four.
Charles marched through the swing doors and up to the reception desk.
“Can I help you, sir?” the hall porter asked.
“Er — is the dining room in this hotel on the fourth floor?” asked Charles.
“No, sir,” replied the hall porter, surprised. “The dining room is on the ground floor to your left” — he indicated the way with a sweep of his hand — “there are only bedrooms on the fourth floor.”
“Thank you,” said Charles and marched back outside.
He returned slowly to the Economist building, incensed, where he waited for nearly two hours pacing up and down St. James’s before the man emerged from the Stafford Hotel; Alexander Dalglish hailed a taxi and disappeared in the direction of Piccadilly.
Fiona left the hotel about twenty minutes later, and took the path through to the park before setting off toward Eaton Square. On three occasions Charles had to fall back to be certain Fiona didn’t spot him; once he was so close he thought he saw a smile of satisfaction come over her face.
He had followed his wife most of the way across St. James’s Park when he suddenly remembered. He checked his watch, then dashed back to the roadside, hailed a taxi, and shouted, “The House of Commons, as fast as you can.” The cabbie took seven minutes and Charles passed him two pound notes before running up the steps into the Members’ Lobby and through to the Chamber out of breath. He stopped by the Serjeant-at-Arms’s chair.
From the table where he sat during Committee of the whole House, the Mace lowered on its supports in front of the table, the chairman of Ways and Means faced a packed House. He read from the division list.
“The Ayes to the right 294.
The Noes to the left 293.
The Ayes have it, the Ayes have it.”
The Government benches cheered and the Conservatives looked distinctly glum. “What clause were they debating?” a still out of breath Charles asked the Serjeant-at-Arms.
“Clause 110, Mr. Seymour.”
Book Four
1977–1989 The Cabinet
Chapter twenty-two
Raymond’s second trip to the States was at the behest of the Secretary of State for Trade: he was asked to present the country’s export and import assessment to the International Monetary Fund, following up a loan granted to Britain the previous November. His civil servants went over the prepared speech with him again and again, emphasizing to their minister the responsibility that had been placed on his shoulders. Even the Governor of the Bank of England’s private office had been consulted.