“Wrong,” said Ronnie. “One percent of the company is yours for one pound.”
“Will that be sufficient, sir?” said the carver, putting a plate of beef in front of Simon.
“Hold it, Sam,” said Ronnie before Simon could reply. “I repeat I’m offering you one percent of the company for one. pound; now ask your question again, Sam.”
“Will that be sufficient, sir?” repeated the carver.
“It’s most generous,” said Simon.
“Did you hear that, Sam?”
“I certainly did, sir.”
“Right, Simon, you owe me a pound.”
Simon laughed, removed his wallet from his inside pocket, took out a pound note, and handed it over.
“Now the purpose of that little exercise,” said Ronnie, turning back to the carver and pocketing the note, “was to prove that Sam here isn’t the only person who could make a quid for himself this afternoon.” Sam smiled, having no idea what Mr. Nethercote was talking about, and placed a large plate of well-done beef in front of him.
Ronnie took out an envelope from his inside pocket and passed it to Simon.
“Do I open it now?” asked Simon.
“Yes — I want to see your reaction.”
Simon opened the envelope and studied its contents. A certificate for one share in the new company with a true value of over £10,000.
“Well, well, what do you say?” said Ronnie.
“I’m speechless,” said Simon.
“First politician I’ve known who’s ever suffered from that problem.”
Simon laughed. “Thank you, Ronnie. It’s an incredibly generous gesture.”
“No it’s not. You were loyal to the old company, so why shouldn’t you prosper with the new one?”
“That reminds me, does the name ‘Archie Millburn’ mean anything to you?” asked Simon.
Ronnie hesitated. “No, no, should it?”
“Only that I thought he might be the man who convinced Morgan Grenfell that you were worth bailing out.”
“No, that name doesn’t ring any bells. Mind you, Morgan Grenfell have never admitted where they obtained their information from but they knew every last detail about the old company. But if I come across the name Millburn I’ll let you know. Enough of business. Fill me in on what’s happening in your world. How’s your lady wife?”
“Deceiving me.”
“Deceiving you?”
“Yes, she’s been putting on wigs and dressing up in strange clothes.”
Clarissa wet her bed every night for the first month at Pelham Crescent but Louise never complained. Day by day Andrew watched as mother and daughter grew in mutual confidence. Clarissa assumed from her first meeting with Louise that she could talk as normally as any grown-up and chatted away to her night and day. Half the time Louise didn’t reply, only because she couldn’t get a word in.
Just when Andrew felt everything was getting back on a normal footing at home trouble erupted in Edinburgh. His General Management Committee, which now included five members of Militant Tendency, tabled a motion of no confidence in their member. Their leader, Frank Boyle, had been building up a power base with the sole intention, Andrew suspected, of ousting the member and taking over himself. He didn’t discuss the problem with Louise, as the specialist had advised him to avoid any undue stress while Clarissa was settling in.
The five men who wanted Andrew removed had chosen the following Thursday to hold the meeting because they knew the annual Defense Review was due for a full debate in the House that day. If Andrew was unable to attend their meeting Frank Boyle knew they would have a better chance of winning their motion. If he did turn up to defend himself they were also aware that an embarrassing explanation would have to be made for his absence during the debate. When the Prime Minister was informed of the dilemma by the Chief Whip he had no hesitation in telling Andrew to forget the defense debate and go to Edinburgh.
Andrew took the shuttle up on Thursday afternoon and was met at the airport by his chairman, Hamish Ramsey.
“I apologize about you being put through this ordeal, Andrew,” he said at once. “I can assure you it’s none of my doing, but I must also warn you it’s not the same Labour party that I joined over twenty years ago.”
“How do you think the vote will go tonight?” asked Andrew.
“You’ll win this time. The votes have been decided before the meeting takes place. There’s only one waverer and he’s so gutless that your very presence will stop him siding with the Trotskies.”
When Andrew arrived at his Edinburgh headquarters he was left alone outside the committee room in a cold corridor for over an hour. He knew his opponents were holding things up in the hope he would become frustrated before he eventually had to face them. At last they invited him to join them and he immediately sensed what the Spanish Inquisition must have felt like: question after question from sour-faced men who had never helped him win the seat in the first place and were now alleging that he had shown scant interest in the constituency. Andrew stood his ground and became angry only when Frank Boyle referred to him as “that son of a Tory.”
“When did you last see your father?” flashed through his mind.
“My father has done more for this city than you could ever hope to do in your lifetime,” he told Boyle.
“Then why don’t you join his party?” came back Boyle’s retort.
Andrew was about to answer when Hamish Ramsey banged the table with his gavel and said, “Enough, enough. It’s time to stop this squabbling and vote.”
Andrew felt a stab of anxiety as the little slips were passed up to the chairman to be counted. The outcome was five-all and Hamish Ramsey immediately cast his vote in favor of Andrew.
“At least you’ll be safe for the coming election, laddie,” said Hamish as they drove to the Airport Hotel. “But I wouldn’t like to account for much beyond that.”
When Andrew arrived back in Pelham Crescent the next morning Louise greeted him at the door.
“Everything all right in Edinburgh?” she asked.
“Fine,” said Andrew, taking her in his arms.
“Do you want to hear the good news?”
“Yes,” said Andrew, smiling.
“Clarissa didn’t wet her bed last night. Perhaps you should stay away more often.”
Finally Charles knew he had to discuss what could be done about the stolen Holbein with his solicitor, Sir David Napley. Sir David instructed leading counsel and six weeks later Charles was told that if he sued the Holbein might eventually be returned but not before the story had been on the front page of every national paper. Charles had Albert Cruddick’s opinion confirmed: “Grin and bear it.”
Fiona had been out of touch for well over a year when the letter came. Charles immediately recognized her handwriting and ripped open the envelope. Only one glance at the writing was enough to make him tear up the missive and deposit the little pieces in the wastepaper basket by his desk. He left for the Commons in a rage.
All through the day he thought of the one word he had taken in from the scrawled hand. Holbein. When he returned from the Commons after the ten o’clock division Charles searched for the remains of the letter, which the daily had conscientiously deposited in the dustbin. After rummaging among potato peelings, eggshells, and empty tins Charles spent over an hour Sellotaping the little pieces of paper together. Then he read the letter carefully.
24 The Boltons,
London, SW 10
11 October 1978
Dear Charles,
Enough time has now passed for us to try and treat each other in a civilized way. Alexander and I wish to marry and Veronica Dalglish has agreed to an immediate divorce and has not insisted we wait the necessary two years to establish separation.