Simon began to relax for the first time as the debate continued, but his mood changed as some back-bench members started to express more and more anxiety over the Patriots’ Provision. One or two back-benchers were even insisting that the Charter should not be sanctioned by the House until the need for the Patriots’ Provision was fully explained by the Government. Simon realized that a few narrow-minded men were simply playing for time in the hope the Charter would be held up and later forgotten. For generations such men had succeeded in stifling the hopes and aspirations of the Irish people while they allowed bigotry to undermine any real desire for peace.
Elizabeth came in and sat on the end of the bed. “How’s it going?” she asked.
“Not well,” said Simon, “it will all depend on the Opposition spokesman.”
They both sat and listened. But no sooner had the Opposition spokesman risen that Simon realized that he too had misunderstood the real purpose of the Patriots’ Provision and that what Simon had agreed to with both sides in Dublin and Belfast was not being accurately explained to the House. There was no malice in the speech and he was clearly following what had been agreed through the usual channels but Simon could sense that his lack of conviction was sowing doubts in the minds of his fellow members. He feared a division might be called after all.
After one or two members had interrupted to voice further doubts about the Patriots’ Clause the Shadow minister suggested: “Perhaps we should wait until the Minister of State is fully recovered and able to report to the House himself.” A few “hear, hears” could be heard around the Chamber.
Simon felt sick. He was going to lose the Charter if it didn’t get through the House tonight. All the hard work and goodwill would count for nothing. He made a decision.
“I’d love a hot cup of cocoa,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“Of course, darling. I’ll just go and turn the kettle on. Would you like a biscuit while I’m up?”
Simon nodded. Once the bedroom door was closed, he slipped quietly out of bed and dressed as quickly as possible. He picked up his blackthorn stick, a gift from Dr. Fitzgerald, the Irish Prime Minister, which had been among the dozens of presents awaiting his return from hospital. Then he hobbled silently down the stairs and across the hall, hoping Elizabeth would not hear him. He eased the front door open. When the policeman on duty saw him Simon put a finger to his lips and closed the door very slowly behind him. He made his way laboriously up to the police car, lurched into the back, and said, “Switch on the radio, please, and drive me to the House as quickly as possible.”
Simon continued to listen to the Opposition spokesman as the police car weaved in and out of the traffic on a route he hadn’t traveled before. They arrived at the St. Stephen’s entrance to the Commons at nine-twenty-five.
Visitors stood to one side as they might for royalty but Simon didn’t notice. He hobbled on through the Central Lobby, oblivious to the awkwardness of his gait, turning left past the policeman and on toward the entrance of the House. He prayed he would reach the Chamber before the Government spokesman rose to deliver his winding-up speech. Simon passed an astonished chief doorkeeper and arrived at the bar of the House as the new digital clock showed nine-twenty-nine.
The Opposition spokesman was resuming his place on the front bench to muffled cries of “Hear, hear.” The Speaker rose but before he had time to call upon the Minister of State to reply Simon stepped slowly forward on to the green carpet of the Commons. For a moment there was a stunned silence; then the cheering began. It had reached a crescendo by the time Simon arrived at the front bench. His blackthorn stick fell to the floor as he clutched the dispatch box. The Speaker called out his name sotto voce.
Simon waited for the House to come to complete silence.
“Mr. Speaker, I must thank the House for its generous welcome. I return this evening because having listened to every word of the debate on the radio I feel it necessary to explain to Honorable members what was behind my thinking with the Patriots’ Provision. This was not some superficial formula for solving an intractable problem, but an act of good faith to which the representatives from all sides felt able to put their names. It may not be perfect, since words can mean different things to different people — as lawyers continually demonstrate to us.”
The laughter broke the tension that had been building up in the House.
“But if we allow this opportunity to pass today it will be another victory for those who revel in the mayhem of Northern Ireland whatever their reason, and a defeat for all men of goodwill.”
The House was silent as Simon went on to explain in detail the thinking behind the Patriots’ Provision and the effect it would have on both Protestants and Catholics in north and south. He also covered the other salient clauses in the Charter, answering the points that had been raised during the debate until, in glancing up at the clock above the Speaker’s chair, he realized he had less than a minute left.
“Mr. Speaker, we in this great House, who have in the past decided the fate of nations, are now given an opportunity to succeed today where our predecessors have failed. I ask you to support this Charter — not unreservedly, but to show the bombers and the murderers that here in Westminster we can cast a vote for the children of tomorrow’s Ireland. Let the twenty-first century be one in which the Irish problem is only a part of history. Mr. Speaker, I seek the support of the whole House.”
The motion on the Charter was agreed without division.
Simon immediately returned home and on arrival silently crept upstairs. He closed the bedroom door behind him and fumbled for the switch. The light by the side of the bed went on and Elizabeth sat up.
“Your cocoa’s gone cold and I’ve eaten all the biscuits,” she said, grinning, “but thank you for leaving the radio on, at least I knew where you were.”
Chapter twenty-six
Charles and Amanda were married at the most inconspicuous register office in Hammersmith. They then departed for a long weekend in Paris. Charles had told his bride that he preferred her not to let anyone learn of the marriage for at least another week. He didn’t want Fiona to find yet a further excuse for not returning the Holbein. Amanda readily agreed, and then remembered — but surely Alec Pimkin didn’t count.
Paris turned out to be fun, even though Charles was sensitive about Amanda’s obvious pregnancy — never more so than when they arrived on the Friday night at the Plaza Athenée and were escorted to a suite overlooking the courtyard. Later, over dinner, Amanda astonished the waiters with her appetite as well as the cut of her dress.
Over breakfast in bed the next day Charles read in the Herald Tribune that Mrs. Thatcher was considering a reshuffle that very weekend. He cut the honeymoon short and returned to London on the Saturday, two days earlier than planned. Amanda was not overjoyed. Her husband spent the whole of Sunday at Eaton Square alongside a phone that never rang.
That same Sunday evening the Prime Minister called for Simon Kerslake and told him that he was to be made a Privy Councillor and would be moved from the Northern Ireland Office to Defense as Minister of State.
He had started to protest, but Mrs. Thatcher forestalled any discussion. “I don’t want any more dead heroes, Simon,” she said sharply.