Elizabeth was relieved when she heard the news, although it took her some time to get used to her husband being referred to as “the Right Honorable Simon Kerslake.” For some weeks the old joke of “rarely right and never honorable” had to be suffered by both of them from countless well-meaning constituents who imagined they were the only people who had thought of the quip.
Mrs. Thatcher called Charles Seymour on the Monday morning while he was waiting in Eaton Square for the return of the Holbein. Both sides’ solicitors had agreed that the first Earl of Bridgwater should be back at Charles’s home by eleven that morning. Only the Queen or Mrs. Thatcher could have kept Charles from being there to receive it.
The Prime Minister’s call came long after he thought the reshuffle was over, but then Mrs. Thatcher had been informed that Charles was in Paris on his honeymoon and wouldn’t be back until the Monday morning.
Charles took a taxi to Downing Street and was quickly ushered into the Prime Minister’s study. Mrs. Thatcher began by complimenting him on the work he had carried out on successive Finance Bills in Opposition and in Government. She then invited him to join the front-bench team as the Financial Secretary to the Treasury.
Charles accepted gracefully, and after a short policy discussion with the Prime Minister drove back to Eaton Square to celebrate both his triumphs. Amanda met him at the door to tell him the Holbein had been returned. Fiona had kept her part of the bargain: the painting had been delivered at eleven o’clock sharp.
Charles strode confidently into his drawing room and was delighted to find the bulky package awaiting him. He was by no means so pleased to be followed by Amanda, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of gin in the other; but this was not a day for quarrels, he decided. He told her of his appointment, but she didn’t seem to take in its significance until her husband opened a bottle of champagne.
Charles poured out two glasses and handed one to his bride.
“A double celebration. What fun,” she said, first draining the gin.
Charles took a quick sip of the champagne before he began to untie the knots and tear away the smart red wrapping paper that covered his masterpiece. Once the paper had been removed he pulled back the final cardboard covers. Charles stared with delight at the portrait.
The first Earl of Bridgwater was back home. Charles picked up the gold frame he knew so well to return it to its place in his study but he noticed that the picture had come a little loose. “Damn,” he said.
“What’s the matter?” asked Amanda, still leaning against the door.
“Nothing important, only I shall have to get the frame fixed. I’ll drop it into Oliver Swann on the way to the bank. I’ve waited nearly three years; another couple of days won’t make any difference.”
Now that Charles had accepted the post of Financial Secretary to the Treasury he knew there was one little arrangement he had to clear up before the appointment became public knowledge. With that in mind, he left Eaton Square and dropped the Holbein off at the framer. He then went on to the bank and summoned Clive Reynolds to his office. It was clear from Reynolds’s manner that the news of Charles’s ministerial appointment had not yet leaked out.
“Clive,” Charles called him for the first time. “I have a proposition to put to you.”
Clive Reynolds remained silent.
“The Prime Minister has offered me a post in the Government.”
“Congratulations,” said Reynolds, “and well deserved, if I may say so.”
“Thank you,” said Charles. “Now: I’m considering offering you the chance to stand in for me as chairman during my absence.”
Clive Reynolds looked surprised.
“On the clear understanding that if the Conservatives were to return to Opposition or I were to lose my appointment in Government I would be reinstated as chairman immediately.”
“Naturally,” said Reynolds. “I should be delighted to fill the appointment for the interim period.”
“Good man,” said Charles. “It can’t have escaped your notice what happened to the last chairman in the same situation.”
“I shall make certain that will not happen again.”
“Thank you,” said Charles. “I shall not forget your loyalty when I return.”
“And I shall also endeavor to carry on the traditions of the bank in your absence,” said Reynolds, his head slightly bowed.
“I feel sure you will,” said Charles.
The board accepted the recommendation that Clive Reynolds be appointed as temporary chairman and Charles vacated his office happily to take up his new post at the Treasury.
Charles considered it had been the most successful week of his life and on the Friday evening on the way back to Eaton Square he dropped into Oliver Swann’s gallery to pick up the Holbein.
“I’m afraid the picture didn’t quite fit the frame,” said Mr. Swann.
“Oh, I expect it’s worked loose over the years,” Charles said noncommittally.
“No, Mr. Seymour, this frame was put on the portrait quite recently,” said Swann.
“That’s not possible,” said Charles. “I remember the frame as well as I remember the picture. The portrait of the first Earl of Bridgwater has been in my family for over 400 years.”
“Not this picture,” said Swann.
“What do you mean?” said Charles, beginning to sound anxious.
“This picture came up for sale at Sotheby’s about three weeks ago.”
Charles went cold as Swann continued.
“It’s the school of Holbein, of course,” he said, “probably painted by one of his pupils around the time of his death. I should think there are a dozen or so in existence.”
“A dozen or so,” repeated Charles, the blood drained from his face.
“Yes, perhaps even more. At least it’s solved one mystery for me,” said Swann, chuckling.
“What’s that?” asked Charles, choking out the words.
“I couldn’t work out why Lady Fiona was bidding for the picture, and then I remembered that your family name is Bridgwater.”
“At least this wedding has some style,” Pimkin assured Fiona between mouthfuls of sandwich at the reception after her marriage to Alexander Dalglish. Pimkin always accepted wedding invitations as it allowed him to devour mounds of smoked salmon sandwiches and consume unlimited quantities of champagne. “I particularly enjoyed that short service of blessing in the Guards’ Chapel; and Claridges can always be relied on to understand my little proclivities.” He peered round the vast room and only stopped to stare at his reflection in a chandelier.
Fiona laughed. “Did you go to Charles’s wedding?”
“My darling, the only Etonians who have ever been seen in Hammersmith pass through it as quickly as possible on a boat, representing either Oxford or Cambridge.”
“So you weren’t invited,” said Fiona.
“I’m told that only Amanda was invited, and even she nearly found she had another engagement. With her doctor, I believe.”
“Well, Charles certainly can’t afford another divorce.”
“No, not in his present position as Her Majesty’s. Financial Secretary. One divorce might go unnoticed but two would be considered habit-forming, and all diligent readers of Nigel Dempster have been able to observe that consummation has taken place.”
“But how long will Charles be able to tolerate her behavior?”
“As long as he still believes she has given him a son who will inherit the family title. Not that a marriage ceremony will necessarily prove legitimacy,” added Pimkin.
“Perhaps Amanda won’t produce a son.”
“Perhaps whatever she produces it will be obvious that it’s not Charles’s offspring,” said Pimkin, falling into a chair that had been momentarily left by a large buxom lady.