The Sheriff rested the golden sovereign on his thumb, Andrew and Boyle still standing on either side of him. He turned to Andrew and said, “You will call, Mr. Fraser, while the coin is in the air.”
The silence was such that they might have been the only three people in the room. Andrew could feel his heart thumping in his chest as the Sheriff spun the coin high above him.
“Tails,” he said clearly when the coin was at its zenith. The sovereign hit the floor and bounced, turning over several times before settling at the feet of the Sheriff.
Andrew stared down at the lady and sighed audibly. The Sheriff cleared his throat before declaring, “Following the decision by lot, I declare the aforementioned Mr. Andrew Fraser to be the duly elected Member of Parliament for Edinburgh Carlton.”
Andrew’s supporters charged forward and onto the stage and carried him on their shoulders out of the city hall and through the streets of Edinburgh. Andrew searched for Louise and Clarissa, but they were lost in the crush.
The Royal Bank of Scotland presented the golden sovereign to the member the next day, and the editor of the Scotsman rang to ask if there had been any particular reason why he had selected tails.
“Naturally,” Andrew replied. “George III lost America for us. I wasn’t going to let him lose Edinburgh for me.”
Chapter twenty-nine
Raymond read the Daily Mail caption again and smiled: “On the toss of a coin.”
It saddened Raymond that Andrew had felt it necessary to leave the Labour party, although he was delighted that he had been returned to the Commons. Raymond was only thankful that there had been no Frank Boyles in his constituency. He often wondered if it was because Joyce kept such a watchful eye on all the committees.
Margaret Thatcher’s second victory had come as a bitter blow to him although he couldn’t have pretended it was a surprise. Her overall majority of 144 was even larger than had been predicted, while the SDP managed only six seats — although the Alliance were only two percentage points behind Labour in actual votes cast. Raymond was enough of a realist to know that now nothing was going to stop the Tories from governing for another five-year term.
Once again Raymond returned to his practice at the bar and a new round of time-consuming briefs. When the Lord Chancellor, Lord Hailsham, offered him the chance to become a High Court judge, with a place in the House of Lords, Raymond gave the matter considerable thought before finally asking Joyce for her opinion.
“You’d be bored to tears in a week,” she told him.
“No more bored than I am now.”
“Your turn will come.”
“Joyce, I’m nearly fifty, and all I have to show for it is the chairmanship of the Select Committee on Trade and Industry. If the party fails to win next time I may never hold office again. Don’t forget that the last occasion we lost this badly we were in Opposition for thirteen years.”
“Once Michael Foot has been replaced the party will take on a new look, and I bet you’ll be offered one of the senior Shadow jobs.”
“That’ll depend on who’s our next leader,” said Raymond. “And I can’t see a great deal of difference between Neil Kinnock who looks unbeatable, and Michael Foot — except that Kinnock’s ten years younger than I am.”
“Then why not stand yourself?” asked Joyce.
“It’s too early for me,” said Raymond.
“Then why don’t you at least wait until we know who’s going to be the leader of the party,” said Joyce. “You can be a judge at any time — they die off just as quickly as Cabinet ministers.”
When Raymond returned to his chambers the following Monday he followed Joyce’s advice and let Lord Hailsham know that he was not interested in being a judge in the foreseeable future, and settled down to keep a watchful eye on Cecil Parkinson, the new Secretary of State for Trade and Industry.
Only a few days later Michael Foot announced that he would not be standing for leader when the party’s annual conference took place. When he informed the Shadow Cabinet several faces lit up at the thought of the forthcoming battle at Brighton in October. Neil Kinnock and Roy Hattersley became the front runners, while during the weeks leading up to the conference several trade unionists and MPs approached Raymond and asked him to stand; but he told them all “next time.”
The vote for the new leader took place on the Sunday before the conference began: as Raymond predicted Kinnock won easily and Hattersley, his closest rival, was elected as his deputy.
After the conference Raymond returned to Leeds for the weekend, still confident that he would be offered a major post in the Shadow Cabinet despite the fact he hadn’t supported the winner. Having completed his morning surgery he hung around the house waiting for the new leader to call him, even missing the match against Chelsea. He didn’t like being in the second division.
When Neil Kinnock eventually phoned late that evening Raymond was shocked by his offer and replied without hesitation that he was not interested. It was a short conversation.
Joyce came into the drawing room as he sank back into his favorite armchair.
“Well, what did he offer you?” she asked, facing him.
“Transport. Virtually a demotion.”
“What did you say?”
“I turned him down, of course.”
“Who has he given the main jobs to?”
“I didn’t ask and he didn’t volunteer, but I suspect we’ll only have to wait for the morning papers to find out. Not that I’m that interested,” he continued, staring at the floor, “as I intend to take the first place that comes free on the bench. I’ve wasted too many years already.”
“So have I,” said Joyce quietly.
“What do you mean?” asked Raymond, looking up at his wife for the first time since she had come into the room.
“If you’re going to make a complete break, I think it’s time for me to do so as well.”
“I don’t understand,” said Raymond.
“We haven’t been close for a long time, Ray,” said Joyce, looking straight into her husband’s eyes. “If you’re thinking of giving up the constituency and spending even more time in London I think we should part.” She turned away.
“Is there someone else?” asked Raymond, his voice cracking.
“No one special.”
“But someone?”
“There is a man who wants to marry me,” said Joyce, “if that’s what you mean. We were at school in Bradford together. He’s an accountant now and has never married.”
“But do you love him?”
Joyce considered the question. “No, I can’t pretend I do. But we’re good friends, he’s very kind and understanding and, more important, he’s there.”
Raymond couldn’t move.
“And the break would at least give you the chance to ask Kate Garthwaite to give up her job in New York and return to London.” Raymond gasped. “Think about it and let me know what you decide.” She left the room quickly so that he could not see her tears.
Raymond sat alone in the room and thought back over his years with Joyce — and Kate — and knew exactly what he wanted to do now that the whole affair was out in the open.
He caught the last train to London the same evening because he had to be in court by ten o’clock the next morning to attend a judge’s summing up. In the flat that night he slept intermittently as he thought about how he would spend the rest of his new life. Before he went into court the next morning he ordered a dozen red roses via Interflora. He phoned the Attorney General. If he was going to change his life he must change it in every way.