“King Kerslake” ran the banner headline in the Monday editions of the Sun, and its political editor predicted Simon would win by 116 to 112: Simon suspected that they had done little more than divide the Financial Times’s don’t-knows down the middle. With eight days to go he was being quoted at two-one on with Charles eleven-eight against by the veteran ex-Labour MP Lord Mikardo, who had run a book on the last fourteen leadership contests irrespective of party. When Elizabeth told him the odds Simon remained sceptical, as he knew from bitter experience that it never paid to underestimate the Right Honorable member for Sussex Downs. Elizabeth agreed and then pointed to a small paragraph in the paper which he had overlooked. Ronnie’s new company was going public, and the shares looked certain to be well over-subscribed.
“That’s one prediction that’s turned out to be accurate,” said Simon, smiling.
With twelve hours to go to the close of nominations a new candidate appeared in the lists, which came as a shock to everyone because until that moment the general public were entirely unaware of Alec Pimkin. Some of his colleagues even expressed surprise that he had been able to find a proposer and a seconder. As it had been assumed that Pimkin’s supporters were all men who would have backed Charles it was considered a blow to his cause, although most political pundits doubted if Pimkin could scrape together more than seven or eight out of the 289 votes to be cast.
Charles pleaded with Pimkin to withdraw but he stubbornly refused, admitting to Fiona that he was thoroughly enjoying his brief moment of glory. He held a press conference in the Commons, gave endless interviews to television, radio, and the national press, and found he was receiving considerable political attention for the first time in his life since the Common Market debate. He even enjoyed the cartoon that appeared in the Daily Telegraph of the three candidates in the 100 meters which had Charles portrayed as a string bean, Simon as a jumping bean, and Alec as a has-bean waddling in a long way behind the other two. But Alexander Dalglish remained puzzled as to what had made Pimkin place his name in the lists in the first place.
“My majority in Littlehampton had plummeted from over 12,000 to 3,200 since I was first elected, and frankly the Social Democrats have been getting a little too close for comfort. That tiresome fellow Andrew Fraser is in Sussex once a month making speeches on behalf of his candidate and there are still over four years to go until the election.”
“But how many votes can you hope to pick up?” asked Fiona.
“Many more than those drunken scribblers realize. I have nine votes already pledged, not including my own, and I could well end up with as many as fifteen.”
“Why so many?” asked Fiona, immediately realizing how tactless the question must have sounded.
“Dear, simple creature,” Pimkin replied. “There are some members of our party who do not care to be led either by a middle-class pushy minor public schoolboy or an aristocratic, arrogant snob. By voting for me they can lodge their protest very clearly.”
“But isn’t that irresponsible of you?” asked Fiona, annoyed by the “simple” quip.
“Irresponsible it may be, but you can’t begin to imagine the invitations I have been receiving during the last few days. They should continue for at least a year after the election is over.”
Bombshells occur in the House of Commons only on rare occasions, mainly because the elements of bad luck and timing have to come together. Something that will create a headline one week may be hardly worthy of a mention the next. On the Thursday before the leadership election the House was packed for questions to the Chancellor. Raymond and Charles were having their usual verbal battles across the dispatch box, Charles coming out slightly on top. As the Treasury wasn’t his portfolio, all Simon could do was sit with his legs up on the table and listen while his rival scored points.
Tom Carson seemed extremely anxious to get in a supplementary on almost any question that was down on the order paper. Between two-thirty and five past three he had leaped up from his place no less than a dozen times. The digital clock above the Speaker’s chair had reached three-twelve when, out of exasperation, the Speaker called him on a seemingly innocuous question on windfall profits.
With Prime Minister’s questions just about to begin Carson faced a packed House and a full press gallery. He paused for a moment before putting his question.
“What would be my Right Honorable friend’s attitude to a man who invests one pound in a company and, five years later, receives a check for £300,000 despite not being on the board or appearing to be involved in any way with that company?”
Raymond was puzzled as he had no idea what Carson was talking about. He did not notice that Simon Kerslake had turned white.
Raymond rose to the dispatch box. “I would remind my Honorable friend that I put capital gains tax up to fifty percent which might dampen his ardor a little,” he said. It was about the only attempt at humor Raymond had made at the dispatch box that year, which may have been the reason so few members laughed. As Carson rose a second time Simon slipped a note across to Raymond which he hurriedly skimmed.
“But does the Chancellor consider that such a person would be fit to be Prime Minister or even leader of the Opposition?”
Members started talking amongst themselves, trying to work out at whom the question was directed while the Speaker stirred restlessly in his seat, anxious to bring a halt to such disorderly supplementaries. Raymond returned to the dispatch box and told Carson that the question was not worthy of an answer. There the matter might have rested had Charles not risen to the dispatch box.
“Mr. Speaker, is the Chancellor aware that this personal attack is aimed at my Right Honorable friend, the member for Pucklebridge, and is a disgraceful slur on his character and reputation? The Honorable member for Liverpool Dockside should withdraw his allegation immediately.”
The Conservatives cheered their colleague’s magnanimity while Simon remained silent, knowing that Charles had successfully put the story on the front page of every national paper.
Simon read the papers over breakfast on the Friday morning, and was not surprised by the coverage of Charles’s bogus supplementary. The details of his transaction with Ronnie Nethercote were chronicled in the fullest extent, and it did not read well that he had received £300,000 from a “property speculator” for a one pound investment. Some of the papers felt “bound to ask” what Nethercote hoped to gain out of the transaction. No one seemed to realize that Simon had been on the previous company’s board for five years, had invested £60,000 of his own money in that company, and had only recently finished paying off the overdraft.
By the Sunday Simon had made a full press statement to put the record straight, and most of the papers had given him a fair hearing. However, Sir Peter McKay, the editor of the Sunday Express, didn’t help matters with a comment in his widely-read PM column on the center page.
I would not suggest for one moment that Simon Kerslake has done anything that might be described as dishonest, but with the spotlight turned so fiercely on him there may be some Members of Parliament who feel they cannot risk going into a general election with an accident-prone leader. Mr. Seymour, on the other hand, has made his position abundantly clear. He did not seek to return to his family bank in Opposition while he was still hoping to hold public office.