At last, she tapped her glass, interrupting, politely, John Torrance's account of a voyage around the Canaries, 'In the wake of Captain Bob,' as he put it.
`Friends,' she said. 'There are just a few formal things that I'd like to say to you. The first is to thank you all, especially you, Alison, and you, Marsh, for the tremendous support which you've given me since Roland's death. I hope that at the funeral you will all join the family in the reserved rows at the front of the church. The Prime Minister will sit beside Mark and me, and the family. I'd like you all to sit immediately behind us in the second row; with your wives of course, John and Marsh.'
All five guests nodded, heads bowed.
`Gentlemen,' she went on, looking in turn at Marks, Torrance and Elliot, her face showing strain for the first time that evening. For the burial, I would like each of you to take a cord at the graveside. Roly's father will be at the head of the coffin, with his brothers. Marsh, would you take the cord facing him, with Jeremy and John on either side of you. There are eight cords in all. I intend to ask Andrew Hardy and Sir James Proud to take the others.
Would you all do that for me?'
Of course, Leona,' said Elliot. Torrance and Marks nodded, mumbling thanks.
She glanced apologetically at Mrs Marks. 'Ladies, traditionally this is a man's task at a funeral. Roly's dad is very much a traditionalist and I wouldn't upset him.'
I understand completely, dear,' said Mrs Marks.
`Good. Now to the last thing I have to say.
The three things in life which my husband loved were his son, his Parliamentary seat and his Party.' Alison Higgins flashed a quick glance around the table, but none of the other guests reacted to her obvious omission.
If; somehow, he knew last Friday that Mark would be spared, then he would have died happy. After that, he would have wished more than anything else for the seat which his death leaves vacant to be saved for his Party.' She paused and looked around the table once more.
Although some of his colleagues have joined what the Opposition are calling the Chicken Run, and finding new, safer seats before the next election, Roly never entertained the idea of doing that. He believed that he owed it to the Party nationally and to you in the constituency to stay here, whatever the odds, and fight the next election. I know you all had doubts, but he was convinced that he would have held it.
`So was I.
I've given this a lot of thought. I believe that I owe it to Roly to try to keep alive his determination to retain this as a Tory seat. As you all know, the Writ will be moved on Thursday, principally to give the Party the best possible chance of holding Colin Davey's seat, where they're going to slot the sitting MEP in as candidate.
`That puts you in a hole, does it not?' She looked directly at John Torrance, acknowledging what all the rest knew, that he was the real leader of the Constituency Party. Torrance nodded solemnly, but with a question in his eyes.
`Right. Let me help you out of it. John, in these circumstances can you think of anyone who has as good a chance as I would have of holding this seat for the Party?'
He looked at her in astonishment for uncounted seconds. At last he said, slowly, 'No, Leona, I cannot.'
She looked at each person around the table, one by one. 'In that case,' she said, 'humbly and sincerely, I offer myself to you as your Parliamentary candidate.'
Half an hour later, she waved good night from the front doorway to her four guests, each one still slightly shell-shocked from the experience of the evening. When she closed the door behind her and turned back into the hall, Alison Higgins was staring at her.
`Christ, Leona. Their faces! Mine too, I suppose, for I was as surprised as them. Are you sure about this?'
Absolutely. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. It wasn't love that kept Roly and me together, you know. It was politics. You must have guessed that, surely.'
Almost reluctantly, Higgins nodded. 'I knew there was something. I have to admit that latterly it was pretty obvious that there wasn't any sexual chemistry left between you two.'
`Delicately put,' said Leona, with a bitter smile.
She led the way back into the dining room and picked up an unfinished glass of wine from the table. 'Poor Marsh. I really should have warned him in advance, I suppose.' She grinned again. 'God, the trouble he has with the women in his life!'
`What d'you mean?' said Higgins, puzzled.
`Margie Elliot gives her husband a very tough time. She's the talk of the coffee mornings, even in the presence of the MP's wife. They say she has a tongue like a navvy, and that she gives her poor husband the rough edge of it on a daily basis. They say also that Marsh, for all that he has a reputation as a man's man, can't do anything about it.'
`No? What about divorce, if it's that bad?'
`Not everyone rushes to divorce an awkward spouse. Take me for example.'
Higgins looked at her, frowning.
Oh yes, Ali my dear. The coffee-morning gossips were quite specific about the MP too, although they didn't know I was listening at that point. There was a pretty young thing from BBC Television, then there was a rugby internationalist's wife, then a Judge's daughter. I could go on.'
She drained her wine glass, and Alison realised that her friend had crossed the threshold to the other side of sobriety.
`He didn't try it on with you, ever, did he?' Higgins shook her head, unsmiling. No, he wouldn't have. He was always wary of you. A little scared, almost. He covered it up though, with bluster.' She picked up a bottle of Fleurie from the table and refilled her glass. 'He used to say that you struck him as being sexually stingy. I told him that there were a couple of weekend sailors who could disprove that charge, but he stuck to his guns.
I think he was pleased with the phrase. Sexually stingy.' She pronounced the words slowly and carefully, then burst into pealing laughter.
`Not something anyone would have said about Roly, though. He was sexually generous to a fault. To a very big fault, actually.' Carefully, and without warning, she replaced her glass on the table, sat down hard in the carver chair at its head, and burst into tears.
SIXTY-THREE
‘He shifted painfully against the pillows which propped him up, looking up at the lugubrious face of Mr Braeburn.
`Look, Mr Skinner,' said the mournful consultant, 'I'll grant that you have a remarkable constitution, to have survived a wound which would have finished off most people, and to be recovering from it so well. But I do wish that you would take my advice and accept more medication to ensure that you have a restful night.'
The big policeman smiled, but shook his head slowly. 'You've got me off the glucose and back on solid food. I even took a piss half an hour ago, albeit with the help of my good pal Andy over there. That means that my system's working normally again. In that case, when it wants to go to sleep, it will. I've got a thing about medication of any kind. Just ask my wife. I won't even take Rennies.'
`That's right,' said Sarah. She was still seated at his bedside, holding his hand. Andy Martin stood at the back of the room, beside the wall, laughing quietly to himself. 'He knows it all, my husband. His standard remedy for indigestion is a pint of milk, and his patented hangover cure is a six-mile run.'
Mr Braeburn nodded. 'Efficacious in both instances, I will allow. But surely, you will agree as a doctor with my recommendation in these circumstances.'
As a doctor, of course I do.' Bob glowered at her. 'And as a wife, perhaps if you left us alone, I might try to talk him into it’