Margaret Thatcher: The Autobiography (122 page)

The next day (Sunday 18 November) I departed for the CSCE summit in Paris. It marked the formal – though sadly not the actual – beginning of that new era which was termed by President Bush a ‘new world order’. In Paris far-reaching decisions were taken to shape the post-Cold War Europe. These included deep mutual cuts in conventional armed forces within the CFE framework, a European ‘Magna Carta’ guaranteeing political rights and economic freedom (an idea I had particularly championed), and the establishment of CSCE mechanisms to promote conciliation, to prevent conflict, to facilitate free elections, and to encourage consultations between governments and parliamentarians.

As usual, I had a series of bilateral meetings with heads of government. The Gulf was almost always at the forefront of our discussions, though my mind kept turning to what was happening back in Westminster. On Monday (19 November) I had breakfast with President Bush, signed on behalf of the United Kingdom the historic agreement to reduce conventional forces in Europe, attended the first plenary session of the CSCE, and lunched with the other leaders at the Elysée Palace. In the afternoon I made my own speech to the summit, looking back over the long-term benefits of the Helsinki process, emphasizing the continued importance of human rights and the rule of law, pointing to their connection with economic freedom, and warning against any attempt to downgrade NATO which was ‘the core of western defence’. I later talked with the UN Secretary-General about the situation in the Gulf before entertaining Chancellor Kohl to dinner at the British Embassy.

It was characteristic of Helmut Kohl that he came straight to the point, namely the leadership election. He said it was good to talk about these difficult issues rather than bottle them up. He had been determined to devote this evening to me as a way of demonstrating his complete
support. It was unimaginable that I should be deprived of office. Given that the Chancellor and I had strong differences on the future course of the European Community and that my departure would remove an obstacle to his plans – as, indeed, proved to be the case – this was big-hearted of him.

The following day I would know the results of the first ballot. Peter had spoken to me on the telephone on Monday evening, and he was still radiating confidence. It had already been arranged that he would come out to Paris to be there to give me ‘the good news’, which would be telephoned through to him from the Whips’ Office. It had also been agreed precisely what I would do and say in the event of various eventualities – ranging from an overwhelming victory to a defeat on the first round. Knowing there was nothing more I could do, I threw all my energies on Tuesday into more meetings with heads of government and the CSCE proceedings. In the morning (Tuesday 20 November) I had talks with President Gorbachev, President Mitterrand and President Ozal, and lunch with the Dutch Prime Minister, Ruud Lubbers. After lunch I had a talk with President Zhelev of Bulgaria who said that President Reagan and I shared the responsibility for delivering freedom to eastern Europe and no one would ever forget that. Perhaps it took the leader of a country which had been crushed for decades under communist terror to understand just what had happened in the world and why.

The afternoon’s session of the CSCE closed at 4.30. After tea and some discussion with my advisers of the day’s events, I went upstairs to my room at the residence to have my hair done. Just after 6 o’clock I went up to a room set aside for me to await the results. Bernard Ingham, Charles Powell, our ambassador Sir Ewen Fergusson, Crawfie and Peter were there. Peter had a line open to the Chief Whip, and Charles had another to John Whittingdale back in London. I sat at a desk with my back to the room and got on with some work. Although I did not realize it then, Charles received the results first. Out of my sight, he gave a sad thumbs down to people in the room, but waited for Peter to get the news officially. Then I heard Peter Morrison receive the information from the Whips’ Office. He read out the figures: I had 204 votes, Michael Heseltine 152, and there were 16 abstentions.

‘Not quite as good as we had hoped,’ said Peter, for once a master of understatement, and handed a note of the results to me. I quickly did the sums in my head. I had beaten Michael Heseltine and achieved a clear majority of the Parliamentary Party (indeed, I got more votes in defeat
than John Major later won in victory); but I had not won by a margin sufficient to avoid a second ballot. A short silence followed.

It was broken by Peter Morrison’s trying to telephone Douglas Hurd’s room in the residence but finding that Douglas was on the line to John Major in Great Stukeley, where the Chancellor was recovering from an operation to remove his wisdom teeth. A few minutes later we got through to Douglas who at once came along to see me. I did not need to ask for his continued support. He declared that I should stand in the second ballot and promised his own, and John Major’s, support. He proved as good as his word, and I was glad to have such a staunch friend by my side. Having thanked him and after a little more discussion I went down as previously planned to meet the press and make my statement.

Douglas followed me and said:

I went back upstairs to my room and made a number of telephone calls, including one to Denis. There was little to be said. The dangers were all too obvious, and the telephone was not right for a heart-to-heart discussion of what to do. Anyway, everyone in London knew from my statement that I would carry on.

I changed out of the black wool suit with its tan and black collar which I was wearing when the bad news came through. Although somewhat stunned, I was perhaps less distressed than I might have expected. The evidence is that whereas other outfits which evoke sad memories never see the light of day again, I still wear that suit. But now I had to be in evening dress for dinner at the Palace of Versailles, before which a ballet was to be performed. I sent ahead to President Mitterrand warning him that I would be late and asking that they start without me.

Before leaving for Versailles, I went in to see my old friend Eleanor (the late Lady) Glover at whose Swiss home I had spent so many enjoyable hours on holiday and who had come round from her Paris flat to comfort me. We talked for just a few minutes in the ambassador’s sitting room. Her maid, Marta, who was with her, had ‘seen it in the cards’. I thought it might be useful to get Marta on the campaign team.

At 8 o’clock I left the embassy with Peter Morrison to be driven at break-neck speed through the empty Paris streets, cleared for Presidents Bush and Gorbachev. But my mind was in London. I knew that our only chance was if the campaign were to go into high gear and every potential supporter pressed to fight for my cause. Again and again, I stressed this to Peter; ‘We have got to fight.’ Some twenty minutes later we arrived at Versailles where President Mitterrand was waiting for me. ‘Of course we would never have started without you,’ the President said, and with the considerable charm at his command, he accompanied me inside as if I had just won an election instead of half-losing one.

It will be imagined that I could not give the whole of my attention to the ballet. Even the dinner afterwards, always a memorable event at President Mitterrand’s table, was something of a strain. The press and photographers were waiting for us as we left, and they showed a special interest in me. Realizing this, George and Barbara Bush, who were just about to leave, swept me up to come out with them. It was one of those little acts of kindness which remind us that even power politics is not just about power.

From Paris the arrangements were now being made for my return to London. I would attend the signing ceremony for the Final Document of the summit but cut out the previously planned press conference so as to get back to London early. A meeting had been arranged with Norman Tebbit and John Wakeham and they would be joined later by Ken Baker, John MacGregor, Tim Renton and Cranley Onslow. Meanwhile, three trawls of opinion were being made. For my campaign team Norman Tebbit would assess my support in the Parliamentary Party; Tim Renton would do the same for the whips; and the Cabinet would be canvassed by John MacGregor. This last task was, in fact, meant to be the responsibility of John Wakeham, but because he was preparing for an announcement on electricity privatization, he delegated it to John MacGregor.

I now know that this was the time when other ministers back in London were preparing to abandon my cause. But my first inkling of what was taking place came the next morning when my Private Office told me that
in accordance with my request they had telephoned Peter Lilley – a card-carrying Thatcherite whom I had appointed to succeed Nick Ridley at Trade and Industry in July 1990 – to ask him to help with the drafting of my speech for that Thursday’s No Confidence debate. Peter had apparently replied that he saw no point in this because I was finished. Coming from such a source, this upset me more than I can say. It was going to be even more difficult than I had imagined in my worst nightmares.

I arrived at No. 10 just before midday (Wednesday 21 November). At Peter Morrison’s suggestion, I had agreed that I should see members of the Cabinet one by one on my return. The arrangements were made as soon as I got back to London where first appearances were deceptive. The staff of No. 10 clapped and cheered as I arrived; a thousand red roses had arrived from one supporter; and as the long day wore on a constantly increasing flow of other bouquets lined every corridor and staircase.

I went straight up to the flat to see Denis. Affection never blunted honesty between us. His advice was that I should withdraw. ‘Don’t go on, love,’ he said. But I felt in my bones that I should fight on. My friends and supporters expected me to fight, and I owed it to them to do so as long as there was a chance of victory. But was there?

After a few minutes I went down to the study with Peter Morrison where Norman Tebbit and John Wakeham soon joined us. Norman said that it was very difficult to know how my vote stood with MPs, but many would fight every inch of the way for me. My biggest area of weakness was among Cabinet ministers. The objective must be to stop Michael Heseltine, and Norman thought I had the best chance of doing so. I was quite frank with him in return. I said that if I could see the Gulf crisis through and inflation brought down, I would be able to choose the time of my departure. In retrospect, I can see this was a kind of code assuring them that I would resign not long after the next election.

But we had to consider other possibilities. If Michael Heseltine was unthinkable, who could best stop him? Neither Norman nor I believed that Douglas could beat Michael. Moreover, much though I admired Douglas’s character and ability, I doubted whether he would carry on the policies in which I believed. And that was a vital consideration to me – it was, indeed, the consideration that prompted me to look favourably on John Major. What of him? If I withdrew, would he be able to win? His prospects were, at best, still uncertain. So I concluded that the right option was for me to stay in the fight.

John Wakeham said that we should think about the wider meeting just about to start. I should prepare myself for the argument that I would be humiliated if I fought. It was the first time I was to hear the argument that day; but not the last.

Norman, John, Peter and I then went down to the Cabinet Room where we were joined by Ken Baker, John MacGregor, Tim Renton, Cranley Onslow and John Moore. Ken opened the discussion by saying that the key issue was how to stop Michael Heseltine. In his view, I was the only person who could do this. Douglas Hurd did not want the job badly enough, and in any case he represented the old wing of the Party. John Major would attract more support: he was closer to my views and had few enemies, but he was short of experience. Ken said that two things were needed for my victory: my campaign needed a major overhaul and I must give an undertaking to look radically at the community charge. He advised against a high-profile media campaign.

John MacGregor then said that he had done his trawl of Cabinet ministers who in turn had consulted their junior ministers. He said that there were very few who were proposing to shift their allegiance, but the underlying problem was that they had no faith in my ultimate success. They were concerned that my support was eroding. In fact, I subsequently learned that this was not the full picture. John MacGregor had found a large minority of Cabinet ministers whose support was shaky – either because they actually wanted me out, or because they genuinely believed that I could not beat Michael Heseltine, or because they favoured an alternative candidate. He did not feel able to convey this information frankly in front of Tim Renton, or indeed of Cranley Onslow, and he had not managed to contact me with this information in advance. This was important, because if we had known the true picture earlier in the day, we might have thought twice about asking Cabinet ministers individually for their support.

The discussion continued. Tim Renton gave a characteristically dispiriting assessment. He said that the Whips’ Office had received many messages from backbenchers and ministers saying that I should withdraw from the contest. They doubted if I could beat Michael Heseltine and they wanted a candidate around whom the Party could unite.

Then he said that Willie Whitelaw had asked to see him. Willie was worried that I might be humiliated in the second ballot – it was touching that so many people seemed to be worried about my humiliation – and feared that even if I won by a small margin, it would be difficult for me to
unite the Party. He did not want to be cast in the role of a ‘man in a grey suit’. But, if asked, he would come in and see me ‘as a friend’.