This Was A Man (10 page)

‘This is Number Ten,’ said a formal voice. ‘The Prime Minister wonders if you could see her at twelve thirty this afternoon.’

‘Yes of course,’ said Emma without thinking.

‘When?’ asked Harry as she put the phone down.

‘Twelve thirty at Number Ten.’

‘You’d better get dressed immediately while I bring the car round. We’ll have to get a move on if you hope to catch the ten past ten.’

Emma ran upstairs and took longer than she intended deciding what to wear. A simple navy suit and a white silk blouse won the day.

Harry managed ‘You look great,’ as he accelerated down the driveway and out of the front gates, glad to have avoided the morning rush. He pulled up outside Temple Meads just after
ten.

‘Call me as soon as you’ve seen her,’ he shouted at the departing figure, but couldn’t be sure if Emma had heard him.

Emma couldn’t help thinking as the train pulled out of the station, that if Margaret just wanted to thank her, she could have done it over the phone. She scanned the morning papers, which
were covered with pictures of the new Prime Minister and details of her senior appointments. The cabinet were due to meet for the first time at ten o’clock that morning. She checked her
watch: 10.15 a.m.

Emma was among the first off the train, and ran all the way to the taxi rank. When she reached the front of the queue and said, ‘Number Ten Downing Street, and I have to be there by twelve
thirty,’ the cabbie looked at her as if to say, Pull the other one.

When the taxi drove into Whitehall and stopped at the bottom of Downing Street, a policeman glanced in the back, smiled and saluted. The taxi drove slowly up to the front door of No. 10. When
Emma took out her purse, the driver said, ‘No charge, miss. I voted Tory, so this one’s on me. And by the way, good luck.’

Before Emma could knock on the door of No. 10, it swung open. She stepped inside to find a young woman waiting for her.

‘Good morning, Lady Clifton. My name is Alison, and I’m one of the Prime Minister’s personal secretaries. I know she’s looking forward to seeing you.’

Emma followed the secretary silently up the stairs to the first floor where they came to a halt in front of a door. The secretary knocked, opened it and stood aside. Emma walked in to find Mrs
Thatcher on the phone.

‘We’ll speak again later, Willy, when I’ll let you know my decision.’ The Prime Minister put the phone down. ‘Emma,’ she said, rising from behind her desk.
‘So kind of you to return to London at such short notice. I’d assumed you were still in town.’

‘Not a problem, Prime Minister.’

‘First, my congratulations on winning fifty-nine of the sixty-two targeted marginal seats. A triumph! Although I expect your brother will tease you about failing to capture Bristol
Docklands.’

‘Next time, Prime Minister.’

‘But that could be five years away and we’ve got rather a lot to do before then, which is why I wanted to see you. You probably know that I’ve invited Patrick Jenkin to be
Secretary of State for Health, and of course he will need an undersecretary in the Lords to steer the new National Health Bill through the Upper House and safely on to the books. And I can’t
think of anyone better qualified to do that job. You have vast experience of the NHS, and your years as chairman of a public company make you the ideal candidate for the post. So I do hope
you’ll feel able to join the government as a life peer.’

Emma was speechless.

‘One of the truly wonderful things about you, Emma, is that it hadn’t even crossed your mind that was the reason I wanted to see you. Half my ministers assumed they got no more than
they deserved, while the other half couldn’t hide their disappointment. I suspect you’re the only one who’s genuinely surprised.’

Emma found herself nodding.

‘So let me tell me you what’s going to happen now. When you leave here, there will be a car outside to take you to Alexander Fleming House, where the Secretary of State is expecting
you. He will take you through your responsibilities in great detail. In particular, he will want to talk to you about the new National Health Bill, which I’d like to get through both Houses
as quickly as possible, preferably within a year. Listen to Patrick Jenkin – he’s a shrewd politician, as is the Department’s Permanent Secretary. I would recommend you to also
seek your brother’s counsel. He was not only an able minister, but no one knows better how the House of Lords works.’

‘But he’s on the other side.’

‘It doesn’t work quite like that in the Lords, as you’ll quickly find out. They are far more civilized at the other end of the House, and not just interested in scoring
political points. And my final piece of advice is to make sure you enjoy it.’

‘I’m flattered you even considered me, Prime Minister, and I’m bound to admit, somewhat daunted by the challenge.’

‘No need to be. You were my first choice for the job,’ said Mrs Thatcher. ‘One final thing, Emma. You are among a handful of friends who I hope will still call me Margaret,
because I won’t have this job for ever.’

‘Thank you, Prime Minister.’

Emma rose from her place and shook hands with her new boss. When she left the room, she found Alison standing in the corridor.

‘Congratulations, minister. A car is waiting to take you to your department.’

As they walked back downstairs, past the photographs of former prime ministers, Emma tried to take in what had happened during the last few minutes. Just as she reached the hallway, the front
door opened and a young man stepped inside, to be led up the stairs by another secretary. She wondered what position Norman was about to be offered.

‘If you’d like to follow me,’ said Alison, who opened a side door that led into a small room with a desk and telephone. Emma was puzzled until she closed the door and added,
‘The Prime Minister thought you might like to call your husband before you begin your new job.’

G
ILES SPENT THE MORNING
moving his papers, files and personal belongings from one end of the corridor to the other. He left behind a spacious,
well-appointed office overlooking Parliament Square, just a few steps from the chamber, along with a retinue of staff whose only purpose was to carry out his every requirement.

In exchange, he moved into cramped quarters, manned by a single secretary, from which he was expected to carry out the same job in opposition. His downfall was both painful and immediate. No
longer could he rely on a cadre of civil servants to advise him, organize his diary and draft his speeches. Those same servants now served a different master, who represented another party, in
order that the process of government should continue seamlessly. Such is democracy.

When the phone rang, Giles answered it to find the leader of the opposition on the other end of the line.

‘I’m chairing a meeting of the Shadow Cabinet at ten o’clock on Monday morning in my new office in the Commons, Giles. I hope you’ll be able to attend.’

No longer able to call upon a private secretary to summon Cabinet members to No. 10, Jim Callaghan was making his own phone calls for the first time in years.

To say that Giles’s colleagues looked shell-shocked when they took their places around the table the following Monday would have been an understatement. All of them had
considered the possibility of losing to the lady, but not by such a large majority.

Jim Callaghan chaired the meeting, having hastily scribbled out an agenda on the back of an envelope which a secretary had typed up and was now distributing to those colleagues who’d
survived the electoral cull. The only subject that concentrated the minds of those seated around that table was when Jim would resign as leader of the Labour Party. It was the first item on the
agenda. Once they had found their opposition feet, he told his colleagues, he intended to make way for a new leader. Feet that would, for the next few years, do little more than tramp through the
No’s lobby to vote against the government, only to be defeated again and again.

When the meeting came to an end, Giles did something he hadn’t done for years. He walked home – no ministerial car. He’d miss Bill, and dropped him a line to thank him, before
joining Karin for lunch.

‘Was it ghastly?’ she asked him as he strolled into the kitchen.

‘It was like attending a wake, because we all know we can’t do anything about it for at least four years. And by then I’ll be sixty-three,’ he reminded her, ‘and
the new leader of the party, whoever that might be, will undoubtedly have his own candidate to replace me.’

‘Unless you throw your support behind the man who becomes the next leader,’ said Karin, ‘in which case you’ll still have a place at the top table.’

‘Denis Healey is the only credible candidate for the job in my opinion, and I’m pretty confident the party will get behind him.’

‘Who’s he likely to be up against?’ Karin asked as she poured him a glass of wine.

‘The unions will support Michael Foot, but most members will realize that with his left-wing credentials the party wouldn’t have much hope of winning the next general
election.’ He drained his glass. ‘But we don’t have to worry about that possibility for some time, so let’s talk about something more palatable, like where you’d like
to spend your summer holiday.’

‘There’s something else we need to discuss before we decide that,’ said Karin, as she mashed some potatoes. ‘The electorate may have rejected you, but I know someone who
still needs your help.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Emma rang earlier this morning. She hopes you might be willing to advise her on her new job.’

‘Her new job?’

‘Hasn’t anyone told you? She’s been appointed Under Secretary of State for Health, and she’ll be joining you in the Lords.’ Karin waited to see how he would
react.

‘How proud our mother would have been,’ were Giles’s first words. ‘So at least something good has come out of this election. I’ll certainly be able to show her
which potholes to avoid, which members to heed, which ones to ignore and how to gain the confidence of the House. Not an easy job at the best of times,’ he said, already warming to the task.
‘I’ll call her straight after lunch and offer to take her round the Palace of Westminster while we’re in recess.’

‘And if we were to go to Scotland for our holiday this year,’ said Karin, ‘we could invite Harry and Emma to join us. It would be the first time in years you wouldn’t be
continually interrupted by civil servants claiming there’s a crisis, or journalists who say sorry to disturb you on holiday, minister, but . . .’

‘Good idea. By the time Emma is presented to the House in October, her new colleagues will think she’s already spent a decade in the Lords.’

‘And there’s another thing we ought to discuss now you have so much more time on your hands,’ said Karin as she placed a plate of stew on the table in front of him.

‘You’re quite right, my darling,’ said Giles, picking up his knife and fork. ‘But don’t let’s just talk about it this time, let’s do
something.’

Lord Goodman heaved himself up from behind his desk as his secretary entered the office accompanied by a prospective client.

‘What a pleasure to meet you at last, Mrs Grant,’ the distinguished lawyer said as they shook hands. ‘Do have a seat,’ he added, ushering her to a comfortable chair.

‘Is it correct that you were the Prime Minister’s lawyer?’ asked Ellie May, once she was seated.

‘Yes, I was,’ said Goodman. ‘I now only serve Mr Wilson in a private capacity.’

‘And have you found time to read the letter and enclosures I sent you recently?’ Ellie May asked, well aware that small talk would be charged at the same rate as legal opinion.

‘Every word,’ said Goodman, tapping a file on the table in front of him. ‘I only wish your husband had sought my advice at the time of this unfortunate incident. Had he done
so, I would have recommended that he call the lady’s bluff.’

‘There would be far less need for lawyers, Lord Goodman, if we were all blessed with hindsight. But despite that, is it your opinion that Lady Virginia has a case to answer?’