First Among Equals (23 page)

“I’ve made a
deal with our Miss Trubshaw.”

“You’ve what?”

“A deal.
With Miss Trubshaw.
You get
the proof if she remains as secretary to the board for five more years, with no
loss of pension benefits.”

“
is
that all she wants?” said Charles guardedly.

“And the promise of another lunch at the Savoy Grill when you’re
invited back on the board.”

Unlike many of
his Labour colleagues, Raymond enjoyed dressing up in white tie and tails and
mixing with London society. An invitation to the bankers’ annual banquet at the
Guildhall was no exception. The Prime Minister was the guest of honor, and
Raymond wondered if he would drop a hint as to how long he expected the
parliamentary session to last before he felt he had to call an election.

At the
pre-dinner drinks, Raymond had a quick word with the Lord Mayor of London
before becoming involved in a conversation with a circuit-court judge on the
problems of the parity of sentencing.

When dinner was
announced, Raymond found his seat on one of the long sides stretching away from
the main table.

He checked his
place card.

Raymond Gould
QC, MP. On his right was the chairman of Chloride, Michael Edwardes, and on his
left an American banker who had just started work in the City.

Raymond found
Michael Edwardes’ views on how the Prime Minister should tackle the
nationalized industries fascinating, but he devoted far more of his attention
to the financial analyst from Chase Manhattan. She must have been almost
thirty, Raymond decided, if only because of her elevated position at the bank
and her claim to have been an undergraduate at Wellesley at the time of
Kennedy’s death.

He would have
put Kate Garthwaite at far younger, and was not surprised to learn she played
tennis in the summer and swam every day during the winter-to keep her weight
down, she confided. Kate had a warm, oval face, and her dark hair was cut in
what Raymond thought was a Mary Quant style. Her nose turned up slightly at the
end and would have cost a lot of money for a plastic surgeon to reproduce.
There was no chance of seeing her legs, as they were covered by a long dress,
but what he could see left Raymond more than interested.

“I see there’s
an ‘M P’ behind your name, Mr. Gould. May I ask which party you represent?” she
asked in an accent common only in Boston.

“I’m a
Labourite, Mrs. Garthwaite. Where do your sympathies lie on this occasion?”

“I would have
voted Labour at the last election if I had been qualified,” she declared.

“Should I be
surprised?” he teased.

“You certainly
should. My ex-husband is a Republican Congressman.”

He was about to
ask his next question when the toastmaster called for silence. For the first
time Raymond turned his eyes to the dais and the Prime Minister. Harold
Wilson’s speech stuck firmly to economic problems and the role of a Labour
Government in the City and gave no clue as to the timing of the next election.
Nevertheless, Raymond considered it a worthwhile evening. He had made a useful
contact with the chairman of a large public company. And he had acquired Kate’s
telephone number.

The chairman of
Hampton’s reluctantly agreed to see him a second time, but it was obvious from
the moment Charles walked in, when no hand was proffered, that Derek Spencer
intended it to be a short interview.

“I thought I
ought to see you personally,” said Charles as he settled back in the
comfortable leather chair and slowly Lit a cigarette, “rather than raise my
query at the annual meeting next month.”

The first sign
of apprehension showed on the chairman’s face, but he said nothing.

‘q’rn rather
keen to discover why the bank should pay out a monthly check for four hundred
pounds to an employee called Miss Janet Darrow, whom I have never come across,
although it appears she has been on the payroll for over five years. The
checks, it seems, have been going to a branch of Lloyd’s in Kensington.”

Derek Spencer’s
face became flushed.

“What I am at a
loss to discover,” continued Charles after he had inhaled
deeply,
“is what services Miss Darrow has been supplying to the bank.

They must be
quite impressive to have earned her twenty-five thousand pounds over the last
five years. I appreciate that this is a small amount when you consider the
bank’s turnover of one hundred and twenty-three million last year, but my
grandfather instilled in me at an early age the belief that if one took care of
the pennies, the pounds would take care of
themselves
.”

Still Derek
Spencer said nothing, although beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead.
Suddenly Charles’s tone changed. “If I find I am not a member of the board by
the time of the annual general meeting, I feel it will be my duty to point out
this slight discrepancy in the bank’s accounts to the other shareholders
present.”

“You’re a
bastard, Hampton,” the chairman said quietly.

“Now, that is
not accurate. I am the second son of the former chairman of this bank and I
bear a striking resemblance to my father, although everyone says I have my
mother’s eyes.”

“What’s the
deal?”

“No deal. You
will merely keep to your original agreement and see that I am reinstated on the
board before the annual meeting. You will also cease any further payments to
Miss Janet Darrow immediately.”

“If I agree,
will you swear never to mention this matter to anyone again?”

“I will. And
unlike you, I’m in the habit of keeping my word.” Charles rose from his chair.
leaned
over the desk and stubbed out his cigarette in the
chairman’s ashtray.

“They’ve done
what?’ said Joyce.

The campaign
manager repeated, “Two Communists have put their names forward for election to
the General Purposes committee.”

“Over my dead body.”
Joyce’s voice was unusually sharp.

“I thought that
would be your attitude,” said Fred Padgett.

Jovee searched
for the pencil and paper that were normally on the table by the phone.

“When’s the
meeting?” she asked.

“Next Thijrsday.”

“Have we got
reliable people to run against them?”

“Of course.”
said Fred.
“Councillor Reg Prescott and Jenny Simpkins from
the League.”

“They’re both
sensible enough, but between them they couldn’L knock the skin off a rice
pudding.”

“Shall I phone
Raymond at the House and get him to come down for the meeting?”

“No,” said
Joyce. “He’s got enough to worry about trying to reestablish himself, now that
we’re back in Government. Leave it to me.”

She replaced
the receiver and sat down to compose her thoughts. It was nonic that he was
facing a threat from the extreme left just at the time when the unions were coming
to respect his worth. A few minutes later she went over to her desk and
rummaged about for the full list of the G.P. committee. She checked the sixteen
names carefully, realizing that if two Communists were to get themselves
elected this time, within five years they could control the committee-and then
even remove Raymond. She knew how these people worked. With any luck, if they
got bloody noses now, they might slink off to another constituency.

She checked the
sixteen names once more before putting on a pair of sensible walking shoes.
During the next four days she visited several homes in the constituency. “I was
just passing,” she explained to nine of the wives who had husbands on the
committee. The four men who never listened to a word their wives said were
visited by Joyce after work. The three who had never cared for Raymond were
left well alone.

By Thursday
afternooin, thirteen people knew only too well what was expected of them. Joyce
sat alone hoping Raymond would call that evening.

She cooked herself
a
Lancashir.,
hotpot but only picked at it, and then
later fell aslec-p in front of the television while watching tier favorite
program. The phone woke her at five past eleven.

“Raymond?”

“Hope I didn’t
wake you,” said Fred.

“No, no,” said
Joyce, now impatient to learn the outcome of the meeting.

“What
happened?”

“Reg and Jenny
walked away with it.

Those two
Communist bastards only managed three votes between them.”

“Well done,”
said Joyce.

“I did nothing,
” ;
aid Fred, “except count the votes. Shall I tell Raymond
what’s been happening?”

“No,” “id Joyce. “
No need to let him think we’ve had any
trouble.”

Joyce fell back
into the chair by the phone, kicked off her watkin(y shoes aad went back to
sleep. off R

27 Eaton Square
London S W I

April 23, 1974

Dear Derek,
Thank youjor your letter (-J’April 18 andyour kind iniltation to rejoin the
board of Hampton’s. I am de lighted to accept and look Jbrward to working with
you again.

Yours
sincerely, CIJARLES IJAMP TON

Fiona checked
the Wording and nodded.

Short and to the point.
“Shall I post it?”

“Yes please,”
said Charles as the phone rang.

He picked it
up.
“91112. Charles Hampton speaking.”
“Oh, hello.
Charles.

It’s Simon
Kerslake.”

“Hello, Simon,”
said Charles, trying to sound pleased to hear front his former colleague.
“What’s it like out there in the real world’?”

“Not much fun,
which is exactly why I’m phoning.
I’ve been short-listed for
Pucklebridge, Sir Michael Harbour-Baker’s seat. He’s nearly seventy and has
decided not
to )
-un again in the next election. As his
constituency touches the south border of yours, I thought you might be able to
put in a word for me again.”

“Delighted.”
said Charles. “I’ll speak to the chairman tonight. You can rely on me, and good
luck. It would be nice to have you back in the House.”

Simon gave him
his home number, which Charles repeated slowly, as if he were writing it down.

“I’ll be in
touch,” said Charles.

“I really
appreciate your help.”

Simon put down
the phone.

Elizabeth
closed her copy of her medical journal.

She was lively,
fun, intelligent and well informed. It had been several days before Kate
Garthwaite agreed to see Raymond again, and when she eventually joined him for
dinner at the House she was not overwhelmed or flattered, and she certainly
didn’t hang on his every word.

They began to
see each other regularly. As the months passed, Raymond found himself missing
her on weekcn&, whenever he was in Leeds with Joyce. Kate seemed to enjoy
her independence and made none of the demands on him that Stephanie had, never
once suggesting that he spend more time with her or that she might leave
clothes behind in the flat.

Raymond sipped
his coffee. “That was a memorable meal,” he said, falling back onto the sofa.

“Only by the
standards of the House of Commons,” replied Kate.

Raymond put an
arm around her shoulder before kissing her on the lips.

“What? Rampant
sex as well as cheap Beaujolais?” she exclaimed, stretching over and pouring
herself some more coffee.

“I wish you
wouldn’t always make a joke of our relationship,” said Raymond, stroking the
back of her shiny hair.

“I have to,”
said Kate quietly.

“Why?” Raymond
turned to face her.

“Because I’m
frightened of what might happen if I took it seriously.”

Charles sat
through the annual meeting in silence. The chairman made his report for the
fiscal year ending March 1974 before welcoming two new directors to the board
and the return of Charles Hampton.

There were
several questions from the floor, which Derek Spencer had no trouble in handling.
As Charles had promised, there was not even a hint of Miss Janet Darrow. Miss
Trubshaw had let Fiona know that the payments had been stopped, and also
mentioned that she was still worried that her contract was coming to an end on
July 1.

When the
chairman brought the annual meeting to a close Charles asked courteously if he
could spare him a moment.

“Of course,”
said Spencer, looking relieved that the meeting had gone through without a
hitch. “What can I do for you?’“

“I think it
might be wiser to talk in the privacy of your office.”

The chairman
glanced at him sharply but led him back to his office.

Charles settled
himself comfbrtably in the leather chair once more and removed some papers from
his inside pocket. Peering down at them he asked, “What does BX41207122, Bank
Rombert, Zurich, mean to you?”

“You said you
would never mention
– ”

“Miss Darrow,”
said Charles. “And I shall keep my word. But now, as a director of the bank, I
am trying to find out what BX41207122 means to you?”

“You know damn
well what it means,” said the chairman, banging his clenched fist on the desk.

“I know it’s
your private...”
Charles emphasized the word...”account in
Zurich.”

“You can never
prove anything,” said Derek Spencer defiantly.

“I agree with
you, but what I am able to prove,” said Charles, shuffling through the papers
that now rested on his lap, “is that you have been using Hampton’s money to do
private deals, leaving the profits in your Zurich account without informing the
board.”

“I’ve done
nothing that would harm the bank and you know it.”

“I know the
money has been returned with interest, and I could never prove the bank had
suffered any loss. Nevertheless, the board might take a dim view of your
activities, remembering that they pay you forty thousand pounds a year to make
profits for the bank, not for yourself.”