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“The man,” repeated Emma. “Does that mean that out of two hundred and fifty-eight Labor Members of Parliament, there’s not a single woman who can hope to lead the party?”
“Barbara Castle may decide to enter the lists, but frankly she hasn’t got a snowball’s chance in hell. But let’s face it, Emma, there are more women sitting on the Labor benches than on the Conservative side of the House, so if a woman ever does make it to Downing Street, my bet is she’ll be a socialist.”
“But why would anyone want to be leader of the Labor Party? It must be one of the most thankless jobs in the country.”
“And at the same time, one of the most exciting,” said Giles. “How many people get the chance to make a real difference, to improve people’s lives and leave a worthwhile legacy for the next generation? Don’t forget, I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth, so perhaps it’s payback time.”
“Wow,” said Emma. “I’d vote for you.”
“Of course, we’ll all support you,” said Harry. “But I’m not sure there’s a lot we can do to influence two hundred and fifty-seven MPs we’ve never come across, and are hardly likely to.”
“It’s not that kind of support I’m looking for. It’s more personal, because I have to warn all of you sitting around this table that once again you can expect the press to start delving into your private lives. You may feel you’ve had enough of that already, and I couldn’t blame you if you did.”
“As long as we all sing from the same hymn sheet,” said Grace, “and say nothing other than that we’re delighted Giles is standing for leader of his party because we know he’s the right man for the job and we’re confident he’ll win, surely they’ll soon get bored and move on?”
“That’s just when they’ll start digging around for something new,” said Giles. “So if anyone wants to admit to anything more serious than a parking ticket, now’s your chance.”
“I’m rather hoping my next book will get to number one on the New York Times bestseller list,” said Harry, “so perhaps I ought to warn you that William Warwick is going to have an affair with the chief constable’s wife. If you think that might harm your chances, Giles, I could always hold off publication until after the election.” Everyone laughed.
“Frankly, darling,” said Emma, “William Warwick ought to have an affair with the mayor of New York’s wife, because that would give you a far better chance of making it to number one in the States.”
“Not a bad idea,” said Harry.
“On a more serious note,” said Emma, “perhaps this is the moment to tell you all that Barrington’s is just about holding its head above water, and things aren’t going to get any easier during the next twelve months.”
“How bad is it?” asked Giles.
“The building of the Buckingham is running more than a year behind schedule, and although we’ve had no major setbacks recently, the company has had to borrow a large sum of money from the banks. If it could be shown that our overdraft exceeded our asset value, the banks could call in those loans, and we might even go under. That’s the worst possible scenario, though it’s not impossible.”
“And when could that happen?”
“Not in the foreseeable future,” said Emma, “unless of course Fisher felt that washing our dirty linen in public could be used to his advantage.”
“Martinez won’t let him do that while he has such a large shareholding in the company,” said Sebastian. “But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to sit on the sidelines and watch, if you do decide to throw your hat in the ring.”
“I agree,” said Grace. “And he’s not the only person I can think of who’d be only too hap
py to throw that hat back out of the ring.”
“Who do you have in mind?” asked Giles.
“The Lady Virginia Fenwick, for a start. That woman will be delighted to remind every Member of Parliament she comes across that you’re a divorcee, and left her for another woman.”
“Virginia only knows Tories, and they’ve already had a prime minister who was divorced. And don’t forget,” added Giles, taking Gwyneth’s hand, “I’m now happily married to that other woman.”
“Frankly,” said Harry, “I think you should be more worried about Martinez than Virginia, because he’s clearly still looking for any excuse to harm our family, as Sebastian discovered when he first went to work at Farthings. And, Giles, you’re a far bigger prize than Seb, so my bet is that Martinez will do everything in his power to make sure you never become prime minister.”
“If I decide to stand,” said Giles, “I can’t spend my life looking over my shoulder, wondering what Martinez is up to. At the moment, I have to concentrate on some rivals who are far closer to home.”
“Who is your biggest rival?” asked Harry.
“Harold Wilson is the favorite with the bookmakers.”
“Mr. Hardcastle wants him to win,” said Sebastian.
“Why, in heaven’s name?” asked Giles.
“Nothing to do with heaven,” said Sebastian. “It’s also far closer to home. Both of them were born in Huddersfield.”
