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“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m on your side, Lady Virginia, but it is my responsibility to be absolutely sure that you know what you’re up against. With that in mind, I must ask you once again, are you certain you want to go ahead with this case?”
“Yes, I most certainly am, because there’s one piece of evidence that I haven’t told you about, Sir Edward, and once it becomes public, I don’t think this case will ever get to court.”
29
“MR. SLOANE CALLED while you were at lunch,” said Rachel.
“Did he say what he wanted?” asked Seb.
“No, other than that it was a personal matter.”
“I’m sure it is. He’s worked out that I’ve got nearly six percent of Farthings’ stock, so it’s suddenly very personal.”
“He suggested you meet at his office at eleven tomorrow. There’s space in your diary.”
“Forget it. If he wants to see me, he can damn well come here.”
“I’ll ring and find out if that’s convenient.”
“I have a feeling it will be, because this time I’m in the driving seat.” Rachel didn’t comment, and turned to leave the room. “You’re not convinced, are you, Rachel?” said Seb before she reached the door. She turned back, but before she could offer an opinion he asked, “What would Cedric have done?”
“He would have given Sloane the impression that he was falling in with his plans, so he would lower his guard.”
“Would he?” said Seb. “Then tell Sloane to expect me at eleven tomorrow morning, and add how much I’m looking forward to seeing him.”
“No, that would be overdoing it. But don’t be late.”
“Why not?”
“Gives him back the advantage.”
* * *
Giles wasn’t looking forward to returning to the House of Commons for the first time since he’d lost his seat. The policeman at the St. Stephen’s entrance saluted him.
“Nice to see you, sir. Hope it won’t be long before you’re back.”
“Thank you,” said Giles as he walked into the building, past Westminster Hall, and along the corridor where members of the public wait patiently, hoping to be allocated a seat in the Strangers’ Gallery so they can follow the business of the day. Giles marched on past them into Central Lobby, walking briskly so as not to be held up by former colleagues offering their commiserations and adding platitudes they rarely meant.
Passing another policeman, he stepped on to the thick green carpet he’d trodden for so many years. He glanced at the ticker-tape machine that kept members up to date with what was happening around the world, but didn’t stop to check the latest headline. On past the members’ library, dreading he might bump into one particular member he didn’t want to see. He took a left when he reached the office of the Leader of the House, and came to a halt outside a room he hadn’t entered for years. He knocked on the door of Her Majesty’s Leader of the Opposition, and walked in to find seated at their desks the same two secretaries who had served the former prime minister when he was in Downing Street.
“Nice to see you again, Sir Giles. You can go straight in, Mr. Wilson is expecting you.”
Another knock on another door, and he entered the room to see the familiar sight of a man attempting to light his pipe. He gave up when he saw Giles.
“Giles, I’ve been looking forward to this all day. It’s good to see you.”
“And it’s good to see you, Harold,” responded Giles, not shaking hands with his colleague in the Palace of Westminster, maintaining a tradition that had been upheld for centuries.
“Such bad luck to lose by only twenty-one votes,” said Wilson. “I can’t pretend I care much for your successor.”
“This place will find him out,” said Giles. “It always does.”
“And how are you coping with the postelection blues?”
“Not that well. I’m bound to admit, I miss the place.”
