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“On a lighter note, Pauline, you said you kept a file on me. Does that mean you have a file on every other minister?”
“We most certainly do. However, that does not mean I would be willing to divulge which of your colleagues is a transvestite, who was caught smoking marijuana in Buckingham Palace, and which law lord likes to dress up as a policeman and go on night patrols.”
“Just one question, Pauline. Are any of them among the waverers?”
“Sadly not, minister.”
47
ALTHOUGH MOST of their lordships had made up their minds how they would vote long before the House assembled for the crucial debate, both Emma and Giles accepted that the fate of the bill now rested in the hands of a dozen or so peers who were yet to be persuaded either way.
Emma had risen early that morning and gone through her speech once again before leaving for the department. She rehearsed several of the key paragraphs out loud, with only Harry as her audience, and although he made some excellent suggestions, she reluctantly accepted that the responsibility of government didn’t allow her the freedom of rhetorical hyperbole that Giles so enjoyed in opposition. But then his single purpose was to embarrass the government when the House divided. Hers was to govern.
When Emma arrived at her office in Alexander Fleming House, she was pleased to find her diary had been cleared so she could concentrate on the one thing uppermost in her mind. Like a restless athlete preparing for an Olympic final, how she spent the last few hours before the race might well decide the outcome. However, in politics there are no prizes for second place.
For the past week, she had tried to anticipate any awkward questions that might arise during the course of the debate, so nothing could take her by surprise. Would Field Marshal Montgomery prove to be right? Nine-tenths of a battle is won in preparation long before the first shot is fired.
Emma was shaking as she climbed into the ministerial car to be driven across the river to the Palace of Westminster. On arrival, she retired to her room, accompanied by a ham sandwich and a black coffee. She went over her speech one more time, adding a couple of minor changes, before making her way to the chamber.
* * *
As Big Ben struck twice, the lord speaker took his place on the Woolsack, so the day’s business could begin.
The Right Reverend Bishop of Worcester rose from the bishops’ bench, to conduct prayers for the assembled House. Worcester, like his fellow peers, was well aware of the significance of today’s debate, and the fact that although there were over a thousand hereditary peers who had the right to attend proceedings, along with six hundred life peers, the chamber could only hold around five hundred, so it was no surprise that the benches were already packed.
Home Office questions were first on the order paper, but few peers were interested in the answers, and a gentle hum of chatter descended on the House while they wa
ited for the main event.
Giles made his entry toward the end of questions, and was greeted warmly by his colleagues, like a heavyweight boxer before he steps into the ring. He took his seat in the only remaining place on the front bench.
Emma appeared a few moments later, and was greeted equally warmly as she made her way along the government front bench before taking her seat next to the leader of the House.
When questions came to an end, the lord speaker indicated that the main business of the day could begin. Lord Belstead rose slowly from his place, put his speech on the dispatch box, and with all the confidence of a man who had held several offices of state, delivered the opening salvo on behalf of the government.
Once he had delivered his opening remarks, Lord Cledwyn, equally familiar with his surroundings, rose to reply from the opposition benches.
There then followed a series of speeches from the backbenches, which Emma and Giles, like the rest of the House, listened to with varying degrees of interest. Everyone was clearly waiting to hear the contributions from the Rt. Hon. the Lord Barrington of Bristol Docklands, who would be summing up on behalf of the opposition, and the Rt. Hon. the Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna, who would put the case for the government.
Neither Emma nor Giles left the chamber at any time during the debate, both eschewing a break for supper as they continued to listen to their colleagues’ contributions, while making the occasional note when a particular point was well argued.
Although gaps on the red benches appeared between the hours of seven and nine, Emma and Giles knew the stalls would fill up long before the second-act curtain was due to rise. Only John Gielgud making his last West End appearance in Best of Friends could take such a packed house for granted.
By the time the final speaker rose to make his contribution from the backbenches, the only empty seat was on the throne, which was only ever occupied by the monarch when she delivered the Queen’s speech at the opening of Parliament. The steps below the throne and in the aisles between the red benches were packed with noble lords who had been unable to secure a seat. Behind the bar of the House, at the far end of the chamber, stood several members of the House of Commons, including the secretary of state, who had promised the prime minister that everything had been done to ensure that the bill would be passed so the government could make progress with its heavy legislative program, for which time was fast running out. But from the looks on the faces of those attendees from the Lower House, they were equally unsure of the outcome.
Emma glanced up at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery to see members of her family seated in the front row, but they were also members of Giles’s family, and she suspected that they were equally divided. Harry, Sebastian, and Samantha unquestionably supported her, while Karin, Grace, and Freddie would back Giles, leaving Jessica to hold the casting vote. Emma felt they only mirrored the feelings of her fellow peers.
When Lord Samuels, an eminent former president of the Royal College of Physicians, sat down having delivered the last speech from the crossbenches, a buzz of expectation went up around the chamber.
If Giles was nervous when he got to his feet, there was no sign of it. He gripped the sides of the dispatch box firmly and waited for silence before delivering his opening line.
“My lords, I stand before you this evening painfully aware that the fate of the National Health Service rests in our hands. I wish I was exaggerating, but I fear I am not. Because tonight, my lords, you, and you alone, will decide if this dreadful bill”—he waved the order paper high above his head—“will become law, or simply a collector’s item for those interested in the footnotes of history.
“I do not have to remind your lordships, that it was the Labour Party, under Clem Attlee, which not only founded the NHS, but has been defending its very existence ever since. Whenever this country has had to suffer the travails of a Conservative administration, it has been Labour’s responsibility to ensure that the NHS survives attack after attack from the infidels storming its hallowed gates.”
Loud cheers erupted from behind him, which allowed Giles to turn a page of his script and check the next sentence.
“My lords, I am ashamed to admit,” he continued, with an exaggerated sigh, “that the latest of these infidels is my own kith and kin, the Baroness Clifton of Chew Magna.”
