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51
WHEN A MINISTER resigns because of some scandal, the press dip their pens in the blood and make the most of it. But if they have to surrender their seals of office because of illness, a very different attitude prevails, especially when the minister in question is both liked and respected.
The traditional letters between a prime minister and a colleague who has to resign unexpectedly were exchanged, but on this occasion no one could have missed the genuine regret felt on both sides.
It has been the most exciting job I’ve ever done in my life, and a privilege to serve in your administration.
The prime minister wrote in response, Your exceptional contribution to public life, and unstinting service to your country, will not be forgotten.
Neither the prime minister nor the departing minister of state mentioned the reason for Emma’s sudden departure.
The senior physician in the land had never known a patient to take such news with more dignity and composure. The only sign of human frailty Emma revealed expressed itself as he accompanied her to her car, when for a moment she leaned on his arm. She only made one request of him, to which he agreed without hesitation.
Lord Samuels remained on the pavement until the minister’s car was out of sight. He then returned to his office and, as she had requested, made three telephone calls to three people to whom he’d never spoken before: the lord chancellor, the prime minister, and Sir Harry Clifton.
One of them broke down and wept, and was quite unable to respond, while the other immediately cleared her diary, explaining to her staff that she wished to visit a friend. Both of them, Lord Samuels concluded, were cut from the same cloth as the great lady who had just left his consulting rooms. But the call he was most dreading was the one he had put off until last.
As gently as he could, Lord Samuels told Harry that his wife had motor neurone disease, and could only hope to live for another year, eighteen months at the most. The gentle man of letters could find no words to express his feelings. After a long silence, he eventually managed
, “Thank you, Lord Samuels, for letting me know,” before putting the phone down. It was some time before he recovered sufficiently to accept that one of them needed to remain strong.
Harry left Heads You Win in midsentence, and drove himself to the station. He was back in Smith Square long before Emma arrived.
When Emma left the department for the last time, she was driven home to find Harry waiting for her on the doorstep. Neither spoke as he took her in his arms. How little needs to be said when you’ve been together for more than fifty years.
By then, Harry had phoned every member of the family to let them know the devastating news before they read about it in the press. He had also written half a dozen letters, explaining that, for personal reasons, he was canceling all his existing engagements and would not be accepting any new ones, whether social or professional.
* * *
The following morning, Harry drove Emma down to their home in Somerset so they could begin their new life. He made up a bed in the drawing room so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs, and cleared everything from his desk in the library, so she could set about answering the sackfuls of letters that were arriving by every post. Harry opened each one and placed them in separate piles: family, friends, colleagues, those who worked for the NHS, with a special pile for young women up and down the country, of whom until then Emma had not even been aware, who not only wanted to say thank you, but again and again mentioned the words “role model.”
There was another particularly large pile that lifted Emma’s spirits every time she read one of them. Those of her colleagues who did not share her political persuasion, but wanted to express their admiration and respect for the way in which she had never failed to listen to their views, and had on occasions even been willing to change her mind.
Although her postbag didn’t diminish for several weeks, Emma replied to each and every person who had taken the trouble to write to her, only stopping when she no longer had the strength to hold her pen. After that, she dictated her replies to Harry, who added “scribe” to his many other responsibilities. However, she still insisted on checking every letter before adding her signature. When, in the fullness of time, even that became impossible, Harry signed them on her behalf.
Dr. Richards dropped in twice a week, and kept Harry informed of what he should expect next, although the old GP admitted that he felt quite helpless because there was little he could do other than show sympathy and write out endless prescriptions for pills that he hoped would ease Emma’s pain.
For the first few weeks, Emma was able to enjoy a morning walk around the grounds with Harry, but it was not long before she had to lean on his arm, then rely on a walking stick, before finally succumbing to a wheelchair that Harry had bought without her knowing.
During those early months, Emma did most of the talking, never failing to express her strongly held views on what was happening in the world, although she now only picked it up secondhand from the morning papers and the evening news on television. She delighted in watching President Bush and Mrs. Thatcher signing a peace treaty with Chairman Gorbachev in Paris, finally bringing the Cold War to an end. But only a few days later she was horrified to learn that some of her old parliamentary colleagues back in London were plotting to remove the PM from office. Did she need to remind them that the Iron Lady had won three elections in a row?
Emma rallied enough to dictate a long letter to Margaret, making her views clear, and was astonished to receive an even longer reply by return of post. She wished she was still in Westminster, where she would have roamed the corridors letting her colleagues know exactly what she thought of them.
Although her brain remained sharp, her body continued to deteriorate, and her ability to speak became more restricted with each passing week. However, she never failed to express her joy whenever a member of the family appeared and took their turn to wheel her around the garden.
Little Lucy would chatter away, keeping her great-grandmother up to date on what she’d been doing. She was the one member of the family who didn’t fully understand what was happening, which made their relationship very special.
Jake was now in long trousers and pretending to be very grown-up, while her nephew Freddie, in his first year at Cambridge, was quiet and considerate, and discussed current affairs with Emma as if she was still in high office. She would have liked to live long enough to see him take a seat in the House of Commons, but knew that wouldn’t be possible.
Jessica told her grandmother as she pushed her wheelchair around the garden that her Tree of Life exhibition would be opening soon, and that she still hoped to be short-listed for the Turner Prize, but added, “Don’t hold your breath!”
Sebastian and Samantha drove down to Somerset every weekend, and Seb tried gallantly to remain cheerful whenever he was in his mother’s presence, but he confided to his uncle Giles that he was becoming as anxious about his father as he was his mother. Harry’s running himself into the ground were the words Giles wrote in a letter to his sister Grace that evening.
Giles and Karin spent as much time as they could at the Manor House, and regularly phoned Grace, who was torn between her responsibilities to her pupils and her sister’s well-being. The day school broke up for the summer holidays, she took the first train to Bristol. Giles picked her up at Temple Meads and warned her just how much their sister had deteriorated since she’d last seen her. Grace was well-prepared for Emma’s condition, but the shock came when she saw Harry, who had become an old man.
Grace began to nurse them both, but when Giles next visited, she warned him that she didn’t think Emma would see the autumn leaves fall.
* * *
