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Emma tried to keep a straight face.
“No,” said Lacy, “it’s AOP, which stands for Any Other Problems, of which there will be several every day. But I’ll try to make sure you only have to deal with the really difficult ones because most of the time you’ll be out on the road while I’m back here at base.”
“Is there any good news?” asked Emma, as she continued to study the chart.
“Yes. You can be sure that our opponents are facing exactly the same problems as we are, and just be thankful we don’t have a box marked ‘Unions.’” Lacy turned to his boss. “I’m told you’re well acquainted with the methods of Griff Haskins, your brother’s right-hand. I’ve known him for years but really don’t know him at all, so what’s he like to work with?”
“Totally ruthless. Doesn’t believe in giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, works untold hours, and considers all Tories were spawned by the devil.”
“But we both know he has one great weakness.”
“True,” said Emma, “but he never drinks during a campaign. In fact, he won’t touch a drop until the final vote has been cast in the last constituency, when, win or lose, he’ll get plastered.”
* * *
“I see the latest opinion poll gives Labour a two percent lead,” said Karin, as she looked up from her paper.
“No politics at the breakfast table, please,” said Giles. “And certainly not while Emma is in the room.”
Karin smiled across the table at her sister-in-law.
“Did you notice that your ex-wife is back in the headlines?” asked Emma.
“What’s she been up to this time?”
“It appears that Lady Virginia will be withdrawing the Hon. Freddie from his posh prep school in Scotland. William Hickey is hinting that it’s because she’s once again short of cash.”
“I’ve never thought of you as an Express reader,” said Giles.
“Seventy-three percent of its readers support Margaret Thatcher,” said Emma, “which is why I don’t bother with The Mirror.”
When the phone rang, Giles immediately left the table and, ignoring the phone on the sideboard, retreated into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind him.
“Where’s he off to today?” whispered Emma.
“I plead the fifth,” said Karin, “although I am willing to tell you his driver’s taking him to Paddington.”
“Reading 3.7 percent, Bath 2.9 percent, Bristol Docklands 1.6 percent, Exeter 2.7 percent, and Truro—”
“It can’t be Truro,” said Karin. “He’s got a meeting at Transport House at eight o’clock this evening, so he couldn’t be back in time.” She paused as Markham came into the room with a fresh supply of coffee.
“Who was my brother speaking to on the phone?” asked Emma casually.
“Mr. Denis Healey.”
“Ah yes, and they’re off to…?”
“Reading, my lady,” said the butler, pouring Emma a cup of coffee.
“You would have made a good spy,” said Emma.
“Thank you, my lady,” said Markham, before clearing away the plates and leaving the room.
“How do you know he isn’t one?” whispered Karin.
7
IF ANYONE HAD asked Emma to account for what took place during the next twenty-eight days, she would have described them as one long blur. Days that began with her leaping into a car at six o’clock each morning continued relentlessly until she fell asleep, usually in an empty train carriage or the back of a plane, around one the following morning.
