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“And while Lord Fenwick does everything in his power to help,” continued Sutcliffe, “he isn’t the boy’s father, and I’m afraid the situation became worse when Freddie met your husband for the first time.”
“But I thought that went rather well.”
“So did Freddie. He talked of nothing else for several days. In fact, after coming back at the beginning of term, he was a different child. No longer haunted by the other boys continually teasing him about his mother because he was now inspired by the man he wished was his father. From that day, he scoured the papers in search of any mention of Lord Barrington. When your husband called to say Freddie was with him in London, I can’t pretend I was surprised.”
“But are you aware that Giles wrote to Freddie, wishing him every luck for the Castle versus Village cricket match, and asked him to let him know how it turned out, but didn’t get a reply.”
“He carries the letter around with him all the time,” said the headmaster, “but unfortunately he scored a duck, and his side was soundly beaten, which might explain why he didn’t reply.”
“How sad,” said Karin. “I can assure you, Giles still scores far more ducks than centuries on and off the field.”
“But the boy couldn’t know that, and his only other experience of reaching out was to Lady Virginia. Look where that got him.”
“Is there anything I can do to help, because I’d be delighted to?”
“Yes, there is, Lady Barrington.” He paused. “I know you come up to Scotland from time to time, and wondered if you’d consider taking Freddie out for the occasional exeat weekend?”
“Why only weekends? If Archie Fenwick will agree, he could also join us at Mulgelrie during the summer holidays.”
“I must confess it was Lord Fenwick’s idea. He told me about the chance meeting with your husband.”
“I wonder if it was by chance?”
The headmaster didn’t comment, simply adding, “How do you think Lord Barrington will react to my request?”
“I’ll let you into a little secret,” said Karin. “He’s already chosen the twenty-two yards on which to put up a cricket net.”
“Then you can tell your husband that Freddie is likely to be the youngest boy ever to play for the school’s First Eleven.”
“Giles will be delighted. But can I make one small request, headmaster?”
“Of course, Lady Barrington.”
“May I be allowed to tell Freddie what we’ve decided before I return to London?”
10
WHEN JAMES CALLAGHAN made his final speech as leader of the Labour Party at the annual conference in Blackpool, Giles was well aware that if he backed the wrong candidate to succeed him, his political career was over.
When four former cabinet ministers from the Commons allowed their names to go forward, he wasn’t in any doubt that there were only two serious candidates. In the right corner stood Denis Healey, who had served as chancellor of the Exchequer under Callaghan and Harold Wilson, and like Giles had been decorated in the Second World War. In the left corner, Michael Foot, arguably the finest orator in the House of Commons since the death of Winston Churchill. Although his ministerial career did not compare to Healey’s, he had the backing of most of the powerful trade unions, who had ninety-one paid-up members representing them in the House.
Giles tried to dismiss the thought that if he had chosen to stand in the by-election for Bristol Docklands ten years before, rather than accepting Harold Wilson’s offer of a seat in the Upper House, he too could have been a serious contender to lead the party. However, he accepted that timing in politics is everything, and that there were at least a dozen of his contemporaries who could also come up with a credible scenario where they became leader of the party, and not long afterward found themselves living in No. 10 Downing Street.
Giles believed there was only one candidate who could possibly beat Mrs. Thatcher at the next general election and he could only hope that the majority of his colleagues in the Lower House had also worked that out. Having served in government and opposition for over thirty years, he knew you could only make a difference in politics when you were sitting on the government benches, not spending fruitless years in opposition, winning only the occasional unheralded victory.
The decision as to who should lead the party would be taken by the 269 Labour members who sat in the House of Commons. No one else would be allowed to vote. So once Callaghan had announced that he was stepping down, Giles rarely left the corridors of power until the lights were switched off each night following the final division. He spent countless hours roaming those corridors during the day, extolling the virtues of his candidate, while spending his evenings in Annie’s Bar, buying pints as he tried to convince any wavering colleagues in the Lower House that the Conservatives were praying they would elect Michael Foot and not Denis Healey.
The Tories’ prayers were answered when in the second ballot Foot beat Healey by 139 votes to 129. Some of Giles’s colleagues in the Commons openly admitted they were quite happy to settle for a period in opposition as long as the new leader shared their left-wing ideology.
* * *
Emma told Giles over breakfast the following day that when Margaret Thatcher had heard the news, she opened a bottle of champagne and toasted the 139 Labour members who’d guaranteed that she would remain in No. 10 Downing Street for the foreseeable future.
The long-held tradition in both parties is that when a new leader is chosen, every serving member of the front bench immediately tenders their resignation, then waits to be invited to join the new team. Once Giles had written his letter of resignation, he didn’t waste any time waiting to hear which office of state he would be asked to shadow, because he knew the phone would never ring. The following Monday, he received a short, handwritten note from the new leader, thanking him for his long service to the party.
The following day, Giles moved out of the leader of the opposition’s office in the Lords on the first floor to make way for his newly anointed successor. As he sat alone in an even smaller windowless room somewhere in the basement, he tried to come to terms with the fact that his front-bench career was over, and all he could look forward to was years in the wilderness on the backbenches. Over dinner that night, he reminded Karin that just ten votes had sealed his fate.
“Five, if you think about it,” she replied.
