‘You don’t need to,’ said Christine, rather heavily. ‘I can tell the time. And the debate’s at eight thirty.’
Tom thought briefly and sharply of how Laura might have reacted to similar instruction some ten years earlier and Alice too, for that matter, and wondered why Christine put up with it. He supposed it was because they were different generations.
‘Well,’ Donald said, ‘someone did a small poll in Purbridge last week – it’s not impossible you’ll win. They really do seem to love you down there, so unless you get some particularly bad publicity over the next couple of weeks, you’re in with a fighting chance.’
‘Good,’ said Tom, taking a very large slug of the vodka tonic; and then, ‘I’m doing an interview with the local paper tomorrow, before the meeting, so that should do some good.’
‘Yes, indeed. What we really need is more of what young Curtis did for you. I’ll have a word tomorrow.’
‘Oh, please don’t,’ said Tom.
‘Why not?’
‘Well – you know journalists hate any suggestion that they might write what they’re told.’
‘I do. I also know half of them haven’t got a thought in their heads and are quite grateful for a story.’
‘But I don’t see what else he could say, or rather write,’ said Tom. ‘He’s written about me, Alice, the children, and far more than anyone ever wants to hear about my devotion to Bevan and the NHS.’
‘Yes, well, we might pursue that one. Maybe you could tour Alice’s old hospital. I’ll see what the PR people come up with. Meanwhile, no sound from your upmarket mistress, I presume? She was definitely bluffing, don’t you think?’
‘Oh, definitely,’ said Tom.
‘So I’m having lunch with Leo Bennett, he’s the diary editor of the Dispatch,’ said Diana. ‘I’ll give him the sort of story journalists dream about.’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Wendelien. She had been summoned to the Ritz by Diana because she had something on her mind and needed a sounding board.
‘Is that all you have to say? I mean, it’ll do for Tom.’
‘And his family,’ said Wendelien quietly.
‘Well, family men shouldn’t put it about. That’s not my fault.’
‘Oh, really? He just rang you up one day, did he? No prompting or anything like that?’
‘Wendelien, what’s the matter with you? Aren’t you on my side?’
‘Yes – but I’m not sure in this case that means encouraging you to do this.’
‘But why not? Apart from the mealy-mouthed little wife?’
‘You don’t know she’s mealy mouthed. From that interview in the Daily News she sounded quite feisty.’
‘Oh, Wendelien, please! She’s a pathetic little mouse, and anyway, Tom will be able to fob her off with some travesty of an explanation.’
‘Diana, what has got into you?’ Wendelien sounded quite exasperated. ‘What wife was ever easily fobbed off with stories of her husband’s infidelity?’
‘Well, all right,’ said Diana, looking slightly less sure of herself. ‘But I don’t think you quite realise what this has been like for me, Wendelien. Just dumped. And him assuming I’d never tell on him. Then reading all that rubbish about him being a family man and his devotion to them all. Honestly, I nearly threw up, it was so repulsive. You might ask why he didn’t think of me and my feelings when he gave that interview.’
‘Yes, I can see it was dreadful for you,’ said Wendelien. ‘Don’t think I don’t sympathise. But have you thought about the harm to you as well?’
‘What do you mean? I’m not going to tell him I was the woman in question, for God’s sake.’
‘Diana, don’t be absurd. They’ll know, of course they will. Even if you deny it, they’ll work it out, it won’t be difficult. Think of Jamie –’
‘Jamie!’
‘Yes. Think how he’ll feel seeing his mother all over the front pages of the newspapers, branded as some kind of upper-class tart.’
‘It’s for the diary, not the front page. And they won’t know it’s me, whatever you say. I’ll say it’s a friend.’
‘Oh, really? Diana, I’m amazed at you. How can you of all people be so naive about the press? Look, Tom’s a hot story, especially since he appears to be being given the full publicity treatment by the party. They’re not going to leave it at that.’
Diana looked at her, and for a moment Wendelien could see she was faltering. There was a long silence; then she said, ‘Well, I can’t stop you, obviously. But –’
‘No, you can’t. Anyway, I’ve fixed to see Leo Bennett tomorrow, so – nothing I can do, I’m afraid.’
‘Diana, don’t be ridiculous. You can cancel the lunch, say you haven’t got a story after all.’
‘Of course I can’t. It would be really – really unprofessional.’
Wendelien stood up. ‘I must go,’ she said. Her expression as she looked at Diana was not friendly. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘Having dinner with Ned. His idea, not mine. We’re great friends these days.’
‘How ironic,’ said Wendelien. ‘Better not tell him what you’re going to do.’
‘He’d understand.’
‘I don’t think he would. He’s an extremely moral person. He’d hate the idea of your wrecking Tom’s marriage.’
‘Oh, do shut up about wrecking his marriage. If it was a good one, he wouldn’t have had an affair in the first place.’
Wendelien was silent. Then her face softened and she leaned down and gave Diana a kiss.
‘I’m sorry to have been such a bore,’ she said. ‘It’s only because I care about you so much.’
‘I’m used to it from you,’ said Diana. ‘Being boring, I mean. Ever since you became a mother.’
Wendelien stood up again, looked at her with a mixture of dislike and hurt. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said. ‘You’d better not waste good champagne on me in future.’
‘Don’t worry, I won’t. Bye, Wendelien. Enjoy your evening with your husband and family. It must be nice to be so perfect.’
Wendelien was less hurt by this than she might have been; it meant her words had struck home, and Diana was rattled. And when she was rattled, she went flailing about, inflicting as much hurt as she could. By breakfast tomorrow at the latest, Wendelien knew she would have phoned to apologise.
‘Good evening.’ Anthony Eden’s handsome face, his well-modulated, upper-class voice and his easy charm emerged from the television set. God, he was an asset to that party, Tom thought. He fitted it like an expensive glove. If only the Labour Party had someone like that. Bevan, of course, would have been the perfect fit, but he was at loggerheads with almost the entire party.
‘Now this evening we are going to have the first of three television debates.’ Eden smiled at them all, going on to explain that the editors of several national newspapers were to ask him questions, the content of which he had no idea.
He sat flanked by his ministers, who smiled slightly less assuredly at the camera. Rab Butler looked distinctly uncomfortable, Iain Macleod possibly more so.
‘He’s got health,’ said Donald. ‘Not making too bad a fist of it.’