“It’s been fascinating shadowing Geoffrey Rippon, who’s been in charge of our application to join the EEC. In fact I’m off to Brussels next week to witness the signing of the treaty.”
“I read your speech in Hansard,” said Harry, “and I agreed with your sentiments. Let me see if I can remember your exact words, ‘Some talk of the economy, others of trade relations, but I will vote for this bill if for no other reason than it will ensure that our country’s youth will only have to read about two world wars, and will never have to experience a third.’”
“I’m flattered.”
“And what does the new year hold for you, Giles?” asked Emma, filling up his glass.
“I’ve been drafted onto the general election team and put in charge of the marginal seats campaign. Even better news, Griff Haskins has agreed to come out of retirement and act as my chief of staff.”
“So the two of you will be roaming around the country doing what, exactly?” asked Emma.
“Visiting the sixty-two marginal seats that will determine the outcome of the next election. If we win them all—which is most unlikely—we’ll end up with a majority of around thirty.”
“And if you lose them all?”
“The Conservatives will remain in power. I’ll be history, and I suspect your friend Margaret Thatcher will be the next Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
“I can’t wait,” said Emma.
“Did you take up her offer to meet again?”
“She’s invited me to have a drink with her in the Commons in a couple of weeks’ time.”
“Not lunch?” said Harry.
“She doesn’t do lunch,” said Giles.
Emma laughed. “So don’t regard anything you tell me as private, because I’ve got both feet firmly in the enemy’s camp.”
“My own sister, plotting against me.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“No need to get too worried,” said Harry. “Emma’s just been appointed a governor of the Bristol Royal Infirmary so she isn’t going to have a lot of time left over for politics.”
“Congratulations, sis. Eddie Lister is a first-class chairman and you’ll enjoy serving under him. But what made you agree to take on such a demanding commitment?”
“Maisie. It turns out she was a hospital volunteer, in charge of the library. I didn’t even know.”
“Then you can be sure every book had to be properly stamped and back on time if you didn’t want to be fined.”
“She’ll be a hard act to follow, as everyone continually reminds me. I’ve already discovered that a hospital is a fascinating twenty-four-hour operation. It rather puts Barrington’s Shipping in the shade.”
“Which department has Eddie asked you to shadow?”
“Nursing. The senior matron and I are already meeting once a week. An NHS hospital is very different from a public company because no one thinks about profits, only patients.”
“You’ll end up a socialist yet,” said Giles.
“Not a hope. The bottom line still dictates the success or failure of any organization, so I’ve asked Sebastian to trawl through the hospital’s annual accounts to see if he can spot any ways of cutting costs or making savings.”
“How’s Sebastian doing,” asked Giles, “remembering all he’s been through?”
“He’s more or less fully recovered physically, but I suspect that mentally it will take considerably longer.”
“That’s understandable,” said Giles. “First Sam, and then Priya. How can we even begin to understand how he’s coping?”
“He’s simply immersed himself in work,” said Emma. “Since he’s become the bank’s chief executive he’s been working hours that make no sense. In fact he doesn’t seem to have any personal life at all.”
“Have either of you raised the delicate subject of Samantha?” asked Giles.
“Once or twice,” said Harry, “but it’s always the same response. He won’t consider getting in touch with her while Michael is still alive.”
“Does that also apply to Jessica?”
“I’m afraid so, although I never mention our granddaughter unless he does.”
“But your mother was right,” said Emma. “The years are slipping by and, at this rate, Jessica will be a young woman before any of us get to meet her.”
“Sadly that may well be the case,” said Harry. “But we have to remember it’s Seb’s life that’s been thrown into turmoil, not ours.”
“Speaking of people whose lives have been thrown into turmoil,” said Emma, turning to her brother, “I often wonder how your ex-wife is coping with motherhood.”
“Not very well, I suspect,” said Giles. “And has anybody ever found out who the father is?”
“No, that remains a mystery. But whoever it is, little Freddie doesn’t seem to have interfered with Virginia’s lifestyle. I’m told she’s back on the circuit, and the drinks are on her.”
“Then the father has to be an extremely wealthy man,” said Harry.
“He does,” agreed Giles. “Wealthy enough to have bought her a house in Onslow Gardens, and for her to employ a nanny, who I gather can be seen wheeling the Hon. Frederick Archibald Iain Bruce Fenwick in his pram down Rotten Row every morning.”