A Woman's Place by Edwina Currie

flowered silk tie in blue and gold hues was new, bought to hint at a modernity he probably didn’t feel. He was carrying a red box in one hand, a folded newspaper in the other. Sheregistered the short intake of breath, saw the flush mount on his cheeks, the effort he made to set his face into a pleasant but controlled expression. She could smell him – the Imperial Leather soap he used, but no aftershave, no perfume of any kind.
    â€˜Sorry. How are you, Elaine? You did splendidly to retain your seat. The polls were so against you.’
    She took a small step backwards, to move away from his influence and retain some modicum of self-control. This was a struggle he must not see. If she wept for this man she must weep alone.
    â€˜And you are doing well, Roger. I am proud of you. Off to the Foreign Office – and where next, I wonder?’
    â€˜Oh, don’t you start as well, Elaine. I’ve had my fill of stupid questions from journalists. It would be nice to retain a sense of my own ordinariness for a while longer. The standard reply, as you well know, is that there’s no vacancy at No. 10: period.’
    Both laughed ruefully. It had been the anxiety about exposure in the over-heated British press which had forced Elaine to end their affair; but she recognised also that the private Roger was now buried so deep that she might as well have made love to a video-recording as seek to retain contact with the real person. It would be an age before he could abandon his official cover and return to normal life – and by then he might have forgotten all about her.
    Suddenly Roger glanced up and down the corridor. Satisfied, he reached out, held her arm and spoke urgently.
    â€˜We meant something to each other once, Elaine, and not so long ago. You are a fine woman. I probably should have told you years ago that you mattered a great deal to me. I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this, but do think there is any chance…?’
    Elaine detached herself firmly from his grasp. She prayed her voice would not betray her.
    â€˜No, I don’t think so, Roger. It’s simply too dangerous. You know that. And now if you don’t mind…’
    His expression darkened. She turned away, unable to hold his gaze. It would have been so easy to touch his cheek, to invite him quickly back to her flat for coffee, to agree with him that such as themselves led charmed lives and that all they had to do was be ultra-careful.
    â€˜Then let me try another tack. I shall need a new PPS, as mine has been promoted, and am in a position to ask for whomever I want. If I ask for you, Elaine, would you say yes?’
    A plum job. Bag-carrier to the Foreign Secretary; to move in the best Whitehall environment and with the most able civil servants and diplomats. To see the secret telegrams and faxes. To know what was really going on, not only in Britain but in Europe, the USA, the Far East, anywhere. She would learn a tremendous amount about government inside and out. Foreign travel galore, too. With Roger: an official, permitted intimacy which could lead to…
    â€˜No, Roger. Please don’t. If I’m to make my way up the greasy pole I have to do it without special help. People would gossip, don’t you see? It might show, somehow – the way I looked at you sometimes, or a comment you let slip. You’re going to be Prime Minister some day, as I always predicted. That will be good for our country as well as wonderful for you. I’m not going to spoil it. Thank you, but please – find somebody else.’
    Brusquely, face averted, she pushed past him, headed down the stairs and out into the night. Behind her the last bell rang to announce the end of business. A policeman shouted the traditional goodnight: ‘Who goes home?’
    Once alone Elaine walked rapidly, eyes unseeing, towards her empty flat. 

Chapter Three
    Elaine tucked her suitcase more tightly under her seat, murmured