First Among Equals by Jeffrey Archer Page A

Government is
defeated, the Prime Minister has to call an election within a few weeks – which
may well not be to his advantage. In law, the monarch has the final say, but
for the past two hundred years the Kings and Queens of England have only
rubber-stamped the Prime Minister’s decision, although they have been known to
frown.
    By 1966 Harold
Wilson was left with little choice. Given his majority of only four, everyone
knew it would not be long before he had to call a General Election. In March of
1966 he sought an audience with the Queen andshe agreed to dissolve Parliament
immediately. The election campaign started the next day.
    “You’ll enjoy
this,” said Simon as he walked up to the first door. Elizabeth remained
uncertain, but could think of no better way to find out what grass roots
politics was really like. She had taken the few days’ vacation due her in order
to spend them in Coventry with Simon. It had never crossed her mind that she
might fall for a politician, but she had to admit that his vote-catching charm
was proving irresistible compared to her colleagues’ bedside manner.
    Simon Kerslake,
with such a tiny majority to defend, began spending his spare time in his
Coventry constituency. The local people seemed pleased with the apprenticeship
of their new member, but the disinterested statisticians pointed out that a
swing of less than I percent would remove him from the House for another five
years.
    By then his
rivals would be on the second rung of the ladder.
    The Tory Chief
Whip advised Simon to stay put in Coventry and not to participate in any further
parliamentary business. “There’ll be no more important issues between now and
the election,” he assured him. “The most worthwhile thing you can do is pick up
votes in the constituency, not give them in Westminster.”
    Simon’s
opponent was the former member, Alf Abbott, who became progressively confident
of victory as the national swing to Labour accelerated during the campaign. The
smaller Liberal Party fielded a candidate, Nigel Bainbridge, but he admitted
openly that he could only come in third.
    For their first
round of canvassing, Elizabeth wore her only suit, which she had bought when
she had been interviewed for her first hospital job.
    Simon admired
her sense of propriety, and while Elizabeth’s outfit would satisfy the matrons
in the constituency, her fair hair and shm figure still had the local press
wanting to photograph her.
    The street list
of names was on a card in Simon’s pocket.
    “Good morning,
Mrs. Foster. My name is Simon Kerslake. I’m your Conservative candidate.”
    “Oh, how nice to meet you. I have so much I need to discuss
with you-won’t you come in and have a cup of tea?”
    “It’s kind of
you, Mrs. Foster, but I have rather a lot of ground to cover during the next
few days.” When the door closed. Simon put a red line
through her name on his card.
    “How can you be
sure she’s a Labour supporter?” demanded Elizabeth. “She seemed so friendly.”
    “The Labourites
are trained to ask all the other candidates, in for tea and waste their time.
Our side will always say, ‘You have my vote, don’t spend your time with me’ and
let you get on to those who are genuinely uncommitted.”
    Elizabeth
couldn’t hide her disbelief. “That only confirms my worst fears about
politicians,” she said. “How can I have fallen for one?”
    “Perhaps you
mistook me for one of your patients.”
    “My patients
don’t tell me they have broken arms when they’re going blind,” she said.
    Mrs. Foster’s
next-door neighbor said, “I always vote Conservative.”
    Simon put a
blue line through the name and knocked on the next door.
    “My name is
Simon Kerslake and I...”
    “I know who you
are, young man, and I’ll have none of your politics.”
    “May I ask who
you will be voting for?” asked Simon.
    “Liberal.”
    “Why?” asked
Elizabeth.
    “Because I believe in supporting the underdog.”
    “But