“I joined the party when I was still at school, comrade director, and have always been dedicated to our cause. You have no reason to question my loyalty.”
Tap, tap, tap. They fell silent when they saw an elderly gentleman approaching.
“Good afternoon, colonel,” said Pengelly.
“Afternoon, John. How nice to see your daughter again,” said the old man, raising his hat.
“Thank you, colonel,” said Pengelly. “She’s just down for the day, and we thought a breath of country air wouldn’t do us any harm.”
“Capital,” said the colonel. “I rarely miss my constitutional. Gets me out of the house. Well, must be getting along, or the memsahib will be wondering where I am.”
“Of course, sir.” Pengelly didn’t speak again until they could no longer hear the tap, tap, tap of the colonel’s walking stick. “Has Barrington asked you to marry him?” he asked, taking Karin by surprise.
“No, comrade director, he has not. After two failed marriages, I don’t think he’ll be rushing into a third.”
“Perhaps if you were to become pregnant?” he said as they turned off the road and followed a path that led to a disused tin mine.
“What use would I be to the party then, if I had to spend all my time bringing up a child? I’m a trained operative, not a babysitter.”
“Then let’s see some proof of it, Comrade Brandt, because I can’t go on telling my masters in Moscow tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, like a parrot.”
“Barrington is attending an important meeting in Brussels next Monday, when he’ll witness the signing of the treaty that will make Britain a member of the EEC. He’s asked me to accompany him. I may be able to pick up some useful information as there will be a lot of foreign delegates around.”
“Good. With so many ambitious politicians all trying to prove how important they are, be sure to keep your ears open, especially at dinners and casual get-togethers. They have no idea how many languages you speak. And don’t switch off in the evening, when they’ll be relaxed after a drink or two and more likely to say something they might later regret, especially to a beautiful woman.”
Karin looked at her watch. “We’d better turn back. I’m supposed to be in Bristol in time for dinner with Giles and his family.”
“Wouldn’t want you to miss that,” said Pengelly, as they began to retrace their steps. “And do remember to wish Giles … a happy Christmas.”
* * *
On the journey back from Truro to Bristol, Karin couldn’t stop thinking about the dilemma she now faced. During the past year she had fallen deeply in love with Giles and had never been happier in her life, but she’d become trapped, playing a role she no longer believed in, and she couldn’t see a way out of the maze. If she suddenly stopped supplying information for the Stasi, her masters would call her back to Berlin, or worse. If she lost Giles, she would have nothing to live for. By the time she drove through the gates of the Manor House, the dilemma hadn’t been resolved, and wouldn’t be, unless …
* * *
“Is Karin joining us for dinner?” asked Emma as she poured her brother a whisky.
“Yes, she’s driving up from Cornwall. She’s been to visit her father, so she may be a little late.”
“She’s so bright and full of life,” said Emma. “I can’t imagine what she sees in you.”
“I agree. And it’s not as if she doesn’t know how I feel about her, because I’ve asked her to marry me enough times.”
“Why do you think she keeps turning you down?” asked Harry.
“With my track record, who can blame her? But I think she may be weakening.”
“That’s good news, and I’m so pleased you’ll both be joining us for Christmas.”
“And how are you enjoying the Lords these days?” asked Harry, changing the subject.
“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.�
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“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.”
“How do you know that?” asked Emma.
“We socialists don’t confine ourselves to the Times and Telegraph, sis, and what’s more—” Giles was interrupted by a knock on the front door. “That must be Karin back from Cornwall,” he said as he rose from his chair and left the room.
“Why don’t you like Karin?” asked Emma once Giles was out of earshot.
“What makes you say that?” asked Harry.
“You imagine I don’t know what you’re thinking, after more than forty years? Giles adores her, and it upsets him that you won’t accept her.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Giles and Karin strolled into the room chatting and holding hands. Harry stood up to greet her. If she wasn’t in love with Giles, he thought, she’s a damn good actress.
27
EMMA HADN’T ENTERED the Palace of Westminster since their lordships had decided she was free to marry the man she loved. Giles had invited her to join him for lunch many times, but she just couldn’t face it. She hoped a visit to the Commons would finally exorcise the ghosts of the past and, in any case, she was looking forward to meeting Mrs. Thatcher again.
With the help of a policeman and a messenger, she found her way to the tearoom, where Margaret Thatcher was standing by the door waiting for her.
“Come and join me,” she said, before leading her guest to an empty table. “I’ve already ordered tea as I had a feeling you were the kind of person who wouldn’t be late.”
Margaret, as she insisted on Emma calling her, bombarded her with questions about her thoughts on education, the NHS and even Jacques Delors. When Emma asked Margaret, if Ted Heath were to lose the next election and was forced to resign, whether she would consider standing as party leader, she didn’t hesitate in giving her opinion.
“A woman can never hope to be prime minister of this country,” she said without hesitation. “At least not in my lifetime.”
“Perhaps the Americans will show us the way.”
“It will take the Americans even longer to elect a woman president,” said Thatcher. “They are still at heart a frontier society. There are only fifteen women in Congress, and not even one in the Senate.”
“What about the Labour Party?” said Emma. “Some people are suggesting that Shirley Williams—”
“Not a hope. The unions wouldn’t stand for it. They’d never allow a woman to be their general secretary. No, we elected the first Jewish prime minister, and the first bachelor, so we’ll elect the first woman, but not in my lifetime,” Thatcher repeated.
“But other countries have already chosen women to be their PM.”
“Three of them,” said Thatcher.
“So if you can’t be the fourth, and we do win the next election, what job are you hoping to get?”
“It’s not a question of what I’m hoping to get, it’s what Ted will reluctantly offer me. And remember, Emma, in politics it’s never wise to let anyone know what you want. That’s the quickest way to make enemies and detractors. Just look surprised any time anyone offers you anything.” Emma smiled. “So tell me, what’s your brother Giles up to?”
“He’s been put in charge of the marginal seats campaign, so he spends most of his life trudging up and down the country trying to make sure Harold Wilson is returned to No.10.”
“A brilliant choice. He fought and won Bristol Docklands against the odds again and again, and there are many on our side who would have preferred to see him back in the House rather than that second-rater, Alex Fisher. And if Labour were to win, Giles might well become Leader of the Lords, which would see him back in the Cabinet. Anyway, that’s enough politics. Tell me what’s happening in the real world. I see Barrington’s Shipping had another record year.”
“Yes, but I’m beginning to feel I’m repeating myself. It may not be too long before I’m ready to hand over to my son.”
“Then what will you do? You don’t strike me as the type who’ll take up golf or start attending basket-weaving classes.”
Emma laughed. “No, but I’ve recently been appointed a governor of the Bristol Royal Infirmary.”
“A great hospital, but I’m sure you will already have discovered, unlike my socialist colleagues, that there just isn’t enough money to give every hospital not only what it would like, but even what it needs, with the development of so many new drugs. The biggest problem the health service faces is that we are no longer conveniently dying at the age of seventy, but many more people are living to eighty, ninety, even a hundred. Whoever wins the next election will have to face that problem head on, if they’re not going to saddle future generations with a mountain of debt they will never be able to repay. Perhaps you could help, Emma.”
“How?”
Thatcher lowered her voice. “You may have heard the rumors that if we win, I’ll be offered Health. It would be helpful to have a friend who works at the coalface and not just go on attending endless meetings with experts who have three degrees and no hands-on experience.”
“I’d be delighted to help in any way I can,” said Emma, flattered by the suggestion.
“Thank you,” said Margaret. “And I know it’s asking rather a lot, but it might prove useful in the long term to have an ally on the West Country area Conservative committee.”
A loud, continuous bell began clanging, almost deafening Emma. The door of the tearoom swung open and a man in a black jacket marched in and shouted, “Division!”
“Back to work, I’m afraid,” said Thatcher. “It’s a three-line whip, so I can’t ignore it.”
“What are you voting on?”
“No idea, but one of the whips will guide me into the right corridor. We were told there wouldn’t be any more votes today. This is what’s called an ambush: a vote on an amendment that we thought wasn’t controversial and would go through on the nod. I can’t complain, because if we were in opposition, we’d be doing exactly the same thing. It’s called democracy, but you already know my views on that subject. Let’s keep in touch, Emma. We Somerville girls must stick together.”
Margaret Thatcher stood up and shook hands with Emma before joining the stampede of members who were deserting the tearoom to make sure they reached the division lobbies within eight minutes, otherwise the door would be slammed in their faces.
Emma sank back into her chair, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted, and wondered if Margaret Thatcher had the same effect on everyone.
* * *
“Good of you to pop over, John. I wouldn’t have asked for a meeting at such short notice if there hadn’t been a development.”
“Not a problem, Alan, and thank you for the tip-off, because it allowed me to dig out the relevant file.”
“Perhaps you could start by bringing me up to date on Miss Brandt.”
Sir John Rennie, Director General of MI6, opened the file on the
table in front of him. “Miss Brandt was born in Dresden in 1944. She joined the communist youth party at the age of sixteen, and, when she left school, went to the East German School of Languages to study Russian. After graduating, the Stasi recruited her as an interpreter at international conferences, which we assumed was no more than a front. But there’s no proof that she did much more than pass on fairly mundane information to her superiors. In fact, we were of the opinion that she’d fallen out of favor until the Giles Barrington affair.”
“Which I assume was a setup.”
“Yes. But who was being set up? Because she certainly wasn’t on our list of operatives who specialize in that sort of thing and, to be fair to Barrington, he’s steered well clear of any honey traps while on government trips behind the Iron Curtain, despite several opportunities.”
“Is it just possible that she really did fall for him?” asked the Cabinet Secretary.
“There’s nothing in your file to suggest you’re a romantic, Alan, so I’ll take your question at face value. It would certainly explain several incidents that have taken place since she arrived in the UK.”
“Such as?”
“We now know that Giles Barrington’s rescue of a damsel in distress from the other side of the Iron Curtain was actually nothing of the sort. In fact, it was a well-organized operation overseen and approved by Marshal Koshevoi.”
“Can you be sure of that?”
“Yes. When Brandt was attempting to cross the border with Barrington by bus, she was questioned by a young officer who nearly blew the whole operation. He was posted to Siberia a week later. That was what caused us to suspect they’d always wanted her to cross the border, although it’s just possible she only fell in with their plans because she really did want to escape.”
“What a devious mind you have, John.”
“I’m head of MI6, Alan, not the Boy Scouts.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Nothing concrete. However, at a recent meeting Brandt had with her handler in Truro, our observer reported that Pengelly’s body language suggested he wasn’t at all pleased with her. Which isn’t surprising, because one of our double agents recently passed some information to her that Pengelly would certainly have reported to his masters back in Moscow, and I can tell you he didn’t, which means she didn’t.”
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