Be Careful What You Wish For

by Jeffrey Archer

  “At three minutes to twelve, I will officially welcome our guest of honor. My speech will last for three minutes, and on the first stroke of twelve, Her Majesty will name the Buckingham with the traditional breaking of a magnum of champagne on the hull.”

  “And what happens if the bottle doesn’t break?” asked Clive Anscott, laughing.

  No one else laughed.

  “There’s nothing in my file about that,” said Emma. “At twelve thirty, Her Majesty will leave for the Royal West of England Academy, where she will join the staff for lunch, before opening its new art gallery at three. At four, she will be driven back to Temple Meads, accompanied by the lord lieutenant, and will board the royal train, which will depart for Paddington ten minutes after she has boarded.”

  Emma closed the file, let out a sigh and received a mock round of applause from her fellow directors. “As a child,” she added, “I always wanted to be a princess, but after that, I have to tell you I’ve changed my mind.” This time the applause was genuine.

  “How will we know where we’re expected to be at any particular moment?” asked Andy Dobbs.

  “Every member of the board will be issued with a copy of the official timetable, and heaven help the person who isn’t in the right place at the right time. I’ll now move on to the equally important matter of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage, which as you all know will start on October the twenty-ninth. The board will be pleased to learn that every cabin has been taken and, even more pleasing, the return voyage is also sold out.”

  “Sold out is an interesting description,” said Bob Bingham. “How many are paying passengers and how many are guests?”

  “Guests?” repeated the admiral.

  “Passengers who will not be paying for their tickets.”

  “Well, there are several people who are entitled—”

  “—to a free trip. Don’t let them get used to it would be my advice.”

  “Would you count the board members and their families in that category, Mr. Bingham?” asked Emma.

  “Not on the maiden voyage, but in the future certainly, as a matter of principle. A floating palace is very attractive when you don’t have to pay for your cabin, not to mention your food or your drink.”

  “Do tell me, Mr. Bingham, do you always pay for your own fish paste?”

  “Always, admiral. That way my staff don’t feel they’re entitled to free samples for their families and friends.”

  “Then on any future voyage,” said Emma, “I will always pay for my cabin, and I will never travel free while I am chairman of this company.”

  One or two members of the board shifted uneasily in their chairs.

  “I do hope,” said David Dixon, “that won’t stop the Barringtons and the Cliftons being well represented on this historic voyage.”

  “Most of my family will be joining me on the trip,” said Emma, “with the exception of my sister, Grace, who will only be able to attend the naming ceremony, as it’s the first week of term and she will have to return to Cambridge immediately afterward.”

  “And Sir Giles?” asked Anscott.

  “That will depend on whether the prime minister decides to call a general election. However, my son, Sebastian, will definitely be coming with his girlfriend, Samantha, but they will be in cabin class. And before you ask, Mr. Bingham, I did pay for their tickets.”

  “If he’s the lad who came up to my factory a couple of weeks back, I’d keep my eyes open, chairman, because I have a feeling he’s after your job.”

  “But he’s only twenty-four,” said Emma.

  “That won’t worry him. I was chairman of Bingham’s at twenty-seven.”

  “So I’ve got another three years.”

  “You and Cedric,” said Bob, “depending on which of you he decides to replace.”

  “I don’t think Bingham’s joking, chairman,” said the admiral. “Can’t wait to meet the boy.”

  “Have any former directors been invited to join us on the voyage to New York?” asked Andy Dobbs. “I have Ross Buchanan in mind.”

  “Yes,” said Emma, “I must admit that I have invited Ross and Jean to join us as guests of the company. That’s assuming Mr. Bingham approves.”

  “I wouldn’t be on this board if it wasn’t for Ross Buchanan, and after what Cedric Hardcastle told me about what he got up to on The Night Scotsman, I think he’s more than earned his passage.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” said Jim Knowles. “But that begs the question of what we do about Fisher and Hardcastle?”

  “I hadn’t thought of inviting Major Fisher,” said Emma, “and Cedric Hardcastle has already told me that he feels it might not be wise for him to attend the naming ceremony, following Lady Virginia’s veiled attack on him at the AGM.”

  “Has that woman been stupid enough to issue her threatened writ?” asked Dobbs.

  “Yes,” said Emma, “claiming both defamation and slander.”

  “Slander I understand,” said Dobbs, “but how can she claim defamation?”

  “Because I insisted that every word of our exchange was recorded in the minutes of the AGM.”

  “Then let’s hope she’s stupid enough to take you to the High Court.”

  “Stupid she is not,” said Bingham, “but she is arrogant enough, though I have a feeling that while Fisher is still around to give evidence, she won’t risk it.”

  “Can we get back to the business in hand?” asked the admiral. “I could be dead by the time the case reaches the courts.”

  Emma laughed. “Was there anything in particular you wanted to raise, admiral?”

  “How long is the voyage to New York scheduled to take?”

  “Just over four days, which compares favorably with any of our rivals.”

  “But the Buckingham is equipped with the first twin-engined diesel motor, so surely there’s a possibility of capturing the Blue Riband for the fastest ever crossing?”

  “If the weather conditions were perfect, and they are usually pretty good at this time of the year, we’d have an outside chance, but you’ve only got to mention the words Blue Riband and the first thing people think about is the Titanic. So we mustn’t even suggest the possibility until the Statue of Liberty can be seen on the horizon.”

  “Chairman, how many people are we expecting to attend the naming ceremony?”

  “The chief constable tells me it could be three, or perhaps even four, thousand.”

  “And who’s in charge of security?”

  “The police are responsible for crowd control and public safety.”

  “While we pick up the bill.”

  “Just like a football match,” said Knowles.

  “Let’s hope not,” said Emma. “If there are no more questions, I’d like to propose that we hold our next board meeting in the Walter Barrington suite of the Buckingham on the return voyage from New York. Until then, I look forward to seeing all of you here at precisely ten o’clock on the twenty-first.”

  “But that’s over an hour before the dear lady is due to arrive,” said Bob Bingham.

  “You’ll find we rise early in the West Country, Mr. Bingham. That’s how we birds catch the worm.”

  44

  “YOUR MAJESTY, MAY I present Mrs. Clifton, the chairman of Barrington Shipping,” said the lord lieutenant.

  Emma curtsied, and waited for the Queen Mother to say something, as the briefing notes had made it clear that you mustn’t speak until spoken to, and you should never ask a question.

  “How Sir Walter would have enjoyed today, Mrs. Clifton.”

  Emma remained speechless, because she knew her grandfather had only met the Queen Mother once and, although he often referred to the occasion, and even had a photograph in his office to remind everyone of it, she hadn’t expected HM to remember it as well.

  “May I present Admiral Summers,” said Emma, taking over from the lord lieutenant, “who has served on the board of Barrington’s for over twenty years.”

  “The las
t time we met, admiral, you kindly showed me over your destroyer, HMS Chevron.”

  “I think you’ll find, ma’am, that it was the King’s destroyer. I was only in temporary command.”

  “A nice distinction, admiral,” said the Queen Mother as Emma continued to introduce her fellow directors, and could only wonder what Her Majesty would make of their latest recruit to the board.

  “Mr. Bingham, you have been banned from the palace.” Bob Bingham’s mouth opened, but no words came out. “To be fair, not you personally, but your fish paste.”

  “But why, ma’am?” asked Bob, ignoring his briefing notes.

  “Because my grandson, Prince Andrew, keeps putting his finger in the jar, mimicking the little boy on your label.”

  Bob didn’t say another word as the Queen Mother moved on to meet the ship’s architect.

  “When we last met…”

  Emma checked her watch as the Queen Mother chatted to the chairman of Harland and Wolff.

  “And what is your next project, Mr. Baillie?”

  “It’s all very hush-hush at the moment, ma’am. All I can tell you is that the letters ‘HMS’ will precede the name on the side of the vessel, and it will spend an awful lot of time under the water.”

  The Queen Mother smiled as the lord lieutenant guided her toward a comfortable chair just behind the rostrum.

  Emma waited for her to be seated, before she made her way to the rostrum herself to deliver a speech that didn’t require notes, because she knew it by heart. She gripped the sides of the lectern, took a deep breath as Giles had advised her to do and looked down at the vast crowd, far more than the four thousand the police had predicted, which had fallen silent in anticipation.

  “Your Majesty, this is your third visit to Barrington’s shipyard. You first came here as our Queen in 1939, when the company celebrated its centenary and my grandfather was chairman. You then visited again in 1942, to see for yourself the damage caused by the bombing raids during the war, and today you make a welcome return to launch a liner named after the home you have lived in for the past sixteen years. By the way, ma’am, should you ever need a room for the night”—Emma’s words were greeted with warm laughter—“we’ve got two hundred and ninety-two, though I feel I ought to point out that you’ve missed your chance of joining us on the maiden voyage, because we’re sold out.”

  The crowd’s laughter and applause helped Emma relax and feel more confident.

  “And can I add, ma’am, that your presence here today has made this an hysterical occasion—”

  There was a gasp that turned into an embarrassed silence. Emma wished the ground would open up and swallow her, until the Queen Mother burst out laughing, and the whole crowd began to cheer and throw their caps into the air. Emma could feel her cheeks burning, and it was some time before she recovered sufficiently to say, “It is my privilege, ma’am, to invite you to name the MV Buckingham.”

  Emma took a step back to allow the Queen Mother to take her place. This was the moment she had been dreading most. Ross Buchanan had once told her about a notorious occasion when everything had gone wrong and the ship had not only suffered a public humiliation, but crew and public alike had refused to sail on her, convinced that she was cursed.

  The crowd fell silent once more, and waited nervously, the same fear passing through the minds of every worker in the yard as they looked up at the royal visitor. Several of the more superstitious of them, including Emma, crossed their fingers as the first chime of twelve rang out on the shipyard clock, and the lord lieutenant handed the bottle of champagne to the Queen Mother.

  “I name this ship, the Buckingham,” she declared, “and may she bring joy and happiness to all who sail on her, and enjoy a long and prosperous life on the high seas.”

  The Queen Mother raised the magnum of champagne, paused for a moment and then let go. Emma wanted to close her eyes as the bottle descended in a wide arc toward the ship. When it hit the hull, the bottle shattered into a hundred pieces, and champagne bubbles ran down the side of the ship as the crowd produced the loudest cheer of the day.

  * * *

  “I don’t see how that could have gone much better,” said Giles as the Queen Mother’s car drove out of the shipyard and disappeared.

  “I could have done without the hysterical occasion,” said Emma.

  “I don’t agree,” said Harry. “The Queen Mother clearly enjoyed your little faux pas, the workers will tell their grandchildren about it and for once you proved to be fallible.”

  “That’s kind of you,” said Emma, “but we’ve still got a lot of work to do before the maiden voyage, and I can’t afford to have another hysterical moment,” she added as they were joined by her sister.

  “I’m so glad I didn’t miss that,” said Grace. “But would it be possible for you not to choose term-time when you launch your next ship? And if I have a further piece of advice for my big sister: make sure you treat the maiden voyage as a celebration, a holiday, and not just another week at the office.” She kissed her brother and sister on both cheeks. “By the way,” she added, “I loved the hysterical moment.”

  “She’s right,” said Giles as they watched Grace walk off toward the nearest bus stop, “you should enjoy every moment, because I can tell you I intend to.”

  “You may not be able to.”

  “Why not?”

  “You could be a minister by then.”

  “I’ve got to hold on to my seat, and the party’s got to win the election, before I can be a minister.”

  “And when do you think the election will be?”

  “If I had to guess, some time in October fairly soon after the party conferences. So you’re going to see a lot of me in Bristol over the next few weeks.”

  “And Gwyneth, I hope.”

  “You bet, although I’m rather hoping the baby will be born during the campaign. Worth a thousand votes, Griff tells me.”

  “You’re a charlatan, Giles Barrington.”

  “No, I’m a politician fighting a marginal seat, and if I win it, I think I just might make the Cabinet.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  45

  GILES WAS PLEASANTLY surprised by how civilized the general election campaign turned out to be, not least because Jeremy Fordyce, his Conservative opponent, an intelligent young man from Central Office, never gave the impression that he really believed he could win the seat, and certainly didn’t involve himself in the sort of underhand practices Alex Fisher had engaged in when he was the candidate.

  Reginald Ellsworthy, the perennial Liberal candidate, had only one aim, to increase his vote, and even Lady Virginia failed to land a blow, above or below the belt, possibly because she was still recovering from the knockout punch Emma had landed at the Barrington’s AGM.

  So when the city clerk announced, “I, the returning officer for the constituency of Bristol Docklands, declare the total number of votes cast for each candidate to be as follows:

  “I therefore declare Sir Giles Barrington to be the duly elected Member of Parliament for the constituency of Bristol Docklands,” no one seemed surprised.

  Although the vote in the constituency may not have been close, the decision as to who should govern the country was, to quote the BBC’s grand inquisitor, Robin Day, looking as if it would go to the wire. In fact, it wasn’t until the final result had been declared in Mulgelrie at 3:34 p.m. on the day after the election that the nation began to prepare itself for the first Labor government since Clement Attlee’s thirteen years before.

  Giles traveled up to London the following day, but not before he, Gwyneth and five-week-old Walter Barrington had carried out a tour of the constituency to thank the party workers for achieving the biggest majority Giles had ever secured.

  “Good luck,” was a sentence that was repeated again and again as he traveled around the constituency, because everyone knew that was the day the new prime minister would decide who would join him around the Cabinet table.


  Giles spent the weekend listening to colleagues’ opinions on the phone, and reading the columns of leading political correspondents, but the truth was, only one man knew who would get the nod, the rest was mere speculation.

  On Monday morning, Giles watched on television as Harold Wilson was driven to the palace to be asked by the Queen if he could form a government. Forty minutes later he emerged as Prime Minister, and was driven to Downing Street so he could invite twenty-two of his colleagues to join him as members of the Cabinet.

  Giles sat at the breakfast table pretending to read the morning papers, when he wasn’t staring at the phone, willing it to ring. It rang several times, but each time it was either a member of his family or one of his friends calling to congratulate him on his increased majority, or to wish him luck on being invited to join the government. Get off the line, he wanted to say. How can the PM call me if the phone is always engaged? And then the call came.

  “This is the Number Ten switchboard, Sir Giles. The prime minister wondered if it would be possible for you to join him at Number Ten at three thirty this afternoon.”

  I might just be able to fit him in, Giles wanted to say. “Yes, of course,” he said, and put the phone down. Where in the pecking order was 3:30 p.m.?

  Ten o’clock and you knew you were either Chancellor of the Exchequer, Foreign Secretary or Home Secretary. Those posts had already been filled, by Jim Callaghan, Patrick Gordon Walker and Frank Soskice. Noon: Education, Michael Stewart and Employment, Barbara Castle. Three thirty was on the cusp. Was he in the Cabinet, or would he be expected to serve a probationary period as a minister of state?

  Giles would have made himself some lunch if the phone had stopped ringing every other minute. Colleagues calling to tell him what job they’d got, colleagues calling to say the PM hadn’t phoned them yet and colleagues wanting to know what time the PM had asked to see him. None of them seemed sure what 3:30 p.m. meant.