Victoria wrinkled her nose but gave the book her complete concentration. Oblivious to the occasional stroller, she began to fast read the beliefs and policies of the DJP. Only when the bench vibrated under the weight of another person did she look up.
He sat at the far end, suited and booted with small, clear glasses and a bearing which suggested upper-class respectability. Staring across the water he seemed lost in thought and without interest in her existence. Victoria swallowed her annoyance at the stranger’s intrusion then went back to her book.
To make the world a peaceful place, Carwell advocated a joint European force in coalition with the United States. Hence her stance on European unity to ensure both peace and trade. She saw a primary role for the DJP as bridging the British, European and American divide.
Engrossed, Victoria still heard the occasional lapping of water, sometimes soft, sometimes vigorous. It mingled with the background traffic noise and cry of gulls. Though she was cynical, she found much of what Carwell predicted made sense. As a united political force, the unity of women under the DJP could make a decisive change in British and world politics, numerically it was feasible.
Conscious the bench minutely vibrated, Victoria glanced towards her neighbour and the vibration immediately ceased. He was still staring out to the river but now one hand was lost inside his trousers and the lapping water was no longer audible. Victoria snapped shut her book, grabbed her handbag and walked hurriedly away. At that point she felt total sympathy with the DJP’s unofficial belief that all sex offenders should be castrated. Her own preferred method was the use of two house bricks slapped vigorously together.
Away from the Thames Embankment she walked to Trafalgar Square, ending in a coffee shop near the ICA where the lecture would be held that afternoon. In this secure environment she spent another hour analysing the policies of the DJP. A quarter of the book covered freedom of women and the implementation of essential female rights in finance, work and home. The rest covered a radical reform of law and order in favour of police, prosecution and the victim. It did little to fall into accord with the UK policy on human rights but it would certainly catch the popular vote. With a dismal performance offered by the other three main parties, the DJP were clearly looking to ride on the back of national hysteria fuelled by the tabloids. On the home front they had extracted all the popular policies of the main parties, hyped the importance of some to national concern and brushed aside the rest.
The soft chirping of birdsong interrupted Victoria’s reading and she extracted her phone to glance at the screen.
“Wendy, how are you?” Victoria answered. With her free hand, she touched her hair and breasts. “So good of you to call back.” She ran her tongue over dry lips. “I just wondered if we might meet about seven this evening, maybe have a drink. I need to tap you experiences for advice.”
“Sounds interesting, are you into underwear? I mean mine in particular.”
Victoria sensed heat on her face. She glanced to people sitting nearby and again fiddled with the top button of her blouse. “Well ... I suppose we do have something, even if it was many years ago. I need to find out about woman to woman relationships.”
“Oh Victoria,” Wendy laughed. “Are you still the innocent little girl I knew at school? It’s no different from a relationship with a man, except that thing doesn’t get in the way. It’s honest, mutual and much more sexy. But I was referring to the range of underwear I designed. It’s what I do for a living, remember?”
“Of course, forgive me, I wasn’t thinking.”
“I’ve just received samples of my new styles. What size are you?”
“36B bust, size 10.
“Excellent, I’ll bring some along, you can tell me what you think.”
“There’s a pub called the Nelson in Belsize Park, just off Haverstock Hill. See you there at six-thirty.”
“You live close by?”
“Almost opposite,” Victoria said.
“Good, that means we can go to your place and try them on.”
When Sarah entered the British Legion Hall, hired by the local branch of the DJP for their fortnightly meeting, she found immediate warmth and friendship.
She crossed to the nearest group and exchanged hugs and kisses with Libby and John Kirkwell. Hunched slightly, he clasped hands and gave one of his broad, effeminate smiles.
“How’s Grace?” he asked.
“She’s fine, at Drama Club, so I’ve an hour free before I collect her.”
“Can’t wait for Paxos,” he said. “It’ll be such fun.”
“Don’t make me jealous.” Libby posed in mock disappointment. “All that sea and sunshine.”
“Plus food, wine and dancing,” Sarah declared, with one hand on hip, the other raised high. Then more seriously she turned to Libby. “Sure you’ll be OK looking after Grace?”
“Don’t worry darling, while Grace is at school my work is on computers and I can do it anywhere. On the weekend we will have such fun walking the dogs, plus she has her clubs and activities. Honestly, I’m really looking forward to it.”
“I’m so grateful.” Sarah hugged her. “My first holiday for nearly three years.” She trusted Libby and Grace loved her. Libby had been in the Army, in the Police Force. She had never married, never had children of her own, which was probably why she cared so much for other people’s children.
In party mood all those going to Paxos chatted enthusiastically. No talk of politics, the economy or DJP ideas, just sun tops, what to do, what to eat and drink, who had tried Retsina wine? Even the few men joined in. They exchanged flight details, who would be on what plane, who would stay in which villa or hotel. Sarah was jubilant when she left and after collecting Grace from her club, both sang on the way home.
CHAPTER 11
The lecture hall at the ICA was filled with women of varying age and size, some rotund with trouser suits straining to hold their contents, others wafer thin, a good mixture of both may have been gay. All seemed simultaneously engrossed in conversation which created a babble of noise resembling children’s euphoria in an assembly hall.
Victoria went to the front where pretty young ladies with pearly teeth and pale pink lips handed out enrolment cards and questionnaires. To get herself noticed she accepted both from one of these bright young things and filled the forms with neat and precise writing. She put her occupation as Government official. She wanted nothing controversial in her questions. It was necessary she was welcomed and accepted as a follower not a troublemaker. All cards had to be given in at the table with a voluntary ten-pound donation. She handed it to a large girl at the table, aware of vague recognition until realising the girl was a clerk in MI5’s K department.
Recognition was returned but the girl’s smile came with hesitance. “My day off,” she said by way of explanation.
“Mine too.” Victoria let her own smile broaden. “I think these are my people.”
“I didn’t realise you were ... ” The girl arched her eyebrows.
“I didn’t realise you were either.” Victoria handed over her card. That’s it, she thought, she’d been outed. In Thames House privacy encompassed national secrets, all else was gossip. Now she would be lesbian both to the DJP and MI5.
Victoria found a seat midway in the hall and smiled at those nearby. Some were unmistakably gay with a scattering of standalone male mock ups, others could have been heterosexual, which was how her friend Wendy looked, how Victoria hoped she looked; best that no one could tell.
An official on stage called for order and everyone sat, all gradually lapsing into silence, then clapping as Judith Holmes came out. She looked like the stamped cut-out of a midlife female conservative, her makeup and hair immaculate, the slight broadening contours of a once slim figure draped by an expensive frock. Her voice was soft, becoming strident when emphasising her messages of doom, more so when explaining the solutions offered by the DJP.
Victoria sat through sixty minutes of political inventiveness
. For all the hairline cracks in their policies, she warmed to Judith Holmes as a person, especially her wit when she said, “I was once asked by a Labour MP what I would do with suspected terrorists who could not be kept in prison because of human rights. I said I would imprison none of them, but I would make a condition of their freedom that they wear the hijab and be subjected to the ISIS interpretation of Islamic laws for women. I think most of them would prefer prison.”
When the laughter died Victoria heard the entrance of late arrivals at the back before the start of the selected questions raised by the audience. She hoped her own question would be one of those chosen, she needed political recognition. Nearly all questions had been selected as tabloid vote catchers.
Immigration would be done by points and quotas. No asylum seekers would be allowed in if they had passed through another country. Too many, Holmes said, had milked the system.
The applause came full-heartedly but some at the back sat in silence. When asked if she approved of the amputation carried out on the Ipswich burglar, Holmes smiled whilst shaking her head.
“While he lay beside me, my husband was brutally murdered by an intruder into our house.” She raised a finger in emphasis. “As yet, the police have no identity of the killer. It could have been this Ipswich man. He is a convicted, habitual burglar, released from prison after serving only half his sentence. He then burgled again and attacked people in their beds. Not a nice person, but I condemn what has been done to him. The DJP does not support amputation or public vengeance. We do support the implantation of chips to monitor a criminals’ whereabouts. We are not a draconian party, but we do believe our citizens should be left in peace and given power to protect themselves from career criminals. That said, this particular burglar will not be raping or stealing again.”
The applause came with a standing ovation and Victoria found herself amongst them. She kidded herself it was a pretence at unity but knew in reality it came through agreement.
At the back of the hall a male voice shouted in protest. “Fascist dyke.”
Ms Holmes smiled. “I see I am being intellectually challenged by our opposition. I am not a dyke but if I were, I’d be proud of it.”
The standing ovation came again and went on for minutes while large ladies ejected a struggling youth. When silence returned, Victoria heard her own name called from the podium.
“Our next question comes from Victoria Lawless. Could she please raise her hand?”
Victoria complied and dozens of eyes turned in her direction, including those of the DJP officials who sat on stage. No other questioner had been requested to make herself known. The girl from K Admin must have informed she came from MI5, unprofessional from the girl’s point of view but it helped Victoria. Out in the open she would be regarded with suspicion until she proved herself. That meant either slammed doors or open arms.
Victoria asked, “What is the view point of the DJP on adoption of children by gay couples?” The question received nods of approval.
Judith Holmes clasped fingers on the podium and looked over the scattering of men in the audience. “The DJP believe in the family unit and the nucleus of the family is two people in love. Be it two men, two women or man and woman. If that family can give love and support to a child in need, then I support it.”
Her words brought immediate clapping.
“However,” she raised her hand. “There is a proviso which is solely in the interest of the child. Small children become adolescents. A fourteen-year-old girl brought up with two women offering mother figures could be very happy. But a fourteen-year-old girl who finds herself living with two men might find herself unable to accept intimacies normally shared between daughter and mother. This resentment might be more so with an adolescent boy who is not gay. There is a maternal contrast between genders, made more explicit when the family nucleus is based on a gay marriage. I would not support adoption by gay males.”
Again came spontaneous applause but this time interspersed by cries of “Shame” from several male voices. There were no ejections or scuffles.
“What do you think, Victoria, for those who dislike my answer?”
Victoria stood. Now everyone would know her. “I believe a child at the age of sexual awareness would feel secure with an adopted mother. Children have gained security from women since time immemorial. But two men do not make a woman and never will do.”
She sat down to applause and smiles of approval from Judith Holmes. Those behind the table observed her with stone-faced coldness. One of them pressed a button and Ms Holmes picked up a card with the next question. For the first time Victoria realised something was not quite right.
The next questions covered the right to abortion. When it got round to women’s pension rights, Victoria stretched her legs to ease the numbness creeping into her buttocks. Then it became more interesting – should the American and British alliance remain firm with sanctions and conflict against countries who supported dictators and terrorists?
“Yes.” Judith Holmes’ answer was emphatic. “Now started, we cannot stop till the enemy is eradicated. Let the Muslim world live in peace, but let them also allow us to live in peace. Let the tyrannical dictators who enslave their people be removed. Let those who threaten world harmony have their teeth pulled.” On that note she introduced an American guest speaker.
Eleanor Baxter appeared to be moulded out of unbreakable plastic. Her figure was stout and matronly, her hair carefully coiffured, her makeup immaculate. She spoke in a full voice which carried to the back of the hall. She spoke for nearly five minutes and her message from the American far Right was decisively clarified in her final statement. “The British and American Governments have taken world initiatives in the war against terrorism and bloody dictatorships. Europe must join us or face the consequences of indecision with bloody carnage. 9/11 was a declaration of war on the world. Doing nothing is accepting defeat. Those guys understand one message only. And that message is best delivered via a Cruise missile.”
Again the hall was filled with applause but came mainly from the same front women as before. Clapping from behind was less enthusiastic and in some areas non-existent. Victoria stood and clapped louder than any. Eleanor Baxter smiled in her direction. Judith Holmes glanced briefly. It was enough.
As Baxter stood down the meeting ended with the scrapping of chairs and a babble of voices. DJP members and officials came down from the stage to mingle and Victoria pushed her way forward.
The bright young things gathered around Judith Holmes like a ring of protective angels, some of them tiny, some tall. A few of the more solid ladies lurked in the background. Victoria recognised one as Kate Carwell.
The girl from MI5 looked to Victoria, smiled but kept her distance. Victoria edged to the outside of a closed circle until one of the bright young things clasped her arm. She was slender of figure with long blonde hair and ivory skin that matched her perfect white teeth.
“I have someone who wants to meet you,” she said in a soft, American accent while pulling Victoria so they eased between people.
Victoria found herself face to face with Eleanor Baxter and was given an immediate introduction.
“I couldn’t help but notice your enthusiasm for our objectives and I thank you for your support,” Baxter said, her smile fixed and her eyes searching.
“The only way to beat the terrorist is to take the fight to his doorstep,” Victoria said. “A lot of people look away because they fear him. But few want him on their streets.”
Baxter nodded but her eyes continued to scrutinise. “You think democratic elections should happen in the Middle East and Communist countries?”
“Plus a few other places like Russia. And without delay.”
“Hey,” Baxter touched Victoria’s arm. “I like you, lady. We should talk more. You a party member?”
“I’ve just joined,” Victoria said and took a calculated risk. “Though I need to be careful. I have a Government job that disapproves of staf
f having party affiliations.”
The smile flickered, the eyes did not. “It’s essential we have high calibre people in the right places circulating our ideas. If the women in the Western world stand up in unity, they will have one powerful voice, they also have half the vote. If only they would use it. Stay in touch, Victoria.” She turned to an aide who passed Victoria a card, then both moved on.
The card was printed with a name and a single London telephone number. Victoria slipped it into her bag and looked for another contact. As of now, she figured, she was definitely on the list. Judith Holmes was off to her left and Victoria began to manoeuvre but the MP was cordoned by a tight band of admirers with no intention of allowing an intruder in. Victoria approached a bright young thing instead.
“Do you know if Sammy Wilkins is here?” she asked
“Over by the door.” The girl pointed, her accent also American. “She’s the tall one with black bobbed hair.”
Victoria made her way across. Sammy Wilkins had a touch of Gothic in her style. Her face pale, her lipstick purple and her nose held a small gold stud. She wore a black lace top and a flared tartan micro skirt over leggings which accentuated her long legs. Victoria had an impression that later in the evening, her leggings would come off. She talked to another girl but on Victoria’s obvious approach she turned to exchange handshakes and names.
“Roddy Dwyer gave me your name,” Victoria said, conscious she was again under scrutiny. “I’m off to Paxos for the gathering and I wondered if I could get an invite to anything.”
“You’re not by chance one of Roddy’s dollies?” She put hand to hip.
“No. I extracted your name by metaphorically kneeing him in the balls.”
Sammy smiled with genuine pleasure. “You sound my kind of lady. You going alone?”
“With my girlfriend.”
The Black Rose Conspiracy Page 7