This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(108)

‘Unless I die before you, darling, then all your best-laid plans . . .’

‘That’s unlikely, because I think you’ll find that actuaries, like bookies, usually get the odds right. It’s how they make their living. Insurance companies currently work on the assumption that women will outlive their husbands by seven years. The average man will live to the age of seventy-four, while their wives will carry on to eighty-one.’

‘There’s nothing average about you, Harry Clifton, and in any case, I’ve already planned to die about a fortnight after you.’

‘Why a fortnight?’

‘I wouldn’t want the vicar to find the house untidy.’

Harry couldn’t stop grinning. ‘Be serious for a moment, my darling. Let’s assume we’re typical. As I’m a year older than you, you should survive me by eight years.’

‘Bloody statistics.’

‘Nevertheless, I think it’s time for you to update your will, with a view to minimizing the children’s inheritance tax liability, which is still at forty per cent, despite Mrs Thatcher’s promises.’

‘You’ve thought very seriously about this, haven’t you, Harry?’

‘The thought of cancer is a wake-up call that shouldn’t be ignored. In any case, I read the small print in the Prudential’s life policy and couldn’t find any reference to immortality.’

‘I hope we’re not going to have this conversation too often.’

‘Once a year should suffice. But I’ll feel happier when I know your will is in order.’

‘I’ve already left the Manor House to Sebastian and most of my jewellery to Samantha, Jessica and Lucy.’

‘What about Jake?’

‘I don’t think he’d look good in a pearl necklace. In any case, I have a feeling he has inherited all his father’s worst traits and will end up a multimillionaire.’

Harry took her hand as they headed back to the house.

‘On to more pleasant matters,’ he said. ‘Where would you like to spend your summer holidays this year?’

‘On a small island in the Indian Ocean where none of my colleagues will be able to find me.’





‘We haven’t seen Harry and Emma for weeks,’ said Karin. ‘Why don’t we invite them over for lunch on Sunday?’

‘I have no intention of fraternizing with the enemy,’ said Giles, tugging at the lapels of his dressing gown, ‘until the final vote has been cast and the Tories have been defeated.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Giles. She’s your sister.’

‘We only have my parents’ word for that.’

‘So when can I expect to see them again?’

‘Not until the captains and the kings have departed.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Do you think, for one moment, that Wellington would have considered dining with Napoleon the night before Waterloo?’

‘It might have been a damned sight better for everyone concerned if he had,’ said Karin.

Giles laughed. ‘I have a feeling Napoleon might have agreed with you on that.’

‘How much longer do we have to wait before we discover which one of you is to be exiled on St Helena?’

‘Not much longer. A provisional date for the debate has been pencilled into the parliamentary calendar for a week on Thursday.’

‘Dare I ask how your speech is going?’

‘Never better. I think I can safely say it will be greeted with the waving of order papers and prolonged and rapturous applause.’ Giles paused. ‘Actually, I haven’t got a clue, my darling. All I can tell you is that I’ve never worked harder on a speech.’

‘Even if you win the argument, do you really have any chance of defeating the government while it has a built-in majority?’

‘A very real chance. If the crossbenchers and Liberals join us in the lobby, it will be a close-run thing. I’ve also identified about a dozen Tories who are not at all happy with the bill, and are still wavering. If I can convince some of them to cross the floor, or just abstain, it will be neck and neck.’

‘But surely the Conservative whips will be working overtime cajoling, threatening and even bribing any possible rebels?’

‘That’s not quite so easy to pull off in the Lords, where the whips don’t have too many jobs to offer, promotions to hint at or honours to dangle in front of ambitious young politicians. Whereas I can appeal to their vanity by claiming they are courageous, independent men of conscience, who place what is good for the nation ahead of what is good for their party.’

‘What about the women?’ demanded Karin.

‘It’s much harder to bribe women.’

‘You’re a scoundrel, Giles Barrington.’

‘I know, my darling, but you have to understand that being a scoundrel is simply part of a politician’s job description.’

‘If you were to win the vote,’ said Karin, sounding serious for the first time, ‘would that mean Emma might have to resign?’

‘All’s fair in love and war.’

‘I hope you’ve got some better clichés than that in your speech.’

‘Traitor,’ said Giles, as he put his slippers on, disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. He looked in the mirror, which was rapidly steaming up, and declared, ‘How can the minister pretend to understand the plight of a young mother in Darlington, Doncaster or Durham?