This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(123)

‘Of course,’ repeated Emma. ‘I’ll ask my private secretary to give your office a call and arrange a meeting.’

‘I’m afraid the matter is more urgent than that, minister.’

‘Then perhaps you could join me in my office at eight tomorrow morning?’

‘I’d prefer to see you privately, away from the prying eyes of civil servants.’

‘Then I’ll come to you. Just tell me when and where.’

‘Eight o’clock tomorrow morning, in my consulting rooms at 47A Harley Street.’





Emma was well aware of the unpleasant and, some suggested, personal antagonism between the president of the Royal College of Physicians and the president of the Royal College of Surgeons, concerning the merger of Guy’s, St Thomas’s and King’s into one NHS trust. The physicians were in favour, the surgeons against. Both declaring, ‘Over my dead body.’

Emma had been careful not to take sides, and asked the department to prepare a brief that she could consider overnight, before her meeting with Lord Samuels. However, back-to-back meetings, some of which overran, prevented her from reading the brief before she climbed into bed just after midnight. Harry was snoring, which she hoped would keep her awake. But she was so tired she found it hard to concentrate on the details, and soon fell into a deep sleep.





The following morning, Emma reopened the red box even before she’d made herself a cup of tea.

The ‘Tommy’s, Guy’s, King’s’ brief still rested on top of a dozen other urgent files, including a confidential DNA report by two distinguished American academics. She already knew the results of their initial findings, and now at last she felt able to share the good news with Harry.

Emma jumped up, grabbed the phone on the sideboard and dialled Harry at the Manor House.

‘This better be good,’ he said, ‘because Alexander is just about to decide whether to jump in the crate going to America or the one going to England.’

‘It’s good, better than good,’ said Emma. ‘The DNA report shows that Arthur Clifton was without doubt your father.’

There was a long silence before Harry shouted, ‘Alleluia, that is indeed good news. I’ll put a bottle of champagne on ice so we can celebrate when you get home this evening.’

‘America,’ said Emma, and put the phone down. After taking several phone calls during breakfast, she still hadn’t had a chance to consider the arguments for and against Lord Samuels’ proposal before her driver pulled up outside the front door at 7.25 a.m. It was going to be another back-to-back day.

Emma read the detailed submissions from both presidents during her journey across London, but hadn’t come down in favour of either side by the time her car pulled into Harley Street. She placed the file back in the red box and checked her watch: 7.57. She hoped the discussion wouldn’t go on for too long, as she needed to be back at the department for a meeting with the new chairman of the BMA, a firebrand, who she had been warned by her Permanent Secretary considered all Tories should be drowned at birth. What Pauline described as the King Herod solution.

Emma was about to press the bell of No. 47A when the door was opened by a young woman.

‘Good morning, minister. Let me take you through to Lord Samuels.’

The president of the Royal College of Physicians rose as the minister entered the room. He waited until she was seated before offering her coffee.

‘No, thank you,’ said Emma, who didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary, while trying not to give the impression that she was in a hurry.

‘As I explained yesterday, minister, the matter I wish to discuss with you is personal, which is why I didn’t want us to meet in your office.’

‘I fully understand,’ said Emma, waiting to hear his arguments in favour of Guy’s and St Thomas’s being joined at the hip with King’s.

‘During question time yesterday’ – Ah, thought Emma, so I must have made some blunder after all, which he was kind enough not to raise in the chamber – ‘I noticed that when you paused to take a drink, you spilt some water over your papers. You then answered the question without referring to your notes so no one noticed, although it was not for the first time.’

Emma wondered where all this was leading, but didn’t interrupt.

‘And when you left the chamber, you stumbled and dropped some papers.’

‘Yes, I did,’ said Emma, her mind now racing. ‘But neither incident struck me as important at the time.’

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Samuels. ‘But may I ask if you’ve recently found it difficult to grasp objects like cups, your briefcase, even your pen when you’re signing letters?’

Emma hesitated, before saying, ‘Yes, now that you mention it. But my mother always accused me of being clumsy.’

‘I also noticed that you hesitated on a couple of occasions while you were addressing the House yesterday. Was that because you were considering your reply, or was your speech in some way restricted?’

‘I put it down to nerves. My brother is always warning me never to relax when I’m at the despatch box.’

‘Do your legs sometimes feel weak, so you need to sit down?’

‘Yes, but I am nearly seventy, Lord Samuels, and I’d be the first to admit I ought to take more exercise.’