This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(124)

‘Possibly, but I wonder if you would allow me to conduct a short neurological examination, if only to dismiss my own concerns.’

‘Of course,’ said Emma, wanting to say no, so she could get back to her office.

The short examination took over an hour. Lord Samuels began by asking Emma to take him through her medical history. He then listened to her heart and checked her reflexes with a patella hammer. Had those tests proved satisfactory, he would have apologized for troubling her and sent her off to work. But he didn’t. Instead, he went on to assess the cranial nerves. Having done so, he moved on to a close study of her mouth, looking for fasciculation of the tongue. Satisfied that he was far from satisfied, Lord Samuels said, ‘The examination I’m about to conduct may be painful. In fact, I hope it is.’

Emma made no comment when he produced a needle and proceeded to stick it into her upper arm. She immediately reacted with a yelp, which clearly pleased Samuels, but when he repeated the exercise on her right hand, she did not respond.

‘Ouch!’ she said as he stuck the needle into her thigh, but when he proceeded to her lower calf, she might as well have been a pincushion, because she felt nothing. He moved on to her back, but Emma often couldn’t tell when he was sticking the pin in her.

While Emma put her blouse back on, Lord Samuels returned to his desk, opened a file and waited for her to join him. When he looked up, she was sitting nervously in front of him.

‘Emma,’ he said gently, ‘I’m afraid that what I’m about to tell you is not good news.’





51


WHEN A MINISTER resigns because of some scandal, the press dip their pens in the blood and make the most of it. But if they have to surrender their seals of office because of illness, a very different attitude prevails, especially when the minister in question is both liked and respected.

The traditional letters between a prime minister and a colleague who has to resign unexpectedly were exchanged, but on this occasion no one could have missed the genuine regret felt on both sides.

It has been the most exciting job I’ve ever done in my life, and a privilege to serve in your administration.

The Prime Minister wrote in response, Your exceptional contribution to public life, and unstinting service to your country, will not be forgotten.

Neither the Prime Minister nor the departing minister of state mentioned the reason for Emma’s sudden departure.

The senior physician in the land had never known a patient to take such news with more dignity and composure. The only sign of human frailty Emma revealed expressed itself as he accompanied her to her car, when for a moment she leant on his arm. She only made one request of him, to which he agreed without hesitation.

Lord Samuels remained on the pavement until the minister’s car was out of sight. He then returned to his office and, as she had requested, made three telephone calls to three people to whom he’d never spoken before: the Lord Chancellor, the Prime Minister and Sir Harry Clifton.

One of them broke down and wept, and was quite unable to respond, while the other immediately cleared her diary, explaining to her staff that she wished to visit a friend. Both of them, Lord Samuels concluded, were cut from the same cloth as the great lady who had just left his consulting rooms. But the call he was most dreading was the one he had put off until last.

As gently as he could, Lord Samuels told Harry that his wife had motor neurone disease, and could only hope to live for another year, eighteen months at the most. The gentle man of letters could find no words to express his feelings. After a long silence, he eventually managed, ‘Thank you, Lord Samuels, for letting me know,’ before putting the phone down. It was some time before he recovered sufficiently to accept that one of them needed to remain strong.

Harry left Heads You Win in mid-sentence, and drove himself to the station. He was back in Smith Square long before Emma arrived.

When Emma left the department for the last time, she was driven home to find Harry waiting for her on the doorstep. Neither spoke as he took her in his arms. How little needs to be said when you’ve been together for more than fifty years.

By then, Harry had phoned every member of the family to let them know the devastating news before they read about it in the press. He had also written half a dozen letters, explaining that, for personal reasons, he was cancelling all his existing engagements and would not be accepting any new ones, whether social or professional.





The following morning, Harry drove Emma down to their home in Somerset so they could begin their new life. He made up a bed in the drawing room so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs, and cleared everything from his desk in the library, so she could set about answering the sackfuls of letters that were arriving by every post. Harry opened each one and placed them in separate piles: family, friends, colleagues, those who worked for the NHS, with a special pile for young women up and down the country, of whom until then Emma had not even been aware, who not only wanted to say thank you, but again and again mentioned the words ‘role model’.

There was another particularly large pile that lifted Emma’s spirits every time she read one of them. Those of her colleagues who did not share her political persuasion, but wanted to express their admiration and respect for the way in which she had never failed to listen to their views, and had on occasions even been willing to change her mind.

Although her postbag didn’t diminish for several weeks, Emma replied to each and every person who had taken the trouble to write to her, only stopping when she no longer had the strength to hold her pen. After that, she dictated her replies to Harry, who added ‘scribe’ to his many other responsibilities. However, she still insisted on checking every letter before adding her signature. When, in the fullness of time, even that became impossible, Harry signed them on her behalf.