Read Online A Parliamentary Affair by Edwina Currie - Free Book Online Page B

seagulls. Pleasure craft crammed with tourists heave and toss in their own swell, amplified snatches of cockney commentary bouncing off the carved parapets. The client or constituent or cousin taken for drinks in summer on the Terrace enjoys an unforgettable experience, which also serves to confirm the host’s evident superiority to the common herd.
    So often had Elaine been shown around that it was a pleasure now to take Marcus Carey’s arm, point out the kiosk with chocolates for his wife and settle him with a proprietorial air at a wooden table near the bar. To say Marcus was a friend from university days would be implying both too much and too little. He had been one of the crowd; brainy enough to be more than a hanger-on, yet too pliant, too eager to please, to join the leading group.
    But there was something different about Marcus Carey. His name was being mentioned in higher places. He had been appointed to NHS health trusts and authorities and local government reviews. A period on the BBC’s General Advisory Committee had followed. The list of appointments had grown longer and more illustrious and threatened to prevent him earning a living, so much time did they take. He had met, courted and married a local medical student. Marcus Carey, of medium height, slim, clean shaven and well spoken, was not only well educated, intelligent, pleasant,ambitious and a loyal party member – all of which made him useful. There was one unavoidable aspect that made him truly special.
    For Marcus Carey was black.
    Very black. Heavy lips and flat nose and crinkly hair: not for him any Michael Jackson metamorphosis. That, however, was as far as his blackness went. Not a trace of an Afro-Caribbean accent revealed his ancestry. All the body language was faultlessly white, middle-class and English. Now he sat on the Terrace of the House of Commons in summer sunshine, stretched out his legs and sipped a Pimm’s. Surrounded by people for whom politics was no longer a hobby but a way of life, Marcus was exhilarated.
    Politeness intervened and he turned to his hostess. A spell in Dublin on secondment to the Anglo-Irish talks had equipped him to talk animatedly and with enthusiasm.
    ‘You should get involved in Irish business, Elaine. It needs people here, people with no axe to grind, to take an interest. It’s about time that mainland parties and politicians made a bigger effort. The biggest problems there aren’t sectarian but economic.’
    ‘Hold on. You’re not going to get new private investment over there as long as the security situation is dodgy,’ Elaine replied. ‘How many people did the bastards murder last month? In all honesty, how could I start persuading businesses in my constituency to open a branch in Armagh or County Tyrone?’
    ‘Things are better than they were.’ Marcus started quoting figures at her. ‘And, Elaine, the only group that benefits from a continuation of problems there is the IRA. It wants to wreck the peace talks. We want to promote them. You could do yourself a lot of good.’
    ‘I could get myself killed, more like. But let me have some of those stats you were quoting and I’ll look at them. Now, Marcus, it was kind of you to write when I won my seat. At college you were thinking of a political career too. Is that still on the cards?’
    There was a moment’s silence as the man looked wistfully at the carved facade above them. A look of pain crossed the dark eyes. ‘What do you think, Elaine? Of course I do. But for me it will not be easy.’
    ‘Have you asked anyone for advice?’
    Marcus shifted. ‘My own MP, Martin Clarke, of course, but he was … well, let’s just say unfriendly. And I’ve talked to John Taylor, who fought Cheltenham. He’s a decent sort but he couldn’t help me himself. That’s why I wanted a word with you.’
    Elaine hid a feeling of unease. ‘You’re effectively writing your CV right now. You’ve done well so far – better than me at the same stage. You