to have spoken against the motion, appeared to be in exceptionally genial mood, says our Westminster correspondent, admitting that unofficial strikes were a bit of a nuisance; he added that if the country was to get ahead it had better lose a few. The laughter, particularly on Mr Gaskin’s side of the house, lasted for many minutes, after which the government measure was carried through without further discussion. Her Majesty the Queen, who is on a goodwill visit to the Isle of Man –’
Lady Elizabeth switched the set off. Her face did not relax into a smile.
‘You don’t look very pleased,’ her sister Nancy, the Honourable Mrs Lyon-Bowater, said, pouting prettily. ‘Sounds jolly good to me. Of course, I know I’m only an old silly.’
‘Of course,’ Lady Elizabeth agreed. She did not enjoy her pretty younger sister’s visits. Since a certain nursery-days quarrel over a palomino pony, the sisters had never entirely seen eye to eye. ‘The passing of this Bill is a triumph for Herbert – a vindication of all he has been working for. Unfortunately, it must be counted as a minor triumph. Perhaps you don’t realise it, Nancy but we stand on the brink of a third world war.’
‘Oh yes, isn’t it terrible? Still, we have for years, haven’t we? It’s all Towin ever talks about – that and his mouldy old shares.’
Lady Elizabeth sat down in the most graceful way on the very edge of her chaise-longue and said, ‘Nancy dear, this time it is rather different. There was a serious border incident in Berlin in the early hours of this morning.’
‘Politics is your business, darling, not mine; I prefer Chihuahuas.’
‘This is everyone’s business, darling. You will remember the East Germans built a wall round their sector four or five years ago – or perhaps you won’t. Then in the American sector a huge tower was built, the New Brandenburg tower. We claimed it was for a new UN office; the East Germans claimed it was to spy into their territory. In retaliation they built huge screens behind their wall, so that nobody could see into their sector.’
‘As though anyone would want to see into their sector,’ said Nancy, lighting a cigarette with the elaborate ritual gesture of a waiter about to scorch a crêpe suzette in an expense account restaurant.
‘Be that as it may, Nancy, the screens were built. The Western Powers agreed in finding this an aggressive gesture; accordingly, they prepared a warning.’
‘Oh yes, if they do it, it’s a threat: if we do it, it’s a warning. I do know that much about politics.’
‘Well, our warning took the form of a big statue, two hundred and five feet high and thus the highest in the world –’
‘Oh, you mean Buster!’
‘Its official name is the Statue of Freedom. It is so large that even the poor East Germans can see it, especially as its eyes light up at night.’
‘It’s lovely, Elizabeth. Towin and I saw it when we were over there last year; they had some sort of a crisis on then, as I recall. It looked lovely – much more fun than the dreary old Eiffel Tower, and with this rather absurd crown on its head saying “Coca-Cola”.’
‘Yes. The Western Powers had some trouble among themselves about that. The crisis to which you refer was of course caused by the Russian insistence on regarding Buster – mm, the Statue of Freedom as a provocative act. We should have had a war then but for Herbert’s personal intervention. He flew over to speak to the Russian Premier, Nikita Molochev. Instead of declaring war, the East Germans built a statue themselves.’
Nancy burst into bored laughter and coughed over her cigarette.
‘Even I know about that, darling. It made me pro-Communist on the spot. Such a delightful sense of humour!’
‘Really, Nancy, you are too frivolous. Not only is it a statue representing a very ugly worker, but it is higher than Buster; and it is thumbing its nose at Buster. As President Kennedson said, quite rightly, it is an aggressive act – as well as a threat to Western air space.’
‘At least it was his idea to call it Nikko.’
‘Last night, Nancy, at three o’clock Central European Time, a daring gang of West Berliners blew Nikko’s head off with explosive shells.’
‘Good heavens, I shouldn’t have thought it possible!’
‘Well, Nikko lost his nose, anyway. The full extent of the damage is not clear yet; there are conflicting reports. Unfortunately the East Germans and Russians have chosen to regard this innocent prank as a threat to their security.’
‘So – we’re on the brink of war again. Ho hum. And what is dear Herbert doing about it?’
‘He’s making a conciliatory speech in the Guildhall, at the bi-annual luncheon of the Ancient Order of Swan-Uppers and Down-Pluckers,’ said Lady Elizabeth. She stood up with a grace that rested on a firm foundation and began pacing the room daintily. ‘The unfortunate part is, that he is reading a speech I wrote for him. At least, I put in bits from several of his old speeches, but it is mainly my work. I feel the future of the world rests in my hands – the Russians and Americans seem so eager to have this war.’
‘Perhaps they feel it would be best to get it over with. It is awkward for us, being in the middle, so to speak. Well, darling, I must go. I home the Swan-Uppers give Herbert a good lunch, anyhow.’
‘I hope I haven’t bored you. Being a woman in a position of responsibility can be so difficult.’ Lady Elizabeth took her younger sister’s hand and gazed into her eyes.
‘How fortunate then that you are a woman of determination,’ Nancy said, disengaging herself to assume her gloves, ‘as you proved long ago over the palomino.’
The noise of voices in the hall made them both pause. Lady Elizabeth raised a humorously quizzical eyebrow.
‘Sounds like a regiment out there.’
‘A regiment plus Herbert!’
Lady Elizabeth went to see. The PM was being abstracted from his coat by Tarver; from his flushed look she could tell at once that the luncheon had been (a) good and (b) televised. Knowing the quality and extent of the Guildhall cellars, Lady Elizabeth resolved to get black coffee to him as soon as possible. Struggling with their own coats were Ralph Watts-Clinton and Lord Andaway, the Home Secretary; they too bore the Swan-Upping insignia in their cheeks.
Surprisingly, Miller was also there, grinning broadly at all that went on. Balancing a large carton on one hip, he waved cordially to Lady Elizabeth.
‘Here’s your wandering boy, Your Ladyship,’ he called. ‘I met him on the doorstep as I was about to deliver the goods.’
‘Who’s he? Did he lose his way to the tradesmen’s entrance?’ the Hon. Mrs Lyon-Bowater asked, in a dreamily sotto sort of voce in her sister’s ear.
Behind Miller, lined up like discarded gravestones, were three dark and solemn men. One she recognised as Bernard Brotherhope, the secretary of the Transit and Gradual Workers’ Union. By their air of non-denominational piety and their collars, Brotherhope’s companions were recognisable as union leaders. They stood patient, strong, unblinking, with their hats in the on-guard position; as Brotherhope nodded curtly over the heads of the others to Lady Elizabeth,
