A Parliamentary Affair by Edwina Currie

Roger was ignoring the newspaper, which meant he was happy to let the conversation continue. This morning he appeared to be enjoying the family chatter, though at times the children’s exuberance would annoy them both.
    She continued lightly, ‘So that means I still can’t call myself Lady Dickson, does it?’
    Caroline was teasing. She knew her husband was pleased with this promotion, even though it meant little beyond the Commons. Nor was the former Honourable Caroline Tarrant, daughter of Viscount Tarrant, bothered about titles. Had England permitted the general accession of women, as was more common in the Scottish peerage, she would have become Lady Tarrant in her own right in due course instead of seeing the name and property passing to her younger brother. Then Toby would have become a peer in his turn. Their Lordships’ House had considered such a change more than once, but being only marginally less male-dominated than the Commons had turned the idea down flat.
    ‘Stick with me, baby,’ Roger responded with a grin. ‘If I get promoted out of the whips’ office next time into a comfortable junior minister’s job, and if I make it through the ranks many years from now into the Cabinet, then on my retirement – around the year 2013, I imagine – I might just get a life peerage. If the House of Lords is still in existence by then, of course.’
    ‘You don’t think it’s likely to be abolished, do you?’
    The children were getting restless. Their mother sent them off upstairs to clean their teeth and fetch school satchels.
    ‘No, not a chance. A second, revising Chamber is always useful. The fact that it is not elected is even more useful: if it talks sense, we act on its advice, and if it talks rubbish we overrule it. Who in their right minds would change that?’
    ‘You still enjoy the life, don’t you, Roger?’ Her head was on one side. Spending so much time with animals gave her a sensitivity to how humans felt also, although despite mixing with articulate people she could not always explain how she knew.
    ‘Why do you ask?’
    ‘Because you look tired sometimes. And your description of the next twenty years didn’t exactly zing with enthusiasm.’
    ‘Being a whip is tiring,’ Roger admitted. ‘I seem to have landed late duties several times this month – staying till the bitter end. Naturally I wish I could make it all happen a bit faster but I’m not exactly a high flyer, you know. Been there almost ten years now and not got very far. People who started long after me are in Cabinet already. I may not make it at all.’
    His wife picked up his dish, cleared the remains and placed it in the sink. The children were again clamouring for attention.
    ‘Don’t be silly. Of course you’re a high flyer. Not done too badly for a man who left school at sixteen, have you?’
    ‘Ah, my one stroke of luck was marrying you.’
    ‘No, you did it yourself. False modesty doesn’t become you. But remember, any time you want to stop there’s always Daddy’s bank. He adores you and you would have a great career there, out of the limelight, which would be a bonus for us all.’
    ‘Spend more time with my family, maybe? Wouldn’t you feel sorry if I left politics?’ He was curious. In a moment the kitchen would be empty. He realised how seldom he talked about the future with his wife. Much was taken for granted in this easy-going household.
    ‘Me? No, not at all. I’m easy. It’s for you to decide.’ She glanced up. Her husband looked a little upset. She shrugged, sorry she could not share his love affair with the political world; but he had always known that.
    She explained, ‘It wouldn’t make any difference to my life. I should still support the local party, I should still spend most of my time in town ferrying children around – for the next decade anyway – and I should still be more interested in horses and hounds than in people. At least animals don’t answer back. Emma, put that down