Fifty-First State by Hilary Bailey Page B

Joshua benefiting from the family he needed for his political career.
    His solution was to erect a mental wall between his marriage and the rest of his life. If the wall ever came down and he had to confront the situation directly the results, he guessed, would break his heart – separation, divorce, his wife would take his sons away. His sons, he would think – his sons – and then run and crouch behind the wall again.
    â€˜I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone – I’ll ring, of course,’ he said.
    â€˜Chambers’ party on Saturday,’ she reminded him.
    Barrington Chambers was Joshua’s local Party Chairman. A self-made man, he owned several men’s outfitters in Finchley and Frognal. Joshua thought privately that while you couldn’t really describe Barry Chambers’ political views as being to the right of Adolph Hitler’s, Barry and Hitler would certainly have found common ground if they’d ever got together for a chat about immigration, gypsies and gays. He would have disliked Barry more if Barry had not been inconsistent. When one of the asylum seekers, part of a band of builders run by a gang master, fell off Barry’s roof and broke a leg, Barry gave him a large sum of money in cash to tide him over until his leg mended. Beth said that if Barry had any real concern for the man, or others like him, he wouldn’t have employed a cheap firm that had no regard for the safety of its workers.
    â€˜You’ll come?’ questioned Joshua. It was important not to seem to snub the Chambers.
    â€˜Of course,’ Beth told him. ‘But I don’t know who’s more unbearable – Barry or his wife. He’s too loud and she never speaks – but when she does she’s got a voice that could cut metal.’
    â€˜Thank you, darling,’ Joshua said, and, packing a small bag, then drove to his girlfriend’s mews house in Chelsea. He rang the bell. There wasno answer. The fuchsias in the baskets hanging on wrought iron hooks beside the front door had withered and died. The bay tree in its earthenware pot beside the door was browning. Joshua borrowed a hose from a man on the other side of the mews, who was washing his car, and gave the plants and the tree a good drenching. Doing this, he wetted his shoes and left, disconsolate. His next stop was Douglas Clare’s flat in Battersea, where he left his bag. Then he went back across the river to Sugden’s, where Edward Gott was waiting for him.
    He wondered what Gott wanted. Probably nothing – or just lunch – he thought. Parliamentary holidays are very long, giving rise to all kinds of behaviour – boredom is the least of an MP’s problems. And he knew Gott had many sons, six in all. Three were married, with children of their own, and all were expected by Lady Gott to spend part of their holidays at the family’s house in the Borders. Joshua had stayed at Brigstock once. It was a semi-fortified house in a charming wooded place by a loch and had been occupied by Lady Margot’s family since Culloden (Edward Gott had married above himself. He had brought the money, Lady Margot the status).
    Once seated, each man asked the other about holidays, both claimed to have enjoyed them and neither fully believed the other. Gott did mention that in spite of a converted barn and several cottages Brigstock, at mealtimes, seemed crowded, and that he had begun to understand the old tales and ballads where people eating dinner, often relatives, started quarrels and set on each other with swords. Joshua, in turn, mentioned that shopping in Rome’s fashion stores with two restless boys, aged nine and seven, made him feel like wielding a sword himself.
    Lord Gott asked the waiter about William, whom he’d not seen. ‘He’ll be in later,’ the waiter said. ‘What have we here?’ Gott said, studying the wine list critically. He ordered a bottle. Then