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with the organisation of the ball, in his view. To begin with, somebody had tried to put him and Betty at a separate table from the other four guests. This was a ridiculous idea, and he had soon dealt with it by the simple expedient of moving the tables together. Then there was the question of the raffle, about which he still felt moderately vexed. There had been some very generous prizes donated by the members, and it was imperative that any raffle for these should have been carried out fairly. He was not convinced that this had happened; in fact, he was sure that Sasha Todd, who had arranged the whole thing, had actually fixed the lottery so that she and her family should get the most desirable prizes. In particular, Ramsey had noted that she had made sure that she would win the lunch with Malcolm Rifkind and Lord James, which was the prize that he would most have liked to win. It can hardly have been much fun for the two politicians to have to sit through a lunch and listen to her going on about the sort of things that she tended to talk about. She was a very superficial woman, in his view, and she would have had no conversation of any interest.

Ramsey Dunbarton

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He, by contrast, could have talked to them about things they understood and appreciated.

Ramsey’s thoughts on the newsletter were interrupted by the arrival of Betty in his study.

“Coffee, dear,” she said, handing him his cup with its small piece of shortbread perched on the edge of the saucer.

“Bless you, Betty,” Ramsey said, taking the cup from his wife.

“Deep in thought?” Betty asked. “As always.”

Ramsey smiled. “Politics,” he said. “I was reading the newsletter. That made me think about politics.”

Betty nodded. “You would have made a wonderful politician, Ramsey,” she said. “I often wonder what would have happened had you entered Parliament. I’m sure that you would have reached the top, or close enough to the top.”

“I don’t know, Betty,” said Ramsey. “Politics are dirty. I’m not sure whether I would have had the stomach for it. They are very rude to one another, you know. And the moment they get the chance, they stab you in the back.”

Betty nodded. “Of course, if you had gone into politics, you’d now be sitting down writing your memoirs. That’s what they all seem to do these days.”

120 The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 1 – Early Days Ramsey spun round and looked at his wife. “Memoirs?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Betty. “Your political memoirs.”

Ramsey put down his cup. “Betty,” he said. “There’s something that I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. The question of memoirs.”

Betty looked at him inquiringly. “Yes?”

Ramsey lowered his gaze, as if in modesty. “It’s funny you should have mentioned memoirs,” he said quietly. “I’ve actually been writing them. I’ve got quite a bit down on paper already.”

For a moment, Betty said nothing. Then she clapped her hands together. “That’s wonderful, my dear. Wonderful!”

Ramsey smiled. “And I thought that you might like to hear a few excerpts. I was plucking up courage to offer to read them to you.”

“I can’t wait,” said Betty. “Let’s hear something right now. I’ll fetch more coffee and then we can sit down.”

“It’s not going to set the heather on fire,” said Ramsey modestly. “But I think that my story is every bit as interesting as the next man’s.”

“Even more so,” said Betty. “Even more so.”

37. The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 1 – Early Days Ramsey Dunbarton, having shuffled through a sheaf of papers, looked at his wife over the top of his reading glasses. “I shan’t bore you with the early stuff,” he said. “School and all that. I had a pretty uneventful time at school, and nothing much happened; it’s hardly worth recording. So I’ll start off when I was a young man. Twenty-five. Can you imagine me at twenty-five, Betty?”

Betty smiled coyly. “How could I forget? The year we met.”

Ramsey frowned. “No, sorry, my dear. Not the year we met. We met when I was twenty-six, not twenty-five. I remember it very well. I had just finished my apprenticeship with Shepherd The Ramsey Dunbarton Story: Part 1 – Early