One Day in May - Catherine Alliott [22]
‘I would,’ she urged. ‘Tom Paine was saying the other day that someone’s got to ask it, and it might not be popular, but eventually the Opposition will wonder why we haven’t.’
‘Exactly.’ He strode off.
I gazed at her in awe. Oh… my… God. She wasn’t just a secretary, or even a researcher. She advised. She was trusted, wise. And he not only asked for her advice, he acted on it. My estimation of her went up tenfold as I fell in step behind her and we went up to the gallery. I even wondered, should I invest in American Tan tights?
Tiny, compact and green, arranged like a chapel but much more raucous, the chamber was brimming with braying MPs waving bits of paper: full, actually, of testosterone, albeit with a few token pink suits and silk scarves scattered around the front benches. I loved it; was spellbound. It was particularly atmospheric today, Katya explained, because a controversial bill was being voted on later tonight, so all elected representatives were present and correct. Questions were being hurled at the Prime Minister, who, leaning confidently on the ballot box, swiped some away like dirty flies but gave others a longer, more considered response. Finally Dominic, looking slightly nervous, smoothed down his tie and got to his feet, but before he could get to the end of his question, he was shouted down by a rude fat man opposite. I bristled indignantly. Dominic forged on none the less, was encouraged to do so by the Speaker, and the Prime Minister had no choice but to reply, albeit in a rather offhand manner, clearly not welcoming criticism from his own benches, and was then jeered by the opposition for the feebleness of his response. I was completely riveted.
As we saw Dominic on the way out, horribly aware that my eyes were shining, I couldn’t help but put my hand on his arm as he hurried away.
‘Can I just say I thought you were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. He may have pretended to dismiss you, but you really rattled him.’
He’d been striding off down the corridor with a couple of cronies and they all turned to look at me in wonder. The other two threw back their heads and roared.
‘Well, someone’s got your vote, Dominic. Even if the rest of us are agin you!’
Much baying and waistcoat slapping at what I realized must have sounded corny and gushing, but Dominic’s eyes, although amused, were kind.
‘Thank you. At least some of my office recognize a killer question when they hear it.’
More snorts of derision greeted this, and then they strode off in a wall of grey flannel, but not before Dominic had turned to flash a smile over his shoulder.
The week went by: flew, from my point of view, but, happily, I was there for another. The second would go even faster, I knew, and I tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about going home, when on day twelve – and I swear to God I didn’t touch her – a minor miracle occurred. The sort of thing that never happens to me. Katya put her back out. The previous evening, in her flat in Vauxhall, she’d tried to clean her French windows, fallen off her stool, and was now doubled up in agony. She didn’t come in the following day, and was then off work for another two, which was unheard of, Dominic told me. She’d never had a day sick in five years. That afternoon at five, she rang to say she couldn’t walk: wouldn’t be in for at least a fortnight.
Of course I didn’t take over. I wouldn’t have had a clue. But a competent temp who worked regularly at the Commons stepped in, and Dominic asked me to stay two more weeks to help with the typing. Just before Katya was due to return, he thanked the temp: asked if I’d been a help.
‘Of course she has. You know, this is the only whip’s office that doesn’t have backup. I can’t understand how Katya does it all. I certainly couldn’t be doing without a typist.’
Well, it could have been worded better. ‘Without Hattie’s incisive judgement and invaluable political acumen’ perhaps, but