Free Political Death by Antonia Fraser Page A

go for honesty, or at any rate limited honesty. "Look," she said, "I did see Diaries and I saw letters though I didn't read them. I assume they were from your father because they were on House of Commons paper."
    "Not necessarily so," Sarah pointed out in her gently reasonable voice. There is her own son-in-law."
    "The Carthorse!" chimed in Archie eagerly.
    This letter began "My beloved" -'
    That settles it," said Archie cheerfully. "Definitely the Carthorse. What a devil. He was bon king his mother-in-law."
    "Shut up, Archie. OK, Jemima," went on Sarah, "I grant you: they were Dad's letters. I do know there were letters." She hesitated. Why did Jemima have the impression that Sarah was about to lie, or at any rate not tell the whole truth. It was that compassionate politician's face, yes, that was it, the expression which said sadly, "I so much regret that I am about to deceive you." Archie too looked uneasy, making Jemima wonder how much of his buffoonery was deliberate, another form of political deception, on a level with his sister's.
    "She spoke about the letters on the telephone to Mum," said Sarah firmly. "She rang up our mother too, did you know that? Oh God, I could have killed her all over again for that." Somehow this time the outrage was just a touch affected. "She talked about the Diaries and I guess, from one or two things Mum said, she also talked about Faber. Then there's the Press. She somehow got in contact with the Mack McGees and talked about her True Confessions. Nothing ... very specific, I gather. And Mack McGee is a decent enough fellow for a Press tycoon and Mrs. McGee is a real sweetie. Between ourselves Mack McGee tipped off Dad. All the same'
    "A word at a City banquet," interrupted Archie. "Both of them in their white ties. "Fly, Foreign Secretary, all is known." Except I suppose it was in a Scottish accent. "Och aye, Foreign Secretary"." Sarah frowned. "The Establishment at work, right," finished Archie triumphantly.
    "We need those letters, and we need the Diaries too," said Sarah. "Or rather we need to know where they are."
    "Search and destroy," muttered Archie.
    "As far as we know, they're not in the house any longer." Sarah stopped. She showed her first real sign of discomposure since they had met.
    "You looked," said Jemima neutrally.
    "A purely casual inspection. Why not?" It was the polished Sarah again. "After all it's technically Dad's house -not that he will keep it of course. And we wondered, Archie and I, whether you might speak to them, the daughters..."
    "We thought we'd hire you, Jemima Shore Investigator and all that." Archie produced his boyish grin again. "What are your rates? You could get someone to fax them to us."
    I could unleash the New Cherry on Archie, thought Jemima grimly, but I won't. Instead she spoke in a tone of gentle reasonableness to equal that of Sarah Smyth.
    "Olga Carter-Fox is a friend of yours. Surely..."
    "Not exactly a friend. I didn't quite say that. More of a colleague's wife. And that's the problem. It could seem that one was leaning on her, on him, on Harry. Particularly with Dad's position. Arm's length is better I think. The other sister, the actress, Millie Swain, I've met her briefly. Somehow she's not a very sympathetic person. One of those left-wing actresses always handing in unnecessary envelopes at Number Ten for the benefit of television'
    "Millie Swain, is that the one our famous cousin Randall is having an affair with?"
    "That's not the point, Archie," Sarah sounded irritable. "Although I must say I think affair is perhaps too strong a word." Jemima had a feeling that Sarah Smyth, married to her constituency as she might be, still had time for her famous cousin. And who could blame her? Jemima, who had no cousins or close relations of any sort, would make do with Randall Birley for a cousin if she were able to choose one.
    Archie, whether to tease or not, pursued the matter.
    "I mean, he could speak to her. No, not on stage, exactly. In