“Then what will you do? You don’t strike me as the type who’ll take up golf or start attending basket-weaving classes.”

Emma laughed. “No, but I’ve recently been appointed a governor of the Bristol Royal Infirmary.”

“A great hospital, but I’m sure you will already have discovered, unlike my socialist colleagues, that there just isn’t enough money to give every hospital not only what it would like, but even what it needs, with the development of so many new drugs. The biggest problem the health service faces is that we are no longer conveniently dying at the age of seventy, but many more people are living to eighty, ninety, even a hundred. Whoever wins the next election will have to face that problem head on, if they’re not going to saddle future generations with a mountain of debt they will never be able to repay. Perhaps you could help, Emma.”

“How?”

Thatcher lowered her voice. “You may have heard the rumors that if we win, I’ll be offered Health. It would be helpful to have a friend who works at the coalface and not just go on attending endless meetings with experts who have three degrees and no hands-on experience.”

“I’d be delighted to help in any way I can,” said Emma, flattered by the suggestion.

“Thank you,” said Margaret. “And I know it’s asking rather a lot, but it might prove useful in the long term to have an ally on the West Country area Conservative committee.”

A loud, continuous bell began clanging, almost deafening Emma. The door of the tearoom swung open and a man in a black jacket marched in and shouted, “Division!”

“Back to work, I’m afraid,” said Thatcher. “It’s a three-line whip, so I can’t ignore it.”

“What are you voting on?”

“No idea, but one of the whips will guide me into the right corridor. We were told there wouldn’t be any more votes today. This is what’s called an ambush: a vote on an amendment that we thought wasn’t controversial and would go through on the nod. I can’t complain, because if we were in opposition, we’d be doing exactly the same thing. It’s called democracy, but you already know my views on that subject. Let’s keep in touch, Emma. We Somerville girls must stick together.”

Margaret Thatcher stood up and shook hands with Emma before joining the stampede of members who were deserting the tearoom to make sure they reached the division lobbies within eight minutes, otherwise the door would be slammed in their faces.

Emma sank back into her chair, feeling simultaneously exhilarated and exhausted, and wondered if Margaret Thatcher had the same effect on everyone.

*   *   *

“Good of you to pop over, John. I wouldn’t have asked for a meeting at such short notice if there hadn’t been a development.”