Robbie was now becoming flushed. “They did not ask us, Lou!
They did not. And we don’t accept it.” He shook his head. “We just won’t accept it, Lou!”
Big Lou stood there. She said nothing.
“So,” said Robbie. “There are some of us who will not let this pass. Not while we have breath in our bodies.”
He looked at Big Lou, waiting for a response.
“I’m not sure,” she began. What else could she say? she wondered. Big Lou remembered something that an aunt of hers had once said: “A man needs a hobby, Lou – remember that and you can’t go far wrong. Always let your man have a hobby and he won’t stray.”
“I suppose it’s all right with me, Robbie,” she said.
Robbie relaxed. “Well, that’s good, Lou. I’m pleased that we can count you in on this.”
On what? thought Big Lou.
Robbie provided the answer. “We’re Jacobites, you see, Lou.
And we like to talk about the cause. And we like to remind people from time to time who is the real king of Scotland.”
“Oh,” said Big Lou. “Where does he live, this real king?”
“Germany,” replied Robbie.
They sneaked in, she thought, behind my back, furtively.
She made coffee and took it over on a tray. Michael looked up and smiled at her. “Thank you, Lou,” he said. “Won’t you join us?”
Big Lou looked at Robbie, who nodded his encouragement.
“Why not, Lou?”
198
“I love your coffee,” said Heather. “Mmm. Smell that, folks.
Gorgeous.”
“It’s just coffee,” said Big Lou. “That’s all.”
“But it’s the way you make it,” enthused Heather. “That’s where the skill lies. Oh yes.”
Big Lou said nothing. She did not like this woman, with her gushing ways, and as for Jimmy, sitting there, his eyes fixed on Michael, he’s like an adoring dog, thought Big Lou; it’s unhealthy.
Michael cleared his throat. “Is Lou . . . ?” he began tentatively. “Is Lou . . . on board?”
Robbie glanced at Lou. “You’re a sympathiser, aren’t you, Lou?” he asked. There was an eagerness in his tone which made Big Lou realise that it was important to him that she should agree with him on this issue. That was a problem, she thought, but it was a problem that many women had, and husbands too, come to think of it. Could one be out of political sympathy with one’s spouse? There were probably plenty of couples who voted different ways in the privacy of the polling booth, but that probably only applied when the spouses concerned were not particularly political. It was rare – if not almost unheard of – for the wives or husbands of active politicians to take a different political view from that of their spouses. It was implicit, thought Big Lou, that the wife of the prime minister did not support the Opposition, although there were cases – and she had heard of one or two – where the wives or husbands of ministers of religion were less than enthusiastic about religion. But she was in no doubt of the fact that Robbie wanted her support, and she was similarly in no doubt that she wanted Robbie.
“Well,” began Big Lou, “I see nothing wrong in taking an interest in . . . in historical matters. If it makes you happy. After all . . .” She was on the point of saying it makes absolutely no difference, but decided not to, even if it was perfectly obvious that nothing that these people believed in relation to the succession to the crown would have the slightest impact on anything.
“That’s fine, then,” said Michael. “Welcome to the movement, Lou.”
Lou inclined her head graciously. “Thank you.” She was not sure if she was expected to say anything more than that, but it became apparent that she was not, as Michael immediately moved the conversation on.
“Now, friends,” he said. “Heather has some very interesting news to report.” He turned to Heather, who was sitting back in her chair, arms folded in the satisfied manner of one who is harbouring information that others do not have.
“Extremely interesting,” Heather said. “News from Belgium.”
Big Lou watched her, repelled, yet fascinated, by the air of triumph. There’s something wrong with this woman, she thought.
Heather lowered her voice. “Our visitor,” she said, “has confirmed that he is coming. He will arrive. It’s confirmed.”
For a few moments, there was complete silence. Jimmy was staring at Michael, waiting for his response; Robbie had clasped his hands together and glanced at Big Lou, as if to gauge her reaction; Michael had reached out across the table to grip Heather’s forearm.
When Michael spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
