Mr. Chartwell Read Online Free PDF Page A

and Father of the House, Sir Winston Churchill.”
    All eyes turned to Churchill, who sat at one end of the table wearing a single-breasted grey wool suit. He removed his cigar in a salute. It was a Romeo y Julieta, the favourite brand regularly found clamped between his teeth, lit or not. This one was lit, grey vines of smoke climbing to the ceiling.
    Douglas-Home continued. “Sir Winston will be leaving the House of Commons for the final time on the twenty-seventh of July, after a political career which has spanned sixty years.”
    “Sixty-four years,” said Churchill.
    Douglas-Home nodded at this correction. “And the following day I will be heading a deputation of parliamentary members, including Harold Wilson and Jo Grimond, to present Sir Winston with a resolution to mark his forthcoming retirement and express our gratitude for his outstanding services. The press have been informed and will be covering this event. And naturally, on the twenty-seventh we expect a very large public gathering to see the great man off.…”
    Receiving a stinging glare from Churchill, he amended his tone. “It will be a sad day for Britain when you go, Winston; a sad day and a historic day, ending a truly historic era in our government, one which we shall always remember.” He added, “I am privileged to have some personal memories of this era myself, as our paths have been somewhat entwined. I particularly value my time during your second term as prime minister, when I served as minister of state at the Scottish office.”
    “Ah yes”—the chewed cigar came out—“back when I was still a spring chicken on the cusp of seventy-seven.”
    “You may have been seventy-seven in age, but never,” Douglas-Home said with a smile, “as I recall, much in manner. I have to admit I do sometimes wonder where you found your vitality.” He joked, “And I say this as both a sprightly sixty-one-year-oldand, as I always like to remind everyone, the only prime minister to have played first-class cricket.” Douglas-Home was a genial man, with fine features and an easy humour.
    “Thank you, Alec,” Churchill answered. “Yes, that’s praise indeed, especially coming from such an accomplished young sportsman.”
    Douglas-Home laughed at this, then said with warm respect, “What you have achieved in your life is truly remarkable, Winston. As you yourself have said, you felt as though you were walking with destiny. And there is no doubt you fulfilled your destiny. Yours has been a role of crucial importance, one I doubt any other man could have faced with the same resolution and tenacity.”
    With this rousing speech, a feeling of high emotion coursed beneath the dark suits of the politicians. They hid it for the most part, but couldn’t refrain from studying the robust figure in front of them. Their eyes sought to remember each detail and store it.
    Churchill’s Turnbull & Asser bow tie, a distinctive spotted model as always, was bothering him as he acknowledged the men. He repressed the urge to tear it from his neck and hurl it across the room. He was not enjoying being there; while leaving Parliament was a difficult thing to think about, the prospect of retirement could not yet be fully contemplated, being too full of awful passion. It churned the heart with thistles. Another bad night’s sleep hadn’t helped, exacerbated by the episode at the lake, and it left him feeling immobile and annoyed. He longed to go back to his home, to Chartwell, and relax in the hospital of his bed with a brandy.
    There was a shuffling of papers as the meeting drew to an end.
    “So,” said Douglas-Home, “now we are all clear on the subject, I propose that we get back to business. Thank you, gentlemen.”
    Churchill rose stiffly from his chair, the cigar dead in his mouth. Putting on his black Bowker hat and throwing his coat over one arm, he stumped through the Victorian Gothic labyrinth of Westminster Palace, heels ringing on the ornate Minton tiles of