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This comment received laughter and a smattering of applause.

  ‘I took the liberty of visiting an estate agent last week,’ countered Dunnett, ‘not in the anticipation, but in the hope, that you will select me.’

  The applause suggested to Fisher that the gathering was fairly evenly divided.

  The chairman pointed to a woman in the third row, who never failed to ask a question whenever the association met, so he decided to get her out of the way early.

  ‘As one of you is a successful barrister, and the other an insurance broker, will you have enough time to devote to this key marginal seat in the run-up to the election?’

  ‘If I am selected, I won’t be returning to London tonight,’ said Dunnett. ‘I will devote every hour I’m awake to winning this seat and making sure we remove Giles Barrington once and for all.’

  This time the applause was prolonged, and Fisher relaxed for the first time.

  ‘It’s not how many hours you spend,’ said Simpson, ‘but how you spend them that matters. I’ve already fought a general election against a doughty opponent, so I know what to expect. It is important that you select someone who can learn quickly, and can use that knowledge to defeat Giles Barrington and win this seat for the Conservative Party.’

  Fisher was beginning to feel that Dunnett might need a helping hand if Simpson was to be derailed. The chairman gestured to a well-known local businessman.

  ‘Who do you consider would be the right person to succeed Winston Churchill as leader of our party?’

  ‘I didn’t realize there was a vacancy,’ said Simpson, which was greeted by laughter and further applause, before he added in a more serious tone, ‘We would be foolish to think of replacing the greatest prime minister of this century without a damn good reason for doing so.’

  The applause was deafening, and it was some time before Dunnett could make himself heard.

  ‘I believe Mr Churchill has made it clear that when the time comes, his preferred choice to succeed him would be Sir Anthony Eden, our distinguished and much admired foreign secretary. If that’s good enough for Mr Churchill, it’s good enough for me.’

  The applause was not quite as deafening.

  Over the next thirty minutes, as questions continued to come thick and fast, Fisher felt that Simpson was consolidating his position as favourite. However, Fisher was confident that the last three questions would assist his candidate, not least because he’d planted two of them, and had arranged with the chairman that he would ask the final question himself.

  Bill Hawkins looked at his watch.

  ‘I think there’s just enough time left for three more questions.’ He pointed to a man at the back, who had been constantly trying to catch his eye. Fisher smiled.

  ‘Would the two candidates care to give their views on the proposed new divorce laws?’

  There was an audible gasp, followed by an expectant hush, as few people in the room doubted that this question was aimed at Sir Giles Barrington rather than either of the two candidates on the stage.

  ‘I intensely dislike our antiquated divorce laws, which clearly need reforming,’ said the barrister. ‘I only hope the subject doesn’t dominate the election campaign in this constituency, because I would prefer to beat Barrington on merit, and not to have to rely on rumour and innuendo.’

  Fisher didn’t find it difficult to understand why Central Office considered Simpson to be a future cabinet minister, but he also knew that this wasn’t the answer the local members wanted to hear.

  Dunnett quickly gauged the reaction of the audience, and said, ‘While I agree with much of what Mr Simpson has just said, I feel the voters of Bristol Docklands have the right to know the truth about Barrington’s domestic arrangements before they go to the ballot box, and not after.’

  The first round of applause was clearly in favour of Dunnett.

  The chairman pointed to Peter Maynard, who was seated in the middle of the front row.

  ‘We in this constituency are looking for more than a Member of Parliament,’ said Maynard, reading from a prepared script. ‘Rather, we are looking for a partnership, a team. Can both candidates assure us that we will regularly see their wives in the constituency supporting them during the run-up to the general election, because we never see Lady Barrington from one year to the next.’

  The first questioner to receive a round of applause.

  ‘My wife is already by my side,’ said Dunnett, gesturing towards an attractive young woman seated in the second row, ‘as she will be throughout the campaign. In fact if I become your Member of Parliament, you’ll probably see a lot more of Connie than you will of me.’

  Fisher smiled. He knew the question played to Dunnett’s strengths and, just as important, to Simpson’s weakness. Mind you, when he had sent out the letters inviting them to attend the meeting, he had addressed one envelope to Mr and Mrs Dunnett, and the other simply to N. Simpson Esq.

  ‘My wife is a lecturer at the London School of Economics,’ said Simpson, ‘but she would be free to visit the constituency most weekends and during the university holidays.’ Fisher could feel the votes slipping away. ‘And I’m sure you’ll agree there can be no greater calling than teaching the next generation.’

  The applause that followed suggested that one or two people didn’t altogether agree that the LSE was the best way of doing it.

  ‘And finally,’ said the chairman, ‘I know that our secretary, Major Fisher, has a question for both candidates.’

  ‘I read in the Daily Mail this morning,’ said Fisher, ‘so it’s possibly not true’ – both candidates laughed dutifully – ‘that the London constituency of Fulham Central has also selected its shortlist, and will be interviewing prospective candidates on Monday. I wondered if either of you are on that shortlist and, if you are, would you be willing to withdraw from that contest before we vote tonight?’

  ‘I did not apply for Fulham Central,’ said Dunnett, ‘as I have always wanted to represent a seat in the West Country, where my wife was born and bred, and where we hope to raise a family.’

  Fisher nodded. Simpson had to wait for the applause to die down.

  ‘I am on the shortlist for Fulham Central, Major Fisher,’ he began, ‘and I would consider it to be discourteous to withdraw my name at such short notice without good reason. However, if I were fortunate enough to be selected tonight, I couldn’t have a better reason to withdraw.’

  Good recovery, thought Fisher as he listened to the applause that followed. But was it good enough?

  The chairman rose from his place. ‘I am sure you will all join me in thanking both candidates not only for giving up their valuable time to be with us tonight, but for making such splendid contributions. I have no doubt that both will become Members of Parliament, but unfortunately we can only select one of them.’ Yet more applause. ‘And so now we come to the vote. Let me explain how I intend to proceed. If members will kindly make their way to the front of the hall, our association secretary Major Fisher will issue you with ballot papers. After you have placed a cross beside the name of the candidate of your choice, please drop your voting slip into the ballot box. Once the count has been completed and the secretary and I have checked the papers, which shouldn’t take long, I will announce which candidate has been chosen to represent the Conservative Party in Bristol Docklands at the forthcoming general election.’

  The members formed an orderly queue while Fisher handed out just over 300 ballot papers. After the last vote had been cast, the chairman asked a steward to remove the ballot box and take it to a private room behind the stage.

  When the chairman and the secretary entered the room a few minutes later, they found the ballot box on a table in the centre, guarded by the steward. They sat down on two wooden chairs placed opposite each other. The steward unlocked the ballot box before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

  Once he heard the door close, the chairman stood up, opened the box and tipped the voting slips out on to the table. As he sat
back down he asked Fisher, ‘How do you want to proceed?’

  ‘I suggest you count Simpson’s votes while I count Dunnett’s.’

  The chairman nodded, and they began sifting through the votes. It quickly became clear to Fisher that Simpson was likely to win by twenty or thirty votes. He realized he’d have to be patient, and wait for the right moment. That moment came when the chairman placed the ballot box on the floor and bent down to check inside and make sure he hadn’t missed any of the voting slips. It only took him a few seconds, but it gave Fisher enough time to reach into a pocket of his jacket and discreetly remove a handful of votes he’d marked in favour of Dunnett earlier that afternoon, an action he’d practised several times in front of a mirror. He skilfully slipped the votes on to his own pile, not sure if they’d be enough.

  ‘So,’ said Fisher, looking up, ‘how many votes for Simpson?’

  ‘One hundred and sixty-eight,’ replied the chairman. ‘And how many for Dunnett?’

  ‘One hundred and seventy-three.’

  The chairman looked surprised.

  ‘As it was so close, chairman, perhaps it would be wise to double check so there can be no reprisals later.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree with you more,’ said the chairman. ‘Shall we change places?’

  They did so and began to count a second time.

  A few minutes later the chairman said, ‘Spot on, Fisher. One hundred and seventy-three for Dunnett.’

  ‘And I agree with your figure, chairman. A hundred and sixty-eight for Simpson.’

  ‘You know, I wouldn’t have thought there were that many people in the room.’

  ‘There were an awful lot standing at the back,’ said Fisher. ‘And several sitting in the aisles.’

  ‘That must explain it,’ said the chairman. ‘But I don’t mind telling you on the QT, old boy, that I voted for Simpson.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Fisher. ‘But that’s democracy for you.’

  The chairman laughed. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back and tell them the result before the natives become restless.’

  ‘Perhaps it might be wise, chairman, to simply announce the winner, and not reveal how close the vote was? After all, we must now all get behind the candidate the association has selected. Of course, I’ll record the exact figures when I write up the minutes.’

  ‘Good thinking, Fisher.’

  ‘I’m sorry to ring you at such a late hour on a Sunday night, Lady Virginia, but something has arisen, and if we’re to take advantage of it, I’ll need your authority to act immediately.’

  ‘This had better be good,’ said a sleepy voice.

  ‘I’ve just heard that Sir William Travers, the chairman of Barrington’s—’

  ‘I know who William Travers is.’

  ‘–died of a heart attack a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘Is that good news or bad news?’ asked a voice that was suddenly awake.

  ‘Unquestionably good, because the share price is certain to fall the moment the press gets wind of it, which is why I called, because we’ve only got a few hours’ start.’

  ‘I presume you want to sell my shares again?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you made a handsome profit on the last occasion, as well as damaging the company’s reputation.’

  ‘But if I do sell again, is there any chance the shares might go up?’

  ‘Shares only go one way when the chairman of a public company dies, Lady Virginia, especially when it’s a heart attack.’

  ‘Then go ahead, sell.’

  20

  GILES HAD PROMISED his sister that he’d be on time for the meeting. He skidded to a halt on the gravel outside the main building and parked his Jaguar next to Emma’s Morris Traveller. He was pleased to see she was already there because, although they both owned 11 per cent of the company, Emma took a far greater interest in Barrington Shipping’s affairs than he did, even more since she’d embarked on her degree course at Stanford with that double Pulitzer Prize-winner, whose name he could never remember.

  ‘You’d remember Cyrus Feldman’s name well enough if he had a vote in your constituency,’ Emma had mocked.

  He hadn’t attempted to deny the charge.

  Giles smiled as he jumped out of his car and spotted a group of children coming out of Old Jack’s Pullman carriage. Badly neglected in his father’s day, it had recently been returned to its former glory and become a museum in memory of the great man. School parties paid regular visits to see Old Jack’s VC and be given a history lesson on the Boer War. How long would it be, he wondered, before they were giving history lessons on the Second World War?

  As he ran towards the building, he wondered why Emma had felt it was so important to meet the new chairman tonight, when the general election was almost upon them.

  Giles didn’t know a lot about Ross Buchanan, other than what he’d read about him in the Financial Times. After Fettes he’d studied economics at Edinburgh University and then joined P&O as a graduate trainee. He’d worked his way up from the ground floor to win a place on the board, before being appointed deputy chairman. He’d been tipped for chairman, but was denied the post when a member of the family decided they wanted the position.

  When Buchanan accepted the Barrington board’s invitation to succeed Sir William Travers, the company’s shares rose five shillings on the announcement of his appointment, and within months they’d returned to the level they’d reached before Sir William’s death.

  Giles glanced at his watch, not just because he was a few minutes late, but because he had three more meetings that evening, including one with the dockers’ union, who didn’t appreciate being kept waiting. Despite his campaigning for a forty-eight-hour week and two weeks’ guaranteed holiday on full pay for every union member, they remained suspicious of their Member of Parliament and his association with the shipping company that bore his name, even though this would be the first time he’d entered the building for over a year.

  He noticed that the exterior had been given a lot more than a fresh lick of paint, and as he pushed through the door he stepped on to a thick blue and gold carpet that bore the new Palace Line crest. He stepped into a lift and pressed the button for the top floor, and for once it didn’t feel as if it was being laboriously hauled up by reluctant galley slaves. As he stepped out, his first thought was of his grandfather, a revered chairman who had dragged the company into the twentieth century, before taking it public. But then his thoughts inevitably turned to his father, who had nearly brought the company to its knees in half the time. But his worst recollection, and one of the main reasons he avoided the building, was that this was where his father had been killed. The only good thing to come out of that dreadful incident was Jessica, the Berthe Morisot of the lower fourth.

  Giles was the first Barrington not to become chairman of the board, but then he’d wanted to go into politics ever since he’d met Winston Churchill when he’d presented the prizes at Bristol Grammar School and Giles had been school captain. But it was his close friend Corporal Bates, killed while attempting to escape the Germans, who’d unwittingly turned him from blue to red.

  He dashed into the chairman’s office and gave his sister a huge hug before shaking hands with Ray Compton, who’d been the company’s managing director for as long as he could remember.

  The first thing that struck him as he shook hands with Ross Buchanan was how much younger he looked than his fifty-two years. But then he recalled the Financial Times pointing out that Buchanan didn’t smoke or drink, played squash three times a week, turned the lights out at 10.30 p.m. and rose at 6 o’clock every morning. Not a regime that would suit a politician.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Sir Giles,’ said Buchanan.

  ‘The dock workers call me Giles, so perhaps the management should as well.’

  The laughter broke any slight tension that Giles’s political antennae had picked up. He had assumed this was a casual get
-together so he could finally meet Buchanan, but from the looks on their faces, something far more serious was on the agenda.

  ‘This doesn’t look good,’ said Giles as he slumped into a seat next to Emma.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t,’ said Buchanan, ‘and I wouldn’t have bothered you so close to the election if I hadn’t thought you ought to be briefed immediately. I’ll get straight to the point. You may have noticed that the company’s share price fell quite dramatically following my predecessor’s death.’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ said Giles. ‘But I assumed there was nothing unusual in that.’

  ‘In normal circumstances you’d be right, but what was unusual was how quickly the shares fell, and how far.’

  ‘But they seem to have fully recovered since you took over.’

  ‘They have,’ said the chairman, ‘but I don’t think I was the sole reason for that. And I wondered if there could be another explanation for the inexplicable downturn in the company’s share price after Sir William’s death, especially after Ray brought to my attention that it wasn’t the first time it had happened.’

  ‘That’s correct, chairman,’ said Compton. ‘The shares dropped just as suddenly when we announced our decision to go into the passenger liner business.’

  ‘But if I remember correctly,’ said Emma, ‘they also returned to a new high.’

  ‘They did indeed,’ said Buchanan. ‘But it took several months before they fully recovered, and it didn’t do the company’s reputation any good. While one can accept such an anomaly once, when it happens a second time, one starts to wonder if a pattern is emerging. I don’t have the time to be continually looking over my shoulder, wondering when it might happen again.’ Buchanan ran a hand through his thick, sandy hair. ‘I’m running a public company, not a casino.’

  ‘You’re going to tell me that both these incidents took place after Alex Fisher joined the board.’

  ‘You know Major Fisher?’

  ‘That’s far too involved a story to bore you with right now, Ross. That is, if I’m going to make the dock workers’ meeting before midnight.’