Sons of Fortune

23

Nat turned and watched Su Ling walk slowly towards him and recalled the day they had first met. He had chased her down a hill, and when she turned on that occasion, she’d taken his breath away.

‘Do you have any idea how lucky you are?’ whispered Tom.

‘Could you please concentrate on your job. Now, where’s the ring?’

‘The ring, what ring?’ Nat turned and stared at his best man. ‘Hell, I knew there was something I was meant to bring with me,’ Tom whispered frantically. ‘Can you hold things up for a moment while I go back to the house and look for it?’

‘Do you want me to strangle you?’ said Nat, grinning.

‘Yes please,’ said Tom, gazing at Su Ling as she advanced towards them. ‘Let her be my last memory of this world.’

Nat turned his attention to his bride, and she gave him that smile that he remembered when she’d stood at the entrance to the café on their first date. She stepped up and took her place beside him, head slightly bowed as they waited for the priest to begin the service. Nat thought about the decision they had made the day after the election, and knew he would never regret it. Why should he hold up Su Ling’s career on the off-chance of winning the presidency? The idea of rerunning the ballot during the first week of the following term, and having to ask Su Ling to hang around for another year if he failed, left him in no doubt what he should do. The priest turned to the congregation. ‘Dearly beloved...’

When Su Ling had explained to Professor Mullden that she was getting married, and her future husband was at the University of Connecticut, they immediately offered him the chance to complete his undergraduate degree at Harvard. They already knew of Nat’s record in Vietnam and his success on the cross-country team, but it was his grades that tipped the balance. They remained puzzled as to why he hadn’t taken up his place at Yale because it was clear to the admissions office that they would not be carrying Su Ling’s husband.

‘Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?’

Nat wanted to shout ‘I do.’ ‘I do,’ he said quietly.

‘Do you take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?’

‘I do,’ said Su Ling, head bowed.

‘You may kiss the bride,’ said the priest.

‘I think that means me,’ said Tom, taking a pace forward. Nat took Su Ling in his arms and kissed her as he lifted his left leg sharply and kicked Tom in the shins.

‘So that’s what I get for all the sacrifices I’ve made over the years? Well, at least it’s my turn now.’ Nat swung round and took Tom in his arms and hugged him, while the congregation burst out laughing.

Tom was right, thought Nat. He hadn’t even remonstrated with him when he refused to appeal to the elections committee, although Nat knew Tom believed he would have been victorious in a re-run contest. And the following morning Mr Russell had phoned and offered Nat the use of their home for the reception. How could he ever begin to repay them?

‘Be warned,’ said Tom, ‘Dad will expect you to join him at the bank as a trainee once you’ve graduated from Harvard Business School.’

‘That may turn out to be the best offer I get,’ said Nat.

The bride and groom turned to face their family and friends. Susan made no attempt to hide her tears, while Michael beamed with pride. Su Ling’s mother stepped forward and took a photo of the two of them in their first moment as man and wife.

Nat didn’t recall much about the reception, other than feeling that Mr and Mrs Russell couldn’t have done any more had he been their own son. He moved from table to table, especially thanking those who had travelled a long distance. It was only when he heard the sound of silver against crystal that he checked to make sure his speech was still in his inside pocket.

Nat quickly slipped into his place at the top table just as Tom rose to speak. The best man opened by explaining why the reception was being held in his home. ‘Don’t forget that I proposed to Su Ling long before the bridegroom did, although inexplicably, on this occasion she was willing to settle for second best.’ Nat smiled across at Tom’s aunt Abigail from Boston, as the guests applauded.

Nat sometimes wondered if Tom’s jokes about his love for Su Ling didn’t betray an underlying truth about his real feelings. He looked up at his best man, recalling, because he was late — thank you, mother — how he had come to sit next to the tearful little boy at the end of the row on their first day at Taft. He thought how lucky he was to be blessed with such a friend, and hoped it would not be long before he was carrying out the same duty for him.

Tom received a warm reception when he sat down to make way for the bridegroom.

Nat began his speech by thanking Mr and Mrs Russell for their generosity in allowing them the use of their beautiful home for the reception. He thanked his mother for her wisdom and his father for his looks, which brought applause and laughter. ‘But most of all I thank Su Ling, for going down the wrong path, and my parents for an upbringing that made me follow her, to warn her that she was making a mistake.’

‘She made a far bigger mistake chasing you back up the hill,’ said Tom.

Nat waited for the laughter to die down, before he said, ‘I fell in love with Su Ling the moment I saw her, a feeling that was clearly not reciprocated, but then, as I’ve already explained, I’m blessed with my father’s looks. And so let me end by inviting you all to our golden wedding anniversary on July 11, 2024.’ He paused. ‘Only wimps and those who dare to die in between will be excused attendance.’ He raised his glass. ‘To my wife, Su Ling.’

When Su Ling disappeared upstairs to change, Tom finally asked Nat where they were going on honeymoon.

‘Korea,’ whispered Nat. ‘We’re planning to find the village where Su Ling was born, and see if we can trace any other members of her family. But don’t tell Su Ling’s mother — we want to surprise her when we return.’

Three hundred guests surged out to join them in the driveway, and applauded as the car carrying the bride and groom disappeared on its journey to the airport.

‘I wonder where they’re spending their honeymoon,’ said Su Ling’s mother.

‘I have no idea,’ Tom replied.

Fletcher held Annie in his arms. A month had passed since the funeral of Harry Robert, and she was still blaming herself.

‘But that’s just not fair,’ said Fletcher. ‘If anyone’s to blame, it must be me. Look at the pressure Joanna was under when she gave birth, and it made absolutely no difference to her.’ But Annie couldn’t be consoled. The doctor told him the quickest way to solve the problem, and Fletcher happily acquiesced.

As each day passed, Annie grew a little stronger, but her first interest remained supporting her husband in his determination to be top of his year. ‘You owe it to Karl Abrahams,’ she reminded him. ‘He’s invested a lot in you, and there is only one way you can repay him.’

Annie inspired her husband to work night and day during his summer vacation before he returned for his final year. She became his assistant and researcher while remaining his lover and friend. And she only ignored his advice when he pressed her to consider going on to graduate school herself.

‘No,’ said Annie, ‘I want to be your wife and God willing in time...’

Once he’d returned to Yale, Fletcher accepted it would not be too long before he would have to start the meat run. Although several firms had already invited him for an interview, and one or two had even offered him jobs, Fletcher didn’t want to work out of Dallas or Denver, Phoenix or Pittsburgh. But as the weeks passed, and he heard nothing from Alexander Dupont & Bell, his hopes began to fade and he concluded that if he still hoped to be invited to join one of the big firms it would require a full round of interviews.

Jimmy had already sent out over fifty letters and to date had only received three replies; not one of them had offered him a job. He would have settled for Dallas or Denver, Phoenix or Pittsburgh if it hadn’t been for Joanna. Annie and Fletcher agreed on the cities they would be happy to live in, and then she carried out some research on the leading firms in those states. Together they composed a letter which was duplicated fifty-four times, and then dispatched on the first day of term.

When Fletcher returned to college later that morning, he found a letter in his mailbox.

‘That was quick,’ said Annie, ‘we only posted them an hour ago.’

Fletcher laughed until he saw the postmark on the letter. He tore it open. The simple black-embossed heading announced Alexander Dupont & Bell. Of course, the distinguished New York firm always began interviewing candidates during March, so why should it be any different for Fletcher Davenport?

Fletcher didn’t stop working during those long winter months leading up to the interview, but he still had every reason to feel apprehensive when he finally set out on the journey to New York. As soon as he stepped off the train at Grand Central Station, Fletcher was intoxicated by the babble of a hundred tongues, and feet that moved more swiftly than he’d experienced in any other city. He spent the cab ride to 54th Street peering out of an open window, taking in a smell that no other city produces.

The cab drew up outside a seventy-two-floor glass skyscraper, and Fletcher knew straight away that he didn’t want to work anywhere else. He hung around on the ground floor for a few minutes, not wishing to be stuck in a waiting room with several other candidates. When he finally stepped out of the elevator on the thirty-sixth floor, the receptionist ticked off his name. She then handed him a sheet of paper, which listed a schedule of interviews that would take the rest of the day.

His first meeting was with the senior partner, Bill Alexander, which Fletcher felt went well, although Alexander didn’t exude the same warmth as he had at Karl Abrahams’ party. However, he did ask after Annie, expressing the hope that she had fully recovered from the sad loss of Harry. It also became clear during the meeting that Fletcher was not the only person who was being interviewed — six upside down names appeared on a list facing Mr Alexander.

Fletcher then spent an hour with three other partners who specialized in his chosen field, criminal law. When the last interview ended, he was invited to join the rest of the board for lunch. It was the first time he came into contact with the other five applicants, and the lunch conversation left him in no doubt what he was up against. He could only wonder how many days the firm had put aside for interviews with other would-be applicants.

What he couldn’t know was that Alexander Dupont & Bell had carried out a rigorous sifting process months before any of the candidates had been invited for interview, and he had made the final six, on recommendation and reputation. He also didn’t realize that only one, perhaps two, would be offered a position with the firm. As with a good wine, there were even years when no one was selected, simply because it just wasn’t a vintage crop.

More interviews followed in the afternoon, by which time Fletcher was convinced he wouldn’t make it, and would soon have to begin the long trek round those firms who had replied to his letter and offered him an interview.

‘They’ll let me know by the end of the month if I’ve made it to the next round,’ he told Annie, who was waiting for him at the station, ‘but don’t stop sending the letters, although I confess I no longer want to work anywhere but New York.’

Annie continued to question Fletcher on the way home, wanting to know every detail of what had taken place. She was touched that Bill Alexander had remembered her; more so that he had even taken the trouble to find out the name of their son.

‘Perhaps you should have told him,’ said Annie as she brought the car to a halt outside their home.

‘Told him what?’ asked Fletcher

‘That I’m pregnant again.’

Nat loved the hustle and bustle of Seoul, a city determined to put all memories of war behind it. Skyscrapers loomed on every corner, as the old and new tried to live in harmony. Nat was impressed by the potential of such a well-educated, intelligent workforce who survived on wages a quarter of what would be acceptable back home. Su Ling couldn’t help noticing the subservient role women still played in Korean society and silently thanked her mother for having the courage and foresight to set out for America.

Nat rented a car so that they could move from village to village as and when it suited them. Once they’d driven a few miles out of the capital, the first thing that struck them both was how quickly the way of life changed. By the time they had travelled a hundred miles, they had also travelled back a hundred years. The modern skyscrapers were quickly replaced by little wooden shacks, and the hustle and bustle by a slower, more considered pace.

Although Su Ling’s mother had rarely talked about her upbringing in Korea, Su Ling knew the village where she had been born, and her family name. She also knew that two of her uncles had been killed in the war, so that when they arrived in Raping with its population of 7,303 — according to the guide book — she wasn’t all that hopeful of being able to find anyone who would remember her mother.

Su Ling Cartwright began her quest at the town hall, where a register was kept of all the local citizens. It didn’t help that, of the 7,000 inhabitants, over a thousand shared Su Ling’s mother’s maiden name of Peng. However, the lady at reception also exhibited that name on the plaque on her desk. She told Su Ling that her great-aunt, who was now over ninety, claimed to know every branch of the family, and if she would like to meet her, that could be arranged. Su Ling nodded her agreement, and was asked to return later that day.

She called back in the afternoon, to be told that Ku Sei Peng would be happy to take tea with her the following day. The receptionist apologized before politely explaining that Su Ling’s American husband would not be welcome.

Su Ling returned to their little hotel the following night, bearing a piece of paper and a happy smile. ‘We’ve travelled all this way out here, only to be told to go back to Seoul,’ she said.

‘How come?’ asked Nat.

‘It’s simple. Ku Sei Peng remembers my mother leaving the village to seek work in the capital, but she never returned. But her younger sister, Kai Pai Peng, still lives in Seoul and Ku Sei has given me her last known address.’

‘So it’s back to the capital,’ said Nat, who phoned down to reception to warn them they would be checking out immediately. They arrived back in Seoul just before midnight.

‘I think it might be wise if I were to visit her on my own,’ said Su Ling over breakfast the following morning, ‘as she may not be willing to say a great deal once she discovers I’m married to an American.’

‘Suits me,’ said Nat. ‘I was hoping to visit the market on the other side of the city as I’m searching for something in particular.’

‘What?’ asked Su Ling.

‘Wait and see,’ teased Nat.

Nat took a taxi to the Kiray district, and spent the day roaming around one of the biggest open markets in the world — row upon row of laden stalls crammed with everything from Rolex watches to cultured pearls, from Gucci bags to Chanel perfume, from Cartier bracelets to Tiffany hearts. He avoided the cries of ‘Over here, American, please to look at my goods, much cheaper’, as he could never be sure what, if anything, was the real thing.

By the time he arrived back at the hotel that evening, Nat was exhausted and laden down with six shopping bags, mostly full of presents for his wife. He took the elevator to the third floor, and as he pushed open the door to their room, he hoped to find that Su Ling had returned from visiting her great aunt. As he closed the door, he thought he heard sobbing. He stood still. The unmistakable sound was coming from the bedroom.

Nat dropped the bags on the floor, walked across the room and pushed open the bedroom door. Su Ling was curled up on the bed, like an unsprung coil, weeping. He slipped off his shoes and jacket and climbed on to the bed beside her and took her in his arms.

‘What is it, little flower?’ he said, caressing her gently.

She didn’t reply. Nat held her close, aware that she would tell him in her own time.

When it grew dark and the neon streetlights began to flicker on, Nat drew the curtains. He then sat beside her and took her hand.

‘I will always love you,’ said Su Ling, not looking directly at him.

‘And I’ll always love you,’ said Nat, taking her back into his arms.

‘Do you remember the night of our marriage, we agreed on no secrets, so I must now tell you what I discovered this afternoon.’

Nat had never seen a face so sad. ‘Nothing you found out could make me love you less,’ he said, trying to reassure her.

Su Ling pulled her husband towards her while lowering her head on to his chest, as if she didn’t want their eyes to meet. ‘I kept my appointment with my great aunt this morning,’ she began. ‘She remembered my mother well, and explained to me why she had left the village to join her in Seoul.’ As she clung on to Nat, Su Ling repeated everything Kai Pai had told her. When she had finished her story, she eased away and looked up at her husband for the first time.

‘Can you still love me now you know the truth?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t believe it was possible to love you any more, and I can only imagine what courage it must have taken to share this news with me.’ He paused. ‘It will only strengthen a bond that now no one will ever be able to break.’

‘I don’t think it would be wise for me to go with you,’ said Annie.

‘But you’re my lucky mascot, and...’

‘... and Dr Redpath says it wouldn’t be wise.’ Fletcher reluctantly accepted that he would have to make the journey to New York alone. Annie was in her seventh month of pregnancy, and although there had been no complications, he never argued with the doctor.

Fletcher had been delighted to be invited back for a second interview with Alexander Dupont & Bell, and wondered how many of the other candidates had been short-listed. He had a feeling Karl Abrahams knew, though the professor wasn’t sharing any confidences.

When the train pulled into Penn Station, Fletcher took a taxi to 54th Street, arriving outside the vast entrance hall twenty minutes early. He had been told that on one occasion a candidate had arrived three minutes late, so they didn’t bother to interview him.

He took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor and was directed by the receptionist to a spacious room that was almost as smart as the senior partner’s office. Fletcher sat alone and wondered if that was a good sign, until a second candidate joined him a few minutes before nine. He smiled at Fletcher.

‘Logan Fitzgerald,’ he said, his hand outstretched. ‘I heard you address the freshman debate at Yale. Your speech on Vietnam was brilliant, although I didn’t agree with a word you said.’

‘You were at Yale?’

‘No, I was visiting my brother. I went to Princeton, and I guess we both know why we’re here.’

‘How many others are there, do you imagine?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Looking at the clock, I would suggest we’re the last two. So all I can say is good luck.’

‘I am sure you mean that sincerely,’ said Fletcher with a grin.

The door opened and a woman who Fletcher remembered as Mr Alexander’s secretary addressed them. ‘Gentlemen, if you’ll come this way,’ she said.

‘Thank you, Mrs Townsend,’ said Fletcher, whose father had once told him never to forget a secretary’s name — after all, they spend more time with the boss than his wife ever does. The two candidates followed her out of the room, and Fletcher wondered if Logan could possibly be as nervous as he was. On either side of the long carpeted corridor the names of the partners were lettered in gold beside each oak-panelled door they passed. William Alexander’s was the last before the conference room.

Mrs Townsend knocked gently on the door, opened it and stood to one side as twenty-five men and three women rose from their places and began to applaud.

‘Please be seated,’ said Bill Alexander, once the applause had died down. ‘May I be the first to congratulate you both on being offered the opportunity to join Alexander Dupont and Bell, but be warned, the next time you’ll hear such approbation from your colleagues will be when you’re invited to become a partner, and that won’t be for at least seven years. During the morning you will have meetings with different members of the executive committee who between them should be able to answer any of your questions. Fletcher, you have been assigned to Matthew Cunliffe, who heads up our criminal office, while you, Logan, will report directly to Graham Simpson in mergers and acquisitions. At twelve thirty, you will both return and join the partners for lunch.’

The midday meal turned out to be a friendly affair after the gruelling process of interviews; the partners stopped behaving like Mr Hyde and reverted to being Dr Jekyll. Roles they played every day with clients and adversaries.

‘They tell me that you are both going to be top of your respective classes,’ said Bill Alexander, after the main course was served — there had been no first course or drink supplied, other than bottled water. ‘And I can only hope so, because I haven’t yet decided which offices to assign you to.’

‘And should one of us flunk?’ asked Fletcher nervously.

‘Then you will spend your first year in the mail room, delivering briefs to other law firms.’ Mr Alexander paused. ‘On foot.’ No one laughed, and Fletcher couldn’t be sure if he meant it. The senior partner was about to continue when there was a knock on the door and his secretary reappeared.

‘There’s a call for you on fine three, Mr Alexander.’

‘I said no interruptions, Mrs Townsend.’

‘It’s an emergency, sir.’

Bill Alexander picked up the boardroom phone, the scowl on his face turned to a smile as he listened intently. ‘I’ll let him know,’ he said and put the phone down.

‘Let me be the first to congratulate you, Fletcher,’ said the senior partner. Fletcher was puzzled because he knew final grades wouldn’t be published for at least another week. ‘You’re the proud father of a little girl. Mother and daughter are doing just fine. I knew the moment I met that girl she was just the kind of woman we appreciate at Alexander Dupont and Bell.’

24

‘Lucy.’

‘But what about Ruth or Martha?’

‘We can give her all three names,’ said Fletcher, ‘which will make both our mothers happy, but we’ll call her Lucy.’ He smiled as he gently placed his daughter back in her crib.

‘And have you thought about where we’re going to live?’ asked Annie. ‘I don’t want Lucy brought up in New York.’

‘I agree,’ said Fletcher, as he tickled his daughter under the chin, ‘I’ve been talking to Matt Cunliffe and he told me he faced the same problem when he joined the firm.’

‘So what does Matt recommend?’

‘He suggested three or four small towns in New Jersey that are less than an hour away by train from Grand Central Station. So I thought we might drive up there next Friday and spend a long weekend seeing if there’s any particular area we like.’

‘I suppose we’ll have to rent a place to begin with,’ said Annie, ‘until we’ve saved enough to buy something of our own.’

‘It seems not, because the firm would prefer us to purchase our own property.’

‘It’s all very well for the firm to prefer something, but what if we simply can’t afford it?’

‘That doesn’t seem to pose a problem either,’ said Fletcher, ‘because Alexander Dupont and Bell will cover the cost with an interest-free loan.’

‘That’s very generous of them,’ said Annie, ‘but if I know Bill Alexander, there has to be an ulterior motive.’

‘There sure is,’ said Fletcher. ‘It ties you into the firm, and Alexander Dupont and Bell are very proud of having the smallest turnover of employees of any legal practice in New York. It’s becoming obvious to me that once they’ve gone to all the trouble of selecting you and training you in their ways, they then make damn sure they don’t lose you to a rival firm.’

‘Sounds to me like a shotgun marriage,’ said Annie. She paused. ‘Have you ever mentioned your political ambitions to Mr Alexander?’

‘No, I wouldn’t have passed first base if I had, and in any case, who knows how I’ll feel in two or three years’ time?’

‘I know exactly how you’ll feel,’ said Annie, ‘in two years, ten years, twenty years. You’re happiest when you’re running for something, and I’ll never forget when Dad was re-elected to the Senate, you were the only person who was more excited about the result than he was.’

‘Don’t ever let Matt Cunliffe hear you say that,’ said Fletcher with a smile, ‘because you can be sure Bill Alexander would know about it ten minutes later, and the firm are just not interested in anyone who isn’t fully committed. Remember their motto, there are twenty-five hilling hours in every day.’

When Su Ling woke, she could hear Nat on the phone in the next room. She wondered who he could possibly be talking to so early in the morning. She heard the phone click, and a moment later her husband returned to the bedroom.

‘I want you up and packed, little flower, because we have to be out of here in under an hour.’

‘What...?’

‘In under an hour.’

Su Ling jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom. ‘Captain Cartwright, am I allowed to know where you are taking me?’ she called above the sound of running water.

‘All will be revealed once we’re on the plane, Mrs Cartwright.’

‘Which direction?’ she asked the moment the taps had been turned off.

‘I’ll tell you when the plane has taken off, not before.’

‘Are we going home?’

‘No,’ said Nat, without offering to elaborate.

Once she was dry, Su Ling concentrated on what to wear while Nat picked up the phone again.

‘An hour doesn’t give a girl a lot of time,’ said Su Ling.

‘That was the idea,’ said Nat, who was asking the front desk if they could order him a cab.

‘Damn,’ said Su Ling as she looked at all the presents. ‘There just isn’t going to be enough room to cram them all in.’

Nat replaced the receiver, walked over to the cupboard and produced a suitcase she’d never seen before. ‘Gucci?’ she asked, surprised by Nat’s unusual extravagance.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Nat, ‘not for ten dollars.’

Su Ling laughed as her husband picked up the phone once more. ‘I need a porter and could the bill be ready by the time we come down, as we’ll be checking out.’ He paused, listened, and said, ‘Ten minutes.’

He turned to see Su Ling buttoning up her blouse. He thought about her finally falling asleep the night before, and his decision to leave Korea as quickly as possible. Every moment spent in that city would only remind her...

At the airport Nat waited in the queue to collect the tickets, and thanked the woman behind the counter for dealing with his early morning request so promptly. Su Ling had gone off to order breakfast while he checked their bags in. Nat then took the escalator to the first floor restaurant, to find his wife seated in a corner, chatting to a waitress.

‘I haven’t ordered for you,’ she said as Nat joined her, ‘because I told the waitress that after a week of marriage I wasn’t sure if you’d turn up.’

Nat looked up at the waitress. ‘Yes, sir?’ she said.

‘Two eggs, sunny side up, bacon, hash browns and black coffee.’

The waitress studied her pad. ‘Your wife has already ordered that for you.’

Nat turned and looked at Su Ling. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘You’ll find out once we’re at the gate, and if you go on being a nuisance, not until we land.’

‘But...’ she began.

‘I’ll blindfold you if necessary,’ said Nat as the waitress returned with a pot of steaming coffee. ‘Now I need to ask you some serious questions,’ Nat said, and saw that Su Ling immediately tensed. He pretended not to notice. He would have to remember not to tease her too much for the next few days as she so obviously still had one thing uppermost in her mind. ‘I recall you telling my mother that when Japan came on-fine with the computer revolution, the entire technological process would speed up.’

‘We’re going to Japan?’

‘No, we’re not,’ said Nat, as his order was placed in front of him. ‘Now concentrate, because I may have to rely on your expertise.’

‘The whole industry is on the gallop right now,’ said Su Ling, ‘Canon, Sony, Fujitsu have already overtaken the Americans. Why? Are you thinking of looking into new IT companies? In which case, you should consider...’

‘Yes and no,’ said Nat as he turned his head and listened carefully to an announcement on the PA system. He checked the bill and covered it with his last few Korean notes, and then stood up.

‘Going somewhere, are we, Captain Cartwright?’ asked Su Ling.

‘Well, I am,’ said Nat, ‘because that was my last call, and by the way, if you have other plans, I’ve got the tickets and the travellers’ cheques.’

‘Then I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?’ said Su Ling as she quickly drained her coffee and checked the departure board to see which gate was showing final calls. There were at least a dozen. ‘Honolulu?’ she said as she caught up with him.

‘Why would I want to take you to Honolulu?’ asked Nat.

‘To lie on the beach and make love all day.’

‘No, we’re going somewhere where we can meet my former lovers by day, while we still make love all night.’

‘Saigon?’ said Su Ling, as another city flicked up on the departure board. ‘Are we going to visit the scene of Captain Cartwright’s past triumphs?’

‘Wrong direction,’ said Nat, as he continued walking towards the international departure gate. Once their passports and tickets had been checked, Nat didn’t bother to stop at duty free, as he continued heading for the check-in desks.

‘Bombay?’ hazarded Su Ling as they passed gate number one.

‘I don’t think there are many of my old lovers to be found in India,’ Nat assured her as they passed gates two, three and four.

Su Ling continued to study the posted names as they walked towards each gate. ‘Singapore, Manila, Hong Kong?’

‘No, no, and no,’ he repeated as they passed gates eleven, twelve and thirteen.

Su Ling remained silent as they continued on — Bangkok, Zurich, Paris, London, before Nat came to a halt at gate twenty-one.

‘Are you travelling to Rome and Venice with us, sir?’ asked the lady behind the Pan Am desk.

‘Yes,’ said Nat. ‘The tickets are booked in the name of Mr and Mrs Cartwright,’ he said as he turned to face his wife.

‘You know something, Mr Cartwright,’ Su Ling said, ‘you are a very special man.’

Over the next four weekends Annie lost count of the number of potential homes the two of them viewed. A few were too large, some too small, while others were in a district they didn’t want to live in, and when they were in a neighbourhood they liked, they simply couldn’t afford the asking price, even with Alexander Dupont & Bell’s assistance. Then one Sunday afternoon, they found exactly what they were looking for in Ridgewood, and within ten minutes of walking in the front door they had nodded to each other behind the agent’s back. Annie immediately phoned her mother. ‘It’s absolutely ideal,’ she enthused. ‘It’s in a quiet neighbourhood with more churches than bars, more schools than movie houses and it’s even got a river meandering right through the centre of town.’

‘And the price?’ said Martha.

‘A little more than we wanted to pay, but the realtor is expecting a call from my agent Martha Gates; if you can’t get the price down, Mom, I don’t know anyone who can.’

‘Did you follow my instructions?’ asked Martha.

‘To the letter. I told the agent we were both school teachers, because you said they always hike the price for lawyers, bankers and doctors. He looked suitably disappointed.’

Fletcher and Annie spent the afternoon strolling round the town, praying that Martha could get them a sensible deal, because even the station was only a short drive from their front door.

After four long weeks finalizing the deal, Fletcher, Annie and Lucy Davenport spent their first night at their new home in Ridgewood, New Jersey on 1 October 1974. No sooner had they closed the front door than Fletcher announced, ‘Do you think you can leave Lucy with your mother for a couple of weeks?’

‘It doesn’t worry me having her around while we’re getting the house in shape,’ said Annie.

‘That wasn’t what I had in mind,’ said Fletcher. ‘I just thought it was time we had a holiday, a sort of second honeymoon.’

‘But...’

‘No buts... we’re going to do something you’ve always talked about — go to Scotland and trace our ancestors, the Davenports and the Gates.’

‘When were you thinking of leaving?’ asked Annie.

‘Our plane takes off at eleven tomorrow morning.’

‘Mr Davenport, you do like to give a girl a lot of notice, don’t you?’

‘What are you up to?’ asked Su Ling as she leaned across to watch her husband checking over a column of figures on the financial pages of the Asian Business News.

‘Studying currency movements over the past year,’ Nat replied.

‘Is that how Japan fits into the equation?’ enquired Su Ling.

‘Sure is,’ said Nat, ‘because the yen is the only major currency in the past ten years that has consistently risen in value against the dollar, and several economists are predicting that the trend will continue for the foreseeable future. They claim the yen is still massively undervalued. If the experts are correct, and you’re right about Japan’s expanding role in new technology, then I think I’ve identified a good investment in an uncertain world.’

‘Is this to be the subject of your business school thesis?’

‘No, however that’s not a bad idea,’ said Nat, ‘I was thinking of making a small currency investment and if I prove to be right, I’ll notch it up a few dollars each month.’

‘A bit of a risk, isn’t it?’

‘If you hope to make a profit, there’s bound to be a certain amount of risk involved. The secret is to eliminate the elements that add to that risk.’ Su Ling didn’t look convinced. ‘I’ll tell you what I have in mind,’ said Nat. ‘I’m currently earning $400 a month as a captain in the army. If I sell those dollars a year in advance for yen at today’s rate, then convert them back in twelve months’ time, and if the dollar-yen exchange rate continues as it has done for the past seven years, I should make an annual profit of around $400 to $500.’

‘And if it goes the other way?’ said Su Ling.

‘But it hasn’t for the past seven years.’

‘But if it did?’

‘I’d lose around $400, or a month’s salary.’

‘I’d rather have a guaranteed pay cheque each month.’

‘You can never create capital on earned income,’ said Nat. ‘Most people live well beyond their means, and their only form of savings ends up as life insurance or bonds, both of which can be decimated by inflation. Ask my father.’

‘But what do we need all this money for?’ asked Su Ling.

‘For my lovers,’ said Nat.

‘And where are all these lovers?’

‘Most of them are in Italy, but there are a few others hanging around in the world’s major capitals.’

‘So that’s why we’re going to Venice?’

‘And Florence, Milan and Rome. When I left them, many were in the nude, and one of the things I most liked about them is they don’t age, other than to crack a little if they’re exposed to too much sunlight.’

‘Lucky women,’ said Su Ling. ‘And do you have a favourite?’

‘No, I’m fairly promiscuous, though if I were forced to choose, I confess there is a lady in Florence who resides in a small palace, whom I adore, and am longing to meet up with again.’

‘Is she a virgin, by any chance?’ enquired Su Ling.

‘You’re bright,’ said Nat.

‘Goes by the name of Maria?’

‘You’ve found me out, although there are a lot of Marias in Italy.’

‘The Adoration of the Magi, Tintoretto.’

‘No.’

‘Bellini, Mother and Child?’

‘No, they still reside at the Vatican.’

Su Ling went silent for a moment as the stewardess asked them to fasten their seatbelts. ‘Caravaggio?’

‘Very good. I left her in the Pitti Palace on the right-hand wall of the third floor gallery. She promised she would be faithful until I returned.’

‘And there she will remain, because such a lover would cost you more than $400 a month, and if you’re still hoping to go into politics, you won’t even be able to afford the frame.’

‘I won’t be going into politics until I can afford the whole gallery,’ Nat assured his wife.

Annie began to appreciate why the British could be so dismissive about American tourists who somehow managed to cover London, Oxford, Blenheim and Stratford in three days. It didn’t help when she observed coachloads of tourists descending on the Royal Shakespeare Theatre in Stratford, take their seats, and then leave during the interval, to be replaced by another coachload of her countrymen. Annie wouldn’t have thought it possible, if she hadn’t returned after the interval to find the two rows in front of her full of people with familiar accents whom she had never seen before. She wondered if those who attended the second act told those who watched the first act what had happened to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern or was that coachload already on its way back to London?

Annie felt less guilty after they’d spent a leisurely ten days in Scotland. They enjoyed being in Edinburgh for the Festival, where they could choose between Marlowe and Mozart, or Pinter and Orton. However for both of them, the highlight of the trip was the long drive up and down the two coastlines. The scenery was so breathtaking they thought there could be no more beautiful landscape on earth.

In Edinburgh, they tried to trace the Gates and the Davenport lineage, but all they ended up with was a large coloured chart of the clans, and a skirt made in the garish Davenport tartan, which Annie doubted she would ever wear again once they were back in the States.

Fletcher fell asleep within minutes of their plane taking off from Edinburgh for New York. When he woke, the sun that he’d seen dip on one side of the cabin, still hadn’t risen on the other. As they began their descent into JFK — Annie couldn’t get used to it not being called Idlewild — all Annie could think about was being reunited with Lucy, while Fletcher anxiously looked forward to his first day with Alexander Dupont & Bell.

When Nat and Su Ling returned from Rome, they were exhausted, but the change of plans could not have been more successful. Su Ling had relaxed more and more as each day passed; in fact during the second week, neither of them even mentioned Korea. They agreed on their flight home to tell Su Ling’s mother that they had honeymooned in Italy. Only Tom would be puzzled.

While Su Ling slept, Nat once again studied the currency market in the International Herald Tribune and London’s Financial Times. The trend continued unabated, a dip, a slight recovery, followed by another dip, but the long term graph was only going one way for the yen, and in the opposite direction from the dollar. This was also true for the yen against the mark, the pound and the lira, and Nat decided to continue researching which of the exchange rates had the greatest disparity. Just as soon as they were back in Boston he would talk to Tom’s father, and use the currency department at Russell’s Bank rather than reveal his ideas to someone he didn’t know.

Nat glanced across at his sleeping wife, grateful for her suggestion that he make exchange rates the subject of his final-year thesis at business school. His time at Harvard would pass all too quickly, and he realized that he could not put off a decision that would affect both their futures. They had already discussed the three possible options: he could look for a job in Boston so that Su Ling could remain at Harvard, but as she had pointed out, that would limit his horizons. He could take up Mr Russell’s offer and join Tom at a large bank in a small town, but that would seriously curtail his future prospects. Or he could apply for a job on Wall Street and find out if he could survive in the big league.

Su Ling wasn’t in any doubt which of the three options he should pursue, and although they had some time to consider their future, she was already talking to her contacts at Columbia.

25

Looking back on his final year at Harvard, Nat had had few regrets.

Only hours after touching down at Logan International, he’d phoned Tom’s father to share his currency ideas. Mr Russell pointed out that the sums he wished to deal in were too small for any foreign exchange counter to handle. Nat was disappointed until Mr Russell suggested that the bank put up a thousand dollar loan, and asked that he and Tom might be allowed to invest a thousand dollars each. This became Nat’s first currency fund.

When Joe Stein heard about the project, another thousand appeared on the same day. Within a month, the fund had grown to $10,000. Nat told Su Ling that he was more worried about losing the investors’ money than his own. By the end of the term, the Cartwright Fund had grown to $14,000, and Nat had made a clear profit of $726.

‘But you could still lose it all,’ Su Ling reminded him.

‘True, but now the fund is more substantial there’s less chance of a severe loss. Even if the trend suddenly reverses, I could hedge my position by selling ahead, so keeping the losses to a minimum.’

‘But doesn’t this take a great deal of your time, when you should be writing your thesis?’ Su Ling asked.

‘It only takes about fifteen minutes a day,’ said Nat. ‘I check the Japanese market at six each morning and the closing prices in New York at six every night, and as long as there isn’t a run against me for several days in a row, I have nothing to do except reinvest the capital each month.’

‘It’s obscene,’ said Su Ling.

‘But what’s wrong with using my skill, knowledge and an ounce of enterprise?’ Nat enquired.

‘Because you earn more working fifteen minutes a day than I can hope to pick up in a year as a senior researcher at Columbia University — in fact, it may be more than my supervisor earns.’

‘Your supervisor will still be in place this time next year, whatever happens to the market. That’s free enterprise. The downside is that I can lose everything.’

Nat didn’t tell his wife that the British economist Maynard Keynes had once remarked, A shrewd man ought to be able to make a fortune before breakfast, so that he can do a proper job during the rest of the day. He knew how strongly his wife felt about what she called easy money, so he only talked about his investments whenever she raised the subject. He certainly didn’t let her know that Mr Russell felt the time had come to consider leverage.

Nat felt no guilt when it came to spending fifteen minutes a day managing his mini-fund, as he doubted if there was any student in his class studying more diligently. In fact the only real break he took from work was to run for an hour every afternoon, and the highlight of his year came when, wearing a Harvard vest, he crossed the finishing line in first place in the meet against UConn.

After several interviews in New York Nat received a plethora of offers from financial institutions, but there were only two he took seriously. In reputation and size there was nothing to choose between them, but once he’d met Arnie Freeman, who headed the currency desk at Morgan’s, he was quite happy to sign up there and then. Arnie had a gift for making fourteen hours a day on Wall Street sound like fun.

Nat wondered what else could happen that year, until Su Ling asked how much profit the Cartwright Fund had accumulated.

‘Around forty thousand dollars,’ said Nat.

‘And your share?’

‘Twenty per cent. So what are you planning to spend it on?’

‘Our first child,’ she replied.

Looking back on his first year with Alexander Dupont & Bell, Fletcher also had few regrets. He’d no idea what his responsibilities would be, but first-year associates were not known as ‘pack horses’ for nothing. He quickly found out that his principal responsibility was to make sure that whatever case Matt Cunliffe was working on, he never needed to look beyond his desk for any relevant documents or case histories. It had only taken Fletcher a matter of days to discover that any idea of non-stop appearances in glamorous court cases defending innocent women accused of murder was the stuff of television dramas. Most of his work was painstaking and meticulous and more often than not rewarded by plea bargaining before a trial date had even been set.

Fletcher also discovered that it wasn’t until you became a partner that you started earning ‘the big bucks’ and got to go home in the daylight. Despite this, Matt did lighten his work-load by not insisting on a thirty-minute lunch break, which allowed him to play squash twice a week with Jimmy.

Although Fletcher took work home on the train, he tried whenever possible to spend an hour in the evening with his daughter. His father frequently reminded him that once those early years had passed, he wouldn’t be able to rewind the reel marked ‘important moments in Lucy’s childhood’.

Lucy’s first birthday party was the noisiest event outside a football stadium that Fletcher had ever attended. Annie had made so many friends in the neighbourhood that he found his home full of young children who seemed to all want to laugh or cry at the same time. Fletcher marvelled at how calmly Annie handled spilled ice cream, chocolate cake trodden into the carpet, a bottle of milk poured over her dress, without the familiar smile ever leaving her face. When the last brat had finally departed, Fletcher was exhausted, but all Annie said was, ‘I think that went just fine.’

Fletcher continued to see a lot of Jimmy, who, thanks to his father — his own words — had landed a job with a small but well respected law practice on Lexington Avenue. His hours were almost as bad as Fletcher’s, but the responsibility of fatherhood seemed to have given him a new incentive, which only increased when Joanna gave birth to a second child. Fletcher marvelled how successful their marriage was, remembering the age gap and academic disparity. But it seemed to make no difference, because the couple simply adored each other and were the envy of many of their contemporaries who had already filed for divorce. When Fletcher heard the news of Jimmy’s second child, he hoped it wouldn’t be long before Annie followed suit; he so envied Jimmy having a son. He often thought about Harry Robert.

Because of his workload, Fletcher made few new friends, with the exception of Logan Fitzgerald, who had joined the firm on the same day. They would often compare notes over lunch, and have a drink together before Fletcher caught his train home in the evening. Soon the tall, fair-haired Irishman was being invited back to Ridgewood to meet Annie’s unmarried girlfriends. Although Fletcher accepted that Logan and he were rivals, it didn’t appear to harm their friendship; in fact, if anything, it seemed to make the bond between them even stronger. Both had their minor triumphs and set-backs during the first year, and no one in the firm seemed willing to offer an opinion on which of them would become a partner first.

Over a drink one evening, Fletcher and Logan agreed they were now fully fledged members of the firm. In a few weeks’ time a new brace of trainees would appear and they would progress from pack horses to yearlings. They had both studied with interest the CVs of all those who made the shortlist.

‘What do you think of the applicants?’ asked Fletcher, trying not to sound superior.

‘Not bad,’ said Logan, as he ordered Fletcher his usual light beer, ‘with one exception — that guy from Stanford, I couldn’t work out how he even got on the shortlist.’

‘I’m told he’s Bill Alexander’s nephew.’

‘Well, that’s a good enough reason to put him on the short list, but not to offer him a job, so I don’t expect we’ll ever see him again. Come to think of it,’ said Logan, ‘I can’t even remember his name.’

Nat was the youngest in a team of three at Morgan’s. His immediate boss was Steven Ginsberg, who was twenty-eight, and his number two, Adrian Kenwright, had just celebrated his twenty-sixth birthday. Between them, they controlled a fund of over a million dollars.

As the currency markets open in Tokyo just as most civilized Americans are going to bed, and close in Los Angeles when the sun no longer shines on the American continent, one of the team had to be on call to cover every hour of the night or day. In fact the only occasion Steven allowed Nat to take an afternoon off was to watch Su Ling receiving her doctorate at Harvard, and even then he had to leave the celebration party so he could take an urgent phone call and explain why the Italian lira was going south.

‘They could have a Communist government by this time next week,’ said Nat, ‘so start switching into Swiss francs,’ he added. ‘And get rid of any sterling we have on our books because the UK has a left-wing government, and will be the next to feel the strain.’

‘And the deutschmark?’

‘Hold on to the mark, because the currency will remain undervalued as long as the Berlin Wall is in place.’

Although the two senior members of the team had a great deal more financial experience than Nat, and were willing to work just as hard, they both acknowledged that because of his political antennae Nat could read a market more quickly than anyone else they had ever worked with — or against.

The day everyone sold the dollar and went into pounds, Nat immediately sold the pound on the forward market. For eight days it looked as if he might have lost the bank a fortune and his colleagues rushed past him quickly in the corridor without looking him in the eye. A month later, seven other banks were offering him a job and a considerable rise in salary. Nat received a bonus cheque for eight thousand dollars at the end of the year, and decided the time had come to go in search of a mistress.

He didn’t tell Su Ling about the bonus, or the mistress, as she had recently received a pay rise of ninety dollars a month. As for the mistress, he’d had his eye on one particular lady he passed on the street corner every morning as he went to work. And she was still reposing there in the window when he returned to their flat in SoHo every evening. As each day passed, he gave the lady soaking in a bath more than a casual glance, and finally decided to ask her price.

‘Six thousand five hundred dollars,’ the gallery owner informed him, ‘and if I may say so, sir, you have an excellent eye because not only is it a magnificent picture, but you will also have made a shrewd investment.’ Nat was quickly coming to the conclusion that art dealers were nothing more than used car salesmen dressed in Brooks Brothers suits.

‘Bonnard is greatly undervalued compared to his contemporaries Renoir, Monet and Matisse,’ continued the dealer, ‘and I predict his prices will soar in the near future.’ Nat didn’t care about Bonnard’s prices, because he was a lover not a pimp.

His other lover called that afternoon to warn him that she was on her way to hospital. He asked Hong Kong to hold.

‘Why?’ Nat asked anxiously.

‘Because I’m having your baby,’ his wife replied.

‘But it’s not due for another month.’

‘Nobody told the baby that,’ said Su Ling.

‘I’m on my way, little flower,’ said Nat, dropping the other phone.

When Nat returned from the hospital that night, he called his mother to tell her she had a grandson.

‘Wonderful news,’ she said, ‘but what are you going to call him?’

‘Luke,’ he replied.

‘And what do you plan to give Su Ling to commemorate the occasion?’

He hesitated for a moment, and then said, ‘A lady in a bath.’

It was another couple of days before he and the dealer finally agreed on five thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars, and the little Bonnard was transferred from the gallery in SoHo to the bedroom wall in their apartment.

‘Do you fancy her?’ asked Su Ling the day she and Luke returned from the hospital.

‘No, although there would be more of her to cuddle than you. But then I prefer thin women.’

Su Ling stood and looked at her present for some time before she gave a pronouncement.

‘It’s quite magnificent. Thank you.’

Nat was delighted that his wife seemed to appreciate the painting as much as he did. He was only relieved that she didn’t ask how much the lady had cost.

What had begun as a whim on a journey from Rome to Venice to Florence with Tom had quickly turned into an addiction that Nat couldn’t kick. Every time he received a bonus he went in search of another picture. Nat might well have been dismissive of the used-car salesman, but his judgement turned out to be correct, because Nat continued to select impressionists who were still within reach of his pocket — Vuillard, Luce, Pissarro, Camoin and Sisley — only to find that they increased in value as fast as any of the financial investments he selected for his clients on Wall Street.

Su Ling enjoyed watching their collection grow. She took no interest in what Nat paid for his mistresses, and even less in their investment value. Perhaps this was because when, at the age of twenty-five, she was appointed as the youngest associate professor in Columbia’s history, she was earning less in a year than Nat was making in a week.

He no longer needed to be reminded that it was obscene.

Fletcher remembered the incident well.

Matt Cunliffe had asked him to take a document over to Higgs & Dunlop for signing. ‘Normally I’d ask a paralegal to do this,’ Matt explained, ‘but it’s taken Mr Alexander weeks to get the terms agreed, and he doesn’t want any last-minute hitches that might just give them another excuse for not signing.’

Fletcher had expected to be back at the office in less than thirty minutes, because all he needed was to get four agreements signed and witnessed. However, when Fletcher reappeared two hours later and told his boss that the documents had neither been signed nor witnessed, Matt put down his pen and waited for an explanation.

When Fletcher had arrived at Higgs & Dunlop, he was left waiting in reception, and told that the partner whose signature he needed had not yet returned from lunch. This surprised Fletcher, as it was the partner in question, Mr Higgs, who had scheduled the meeting for one o’clock, and Fletcher had skipped his own lunch to be sure he wouldn’t be late.

While Fletcher sat in the reception area, he read through the agreement and familiarized himself with its terms. After a takeover bid had been agreed, a partner’s compensation package was challenged, and it had taken some considerable time before both partners had been able to agree on a final figure.

At 1.15 p.m. Fletcher glanced up at the receptionist, who looked apologetic and offered him a second coffee. Fletcher thanked her; after all it wasn’t her fault that he was being kept waiting. But once he’d read through the document a second time, and had drunk three coffees, he decided Mr Higgs was either downright rude or plain inefficient.

Fletcher checked his watch again. It was 1.35 p.m. He sighed and asked the receptionist if he could use the washroom. She hesitated for a moment, before producing a key from inside her desk. ‘The executive washroom is one floor up,’ she told him. ‘It’s only meant for partners and their most important clients, so if anyone asks, please tell them you’re a client.’

The washroom was empty, and, not wishing to embarrass the receptionist, Fletcher locked himself into the end cubicle. He was just zipping up his trousers, when two people walked in, one of them sounding as if he had just arrived back from a long lunch, where water had not been the only drink imbibed.

First voice: ‘Well I’m glad that’s settled. There’s nothing I enjoy more than getting the better of Alexander Dupont and Bell.’

Second voice: ‘They’ve sent over some messenger boy with the agreement. I told Millie to leave him in reception and let him sweat a little.’

Fletcher removed a pen from an inside pocket and tugged gently on the toilet roll.

First voice, laughing: ‘What did you finally settle for?’

Second voice: ‘That’s the good news, $1,325,000, which is a lot more than we anticipated.’

First voice: ‘The client must be delighted.’

Second voice: ‘That’s who I was having lunch with. He ordered a bottle of Chateau Lafitte ‘52 — after all we’d told him to expect half a million, which he would have been quite happy to settle for — for obvious reasons.’

First voice, more laughter: ‘Are we working on a contingency fee?’

Second voice: ‘We sure are. We pick up fifty per cent of anything over half a million.’

First voice: ‘So the firm has netted a cool $417,500. But what did you mean by “for obvious reasons”?’

A tap was turned on. ‘Our biggest problem was the client’s bank — the company’s currently $720,000 overdrawn, and if we don’t cover the full sum by close of business on Friday, they’re threatening non-payment, which would have meant we might not even have got...’ — the tap was turned off — ‘... the original $500,000, and that after months of bargaining.’

Second voice: ‘Pity about one thing.’

First voice: ‘What’s that?’

Second voice: ‘That you can’t tell those snobs over at Alexander Dupont and Bell that they don’t know how to play poker.’

First voice: ‘True, but I think I’ll have a little sport with...’ — a door opened — ‘... their messenger boy.’ The door closed.

Fletcher rolled up the toilet paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He left the cubicle and quickly washed his hands before slipping out and taking the fire escape stairs to the floor below. Once back in reception, he handed over the executive washroom key.

‘Thank you,’ said the receptionist just as the phone rang. She smiled at Fletcher. ‘That was good timing. If you’ll take the elevator to the eleventh floor, Mr Higgs is available to see you now.’

‘Thank you,’ Fletcher said as he walked back out of the room, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button marked ‘G’.

Matt Cunliffe was unravelling the toilet roll when the phone rang.

‘Mr Higgs is on line one,’ said his secretary.

‘Tell him I’m not available.’ Matt sat back in his chair and winked at Fletcher.

‘He’s asking when you will be available.’

‘Not before close of business on Friday.’

26

Fletcher couldn’t remember an occasion when he’d disliked someone so much on first meeting, and even the circumstances didn’t help.

The senior partner had asked Fletcher and Logan to join him for coffee in his office — an unusual event in itself. When they arrived, they were introduced to one of the new trainees.

‘I want you both to meet Ralph Elliot,’ were Bill Alexander’s opening words.

Fletcher’s first reaction was to wonder why he’d singled out Elliot from the two successful applicants. He quickly found out.

‘I have decided this year to take on a trainee myself. I’m keen to keep in touch with what the new generation are thinking, and as Ralph’s grades at Stanford were exceptional, he seemed to be the obvious choice.’

Fletcher recalled Logan’s disbelief that Alexander’s nephew had even made the shortlist, and they both came to the conclusion that Mr Alexander must have overruled any objections from the other partners.

‘I hope both of you will make Ralph feel welcome.’

‘Of course,’ said Logan. ‘Why don’t you join us for lunch?’

‘Yes, I feel sure I could fit that in,’ replied Elliot, as if granting them a favour.

Over lunch, Elliot never missed an opportunity to remind them that he was the nephew of the senior partner, with the unspoken implication that if either Fletcher or Logan should cross him, he could slow their progress to a partnership. The threat only served to strengthen the bond between the two men.

‘He’s now telling anyone who will listen that he’s going to be the first person to make partner in under seven years,’ Fletcher told Logan over a drink a few days later.

‘You know he’s such a cunning bastard, it wouldn’t surprise me if he pulled it off,’ was Logan’s only response.

‘How do you think he became student president of UConn if he treated everyone the same way as he does us?’

‘Perhaps no one dared to oppose him.’

‘Is that how you managed it?’ asked Logan.

‘How did you know that?’ asked Fletcher, as the bartender collected their glasses.

‘I checked your CV the day I joined the firm. Don’t tell me you didn’t read mine?’

‘Of course I did,’ admitted Fletcher, raising his glass, ‘I even know that you were the Princeton chess champion.’ Both men laughed. ‘I must run, or I’ll miss my train,’ said Fletcher, ‘and Annie might begin to wonder if there’s another woman in my life.’

‘I envy you that,’ said Logan quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The strength of your marriage. It wouldn’t cross Annie’s mind even for a second that you could look at another woman.’

‘I’m very fortunate,’ said Fletcher. ‘Maybe you’ll be just as lucky one day. Meg on the reception desk can’t take her eyes off you.’

‘Which one is Meg?’ asked Logan as Fletcher left him to pick up his coat.

Fletcher had only walked a few yards down Fifth Avenue, when he spotted Ralph Elliot approaching. Fletcher slipped into a doorway, and waited for him to pass. Stepping back out into a raw cold wind that requires ear muffs even if you’re only walking a single block, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his scarf, but it wasn’t there. He cursed. He must have left it in the bar. He would have to collect it tomorrow, but then he cursed again when he remembered Annie had given it to him for Christmas. He turned round and began to retrace his steps.

Back in the bar, he asked the girl at the coat check if she’d seen a red woollen scarf.

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it must have fallen out of your sleeve when you put your coat on. I found it on the floor.’

‘Thank you,’ said Fletcher as he turned to leave, not expecting to see Logan still standing at the bar. He froze when he saw the man he was talking to.

Nat was fast asleep.

La Devaluation Francaise — three simple words sent the tapes from a gentle murmur into a chattering panic. The phone by Nat’s bed was ringing thirty seconds later, and he immediately gave Adrian the order, ‘Get out of francs as fast as you can.’ He listened and then replied, ‘Dollars.’

Nat couldn’t remember a day in the last ten years when he hadn’t shaved. He didn’t shave.

Su Ling was awake by the time he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes.

‘The French have devalued by seven per cent.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ she asked.

‘Depends how many francs we’re holding. I’ll be able to make an assessment just as soon as I can get to a screen.’

‘You’ll have one by the side of your bed in a few years’ time, so you wouldn’t even need to go into your office,’ said Su Ling, letting her head fall back on the pillow when she saw 5.09 flick up on the bedside clock.

Nat picked up the phone; Adrian was still on the other end of the line. ‘It’s proving difficult to get out of francs; there are very few buyers other than the French government and they won’t be able to go on propping up the currency for much longer.’

‘Keep selling. Pick up yen, deutschmarks or Swiss francs, but nothing else. I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes. Is Steven there?’

‘No, he’s on his way. It took me some time to find out whose bed he was in.’

Nat didn’t laugh as he replaced the receiver. He leaned over and kissed his wife before running to the door.

‘You’re not wearing a tie,’ said Su Ling.

‘By tonight I might not be wearing a shirt,’ Nat replied.

When they had moved from Boston to Manhattan, Su Ling had found an apartment only a cab ride away from Wall Street. As each bonus came in, she’d been able to furnish and decorate the four rooms, so that Nat soon felt able to bring his colleagues and even some clients back for dinner. Seven paintings — few that laymen would have recognized — now adorned the walls.

Su Ling fell back into a half sleep as her husband left. Nat broke with his usual routine as he leapt down the stairs in twos and threes, not bothering to wait for the elevator. On a normal day, he would have risen at six, and phoned the office from his study to ask for an update. He rarely had to make any major decisions over the phone, as most of their positions were locked in for several months. He would then shower, shave and be dressed by six thirty. He would read the Wall Street Journal while Su ling prepared breakfast, and leave the apartment around seven, having looked in on Luke. Rain or shine, he would walk the five blocks to work, picking up a copy of the New York Times from a box on the corner of William and John. He immediately turned to the financial section and if the headline grabbed his attention, he would read it on the move, and still be at his desk by seven twenty. The New York Times wouldn’t be informing its readers of the French devaluation until tomorrow morning, by which time, for most bankers, it would be history.

When Nat reached the street, he hailed the first available cab, removing a ten-dollar bill for a five block journey, and said, ‘I need to be there yesterday.’ The driver immediately changed gear and lanes, and they pulled up outside his office four minutes later. Nat ran into the building and headed for the first open elevator. It was packed with traders, all talking at the tops of their voices. Nat learned nothing new, except that the simple announcement had been made by the French Ministry of Finance at ten o’clock, central European time. He cursed as the elevator stopped eight times on its slow progress to the eleventh floor.

Steven and Adrian were already at their desks in the trading room.

‘Tell me the latest,’ he shouted as he threw off his coat.

‘Everyone’s taking a bath,’ said Steven. ‘The French have officially devalued by seven per cent, but the markets are discounting it as too little too late.’

Nat checked his screen. ‘And the other currencies?’

‘The pound, lira and peseta are also going south. The dollar is climbing, the yen and the Swiss franc are holding steady, while the deutschmark is bobbing.’

Nat continued to stare at his screen, watching the figures flick up and down every few seconds. ‘Try and buy some yen,’ he said as he watched the pound drop another point.

Steven picked up a phone linked directly to the trading desk. Nat stared in his direction. They were losing valuable seconds as they waited for a trader.

‘How much is the trade?’ barked Steven.

‘Ten million at 2068.’

Adrian looked away as Steven gave the order.

‘And sell any pounds or lire we’re still holding because they’ll be the next to devalue,’ said Nat.

‘What about the rate?’

‘To hell with the rate, just sell,’ said Nat, ‘and get into dollars. If it’s a real storm, everyone will try to shelter in New York.’ Nat was surprised how calm he felt amidst the barrage of shouting and cursing around him.

‘We’re out of lire,’ said Adrian, ‘and are being offered yen at 2027.’

‘Grab them,’ intoned Nat, his eyes not moving from the screen.

‘We’re out of the pound,’ said Steven, ‘at 2.37.’

‘Good, transfer half our dollars back into yen.’

‘I’m out of guilders,’ shouted Adrian.

‘Switch them all into Swiss francs.’

‘Do you want to sell our deutschmark position?’ asked Steven.

‘No,’ said Nat.

‘Do you want to buy any?’

‘No,’ repeated Nat. ‘They’re sitting on the equator and don’t seem to be moving in either direction.’

He’d finished making decisions in less than twenty minutes, and then all he could do was stare at the screens and wait to see how much damage had been done. As most currencies continued their downward trend Nat realized others would be suffering far more than he was. It didn’t help.

If only the French had waited until midday, the usual time to announce a devaluation, he would have been at his desk. ‘Damn the French,’ said Adrian.

‘Clever French,’ countered Nat, ‘to devalue when we’re asleep.’

The French devaluation meant little to Fletcher as he read the details in the New York Times on the train into work the following morning. Several banks had taken a bath, and one or two were even having to report solvency problems to the Securities & Exchange Commission. He turned the page to read a profile about the man who looked certain to be running against Ford for president. Fletcher knew very little about Jimmy Carter, other than that he’d been governor of Georgia and owned a large peanut farm. He paused for a moment, and thought about his own political ambitions, which he’d put on hold while he tried to establish himself at the firm.

Fletcher decided he would sign up to help the ‘Back Carter’ campaign in New York in whatever spare time he had. Spare time? Harry and Martha complained about never seeing him. Annie had joined yet another non-profit board, and Lucy had chicken pox. When he’d phoned his mother to ask if he’d ever had chicken pox, the first thing she said was, ‘Hello, stranger.’ However these problems were quickly forgotten only moments after he’d arrived at the office.

The first hint of any trouble came when he said good morning to Meg in reception.

‘There’s a meeting of all attorneys in the conference room at eight thirty,’ she said flatly.

‘Any idea what it’s about?’ asked Fletcher, realizing that it was a silly question the moment he’d asked it. Confidentiality was the firm’s hallmark.

Several partners were already in their places, talking in hushed tones, when Fletcher entered the boardroom at eight twenty, and he quickly took a seat directly behind Mart’s chair. Could the devaluation of the French franc in Paris affect a law firm in New York? He doubted it. Did the senior partner want to talk about the Higgs & Dunlop deal? No, not Alexander’s style. He looked around the boardroom table. If any of them knew what was on the agenda, they weren’t giving anything away. But it had to be bad news, because good news was always announced at the six o’clock evening meeting.

At eight twenty-four, the senior partner walked in.

‘I must apologize for keeping you away from your desks,’ he began, ‘but this was not something that I felt could be covered by an internal memo, or slipped into my monthly report.’ He paused and cleared his throat. ‘The strength of this firm has always been that it has never become involved in scandals of a personal or financial nature; therefore I considered even the hint of such a problem had to be dealt with expeditiously.’ Fletcher was now even more puzzled. ‘It has been brought to my notice that a member of this firm was seen in a bar frequented by lawyers from rival institutions.’ I do that every day, thought Fletcher, it’s hardly a crime. ‘And although this in itself is not reprehensible, it can lead to other developments that are unacceptable at Alexander Dupont and Bell. Fortunately, one of our number, with the best interest of the firm at heart, felt it his duty to keep me briefed on what might have become an embarrassing situation. The employee I am referring to was seen in a bar talking to a member of a rival firm. He then left with that person at approximately ten o’clock, took a cab to his home on the West Side, and did not reappear again until six thirty the following morning, when he returned to his own apartment. I immediately confronted the employee concerned, who made no attempt to deny his relationship with the member of a rival firm, and I’m pleased to say that he agreed the wisest course of action was to resign immediately.’ He paused. ‘I am grateful to the member of staff who reluctantly decided that it was his duty to report this matter to me.’

Fletcher glanced across at Ralph Elliot, who was trying to feign surprise as each new sentence was delivered, but no one had ever told him about over-acting. It was then that Fletcher recalled seeing Elliot on Fifth Avenue after his evening drink. He felt sick the moment he realized it was Logan the senior partner was referring to.

‘May I remind everyone,’ emphasized Bill Alexander, ‘that this matter should not be discussed again in public or in private.’ The senior partner rose from his place and left the room without another word.

Fletcher thought it would be diplomatic to be among the last to leave, and when there were no partners left in the room he rose and walked slowly towards the door. On his way back to his office he could hear footsteps behind him, but he didn’t look round, until Elliot caught up with him. ‘You were in the bar with Logan that night, weren’t you?’ he paused. ‘I didn’t tell my uncle.’ Fletcher said nothing as Elliot slipped away, but once he was back at his desk he wrote down the exact words Elliot had threatened him with.

The only mistake he made was not to inform Bill Alexander immediately.

One of the many things Nat admired about Su Ling was that she never once said, ‘I told you so,’ although after all her warnings, she had every right to do so.

‘So what happens next?’ she asked, having already put the incident behind her.

‘I have to decide whether to resign or wait to be pushed.’

‘But Steven is the head of your department, and even Adrian is senior to you.’

‘I know, but they were all my positions, and I signed the buy and sell orders, so no one really believes they made any of the plays.’

‘How much did the bank lose?’

‘A few dollars short of half a million.’

‘But you’ve made them much more than that in the past couple of years.’

‘True, but the other heads of department will now consider me unreliable, and will always be fearful that it just might happen again. Steven and Adrian are already distancing themselves as quickly as they can; they won’t want to lose their jobs as well.’

‘But you’re still capable of making the bank huge profits, so why should they let you go?’

‘Because they’ll be able to replace me; business schools throw up bright new graduates every year.’

‘Not of your calibre, they don’t,’ said Su Ling.

‘But I thought you didn’t approve?’

‘I didn’t say I approve,’ replied Su Ling, ‘but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognize and admire your ability.’ She hesitated. ‘Will anyone else offer you a job?’

‘I don’t suppose they will be calling me as frequently as they were a month ago, so I’ll just have to start calling them.’

Su Ling wrapped her arms round her husband. ‘You’ve faced far worse than this in Vietnam and so did I in Korea, and you didn’t flinch.’ Nat had almost forgotten what had happened in Korea, although it was obviously still troubling Su Ling.

‘What about the Cartwright Fund?’ she asked as Nat helped her lay the table.

‘Lost around fifty thousand, but it’s still showing a small profit over the year. Which reminds me, I must ring Mr Russell and apologize.’

‘But you’ve also made them handsome returns in the past.’

‘Which is why they put so much trust in me in the first place,’ said Nat, thumping the table. ‘Damn it, I should have seen it coming.’ He looked across the table at his wife. ‘What do you think I should do?’

Su Ling considered his question for some time. ‘Resign, and get yourself a proper job.’

Fletcher dialled the number without going through his secretary. ‘Are you free for lunch?’ He paused. ‘No, we need to meet somewhere where no one will recognize us,’ — pause — ‘is that the one on West 57th?’ — pause — ‘see you there at twelve thirty.’

Fletcher arrived at Zemarki’s a few minutes early. His guest was waiting for him. They both ordered salad, and Fletcher called for a light beer.

‘I thought you never drank at lunch?’

‘Today is one of those rare exceptions,’ said Fletcher. After he’d taken a long draught, he told his friend what had taken place that morning.

‘This is 1976 not 1776,’ was all Jimmy said.

‘I know, but it seems that there are still one or two dinosaurs roaming around, and God knows what other bile Elliot fed to his uncle.’

‘Sounds like a nice guy, your Mr Elliot. You’d better keep your eye on him as you’re probably the next one he has in his sights.’

‘I can take care of myself,’ said Fletcher. ‘It’s Logan I’m worried about.’

‘But surely if he’s as good as you say he’ll be quickly snapped up?’

‘Not after a call to Bill Alexander asking why he left so suddenly.’

‘No lawyer would dare to suggest that being gay was a reason for dismissal.’

‘He doesn’t have to,’ said Fletcher. ‘Given the circumstances he need only say, “I would prefer not to discuss the matter, it’s somewhat delicate”, which is far more deadly.’ He took another swig. ‘I have to tell you, Jimmy, that if your firm were lucky enough to employ Logan, they would never regret it.’

‘I’ll have a word with the senior partner this afternoon, and let you know how he reacts. Anyway, how’s my kid sister?’

‘Slowly taking over everything in Ridgewood, including the book club, the neighbourhood swim team and the blood donors’ drive. Our next problem is going to be which school to send Lucy to.’

‘Hotchkiss is taking girls now,’ said Jimmy, ‘and we intend...’

‘I wonder how the senator feels about that,’ said Fletcher as he drained his beer. ‘How is he, by the way?’

‘Exhausted, he never stops preparing for the next election.’

‘But no one could oust Harry. I don’t know a more popular politician in the state.’

‘You tell him that,’ said Jimmy. ‘When I last saw him he’d put on fifteen pounds, and was looking badly out of shape.’

Fletcher glanced at his watch. ‘Send the old warhorse my best, and tell him Annie and I will try and get up to Hartford for a weekend soon.’ He paused. ‘This meeting never took place.’

‘You’re becoming paranoid,’ said Jimmy as he picked up the cheque, ‘which is exactly what this Elliot guy will be hoping for.’

Nat handed in his resignation the following morning, relieved at how calmly Su Ling had taken the whole debacle. But it was all very well her telling him to get a proper job when there was only one job he felt qualified to do.

When he returned to his office to remove his personal possessions it was as if there was a quarantine notice attached to his desk. Former colleagues walked quickly past, and those occupying desks nearby remained on their phones, their faces turned away.

He took a laden cab back to the apartment, and filled the tiny elevator three times before he had finally deposited everything in his study.

Nat sat alone at his desk. The phone hadn’t rung once since he’d arrived home. The apartment felt strangely empty without Su Ling and Luke; he’d got used to them both being there to greet him whenever he came home. Thank God the boy was too young to know what they were going through.

At midday, he went to the kitchen, opened a can of corned beef hash and tipped it into a frying pan, added some butter, cracked two eggs on top and waited until they looked done.

After lunch, he typed out a list of financial institutions that had been in contact with him during the past year, and then settled down to call them one by one. He started with a bank that had phoned him only a few days before.

‘Oh hi, Nat, yes sorry, we managed to fill the position last Friday.’

‘Good afternoon, Nat, that sounds an interesting proposition, give me a couple of days to think about it, and I’ll come back to you.’

‘It was good of you to call, Mr Cartwright, but...’

When Nat had reached the end of the list, he put the phone down. He’d just been devalued, and there was obviously a sell order out on him. He checked his current account. It was still showing a healthy balance, but for how much longer? He glanced up at the oil painting above his desk. Reclining Nude by Camoin. He wondered just how long it would be before he had to return one of his mistresses to the gallery pimp.

The phone rang. Had one of them thought about it and called him back? He picked it up and heard a familiar voice.

‘I must apologize, Mr Russell,’ Nat said. ‘I should have called you earlier.’

Once Logan had left the firm, Fletcher felt isolated and hardly a day went by when Elliot didn’t try to undermine him, so when Bill Alexander asked to see him on Monday morning, Fletcher sensed it wasn’t going to be a friendly encounter.

Over supper with Annie on Sunday evening, he told his wife everything that had taken place during the past few days, trying hard not to exaggerate. Annie listened in silence.

‘If you don’t tell Mr Alexander the truth about his nephew, both of you will live to regret it.’

‘It’s not that easy,’ said Fletcher.

‘The truth is always that easy,’ said Annie. ‘Logan has been treated disgracefully, and if it hadn’t been for you, he might never have been offered another job. Your only mistake was not telling Alexander the moment the meeting was over; that’s given Elliot the confidence to go on undermining you.’

‘And if he sacks me as well?’

‘Then it isn’t a firm you should have joined in the first place, Fletcher Davenport, and you would certainly not be the man I chose to marry.’

When Fletcher arrived outside Mr Alexander’s door a few minutes before nine, Mrs Townsend ushered him straight though to the senior partner’s office.

‘Have a seat,’ said Bill Alexander pointing to the chair on the other side of the desk. No ‘nice to see you, Fletcher’, just ‘have a seat’. No ‘how’s Annie and Lucy’, just have a seat. Those three words resolved Fletcher in the belief that Annie was right, and he must not be fearful of standing up for what he believed in.

‘Fletcher, when you first came to Alexander Dupont and Bell nearly two years ago, I had high hopes for you, and indeed during your first year you more than lived up to my expectations. We all recall with some considerable pleasure the Higgs and Dunlop incident. But of late, you have not shown the same resolution.’ Fletcher looked puzzled. He had seen Matt Cunliffe’s most recent report on him, and the word exemplary had stuck in his mind. ‘I think we have the right to assume a standard of loyalty second to none in the legal profession,’ continued Alexander. Fletcher remained silent, not yet sure of the crime he was about to be charged with. ‘It has been brought to my attention that you were also in the bar with Fitzgerald on the night he was having a drink with his friend.’

‘Information supplied by your nephew, no doubt,’ said Fletcher, ‘whose role in this whole affair has been far from impartial.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Quite simply that Mr Elliot’s version of events is based totally on self-interest, as I feel sure a man of your perspicacity has already worked out.’

‘Perspicacity?’ said Alexander. ‘Was it perspicacious of you to be seen in the company of Fitzgerald’s friend?’ He emphasized the word again.

‘I did not meet Logan’s friend, as I feel sure Mr Elliot told you, unless he only wanted you to know half the story. I left for Ridgewood...’

‘But Ralph told me that you later returned.’

‘Yes I did, and like any good spy, your nephew must also have reported that I only went back to pick up my scarf, which had fallen out of the sleeve of my overcoat.’

‘No, he did not report that,’ said Alexander.

‘Which is what I mean by only telling you half the story,’ said Fletcher.

‘So you didn’t speak to Logan or his friend?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Fletcher, ‘but that was only because I was in a hurry, and didn’t have time.’

‘So you would have spoken to him?’

‘Yes, I would.’

‘Even if you’d known that Logan was a homosexual?’

‘I neither knew nor cared.’

‘You didn’t care?’

‘No, I did not consider Logan’s private life was any of my business.’

‘But it might have been the firm’s business, which brings me on to more important matters. Are you aware that Logan Fitzgerald has since joined the firm that employs your brother-in-law?’

‘Yes, I am,’ said Fletcher, ‘I told Mr Gates that Logan would be looking for a job and they’d be lucky to get a man of his calibre.’

‘I wonder if that was wise,’ said Bill Alexander.

‘When it comes to dealing with a friend, I have a tendency to put decency and fairness ahead of my own self-interest.’

‘And ahead of the firm’s?’

‘Yes, if it’s morally right. That’s what Professor Abrahams taught me.’

‘Don’t bandy words with me, Mr Davenport.’

‘Why not? You’ve been bandying them with me, Mr Alexander.’

The senior partner turned scarlet. ‘You must realize that I could have you thrown out of this firm.’

‘Two of us leaving in the same week may take some explaining, Mr Alexander.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No, I think it’s you who is threatening me.’

‘It may not be that easy to get rid of you, Mr Davenport, but I can make damn sure you never become a partner while I’m a member of this firm. Now get out.’

As he rose to leave, Fletcher recalled Annie’s words. Then it’s not the firm you should have joined in the first place.

He returned to his office to find the phone ringing. Was Alexander calling him back? He picked it up ready to offer his resignation. It was Jimmy.

‘Sorry to bother you at work, Fletcher, but Dad’s had a heart attack. He’s been taken to St Patrick’s. Can you and Annie get over to Hartford as quickly as possible?’

27

‘I’ve got myself a proper job,’ said Nat as Su Ling walked through the door.

‘You’re going to be a New York cab driver?’

‘No,’ replied Nat. ‘I don’t have the qualifications for that job.’

‘That’s never seemed to hinder anyone in the past.’

‘But not living in New York might.’

‘We’re leaving New York? Please tell me that we’re going somewhere civilized where skyscrapers will be replaced with trees and exhaust fumes by fresh air.’

‘We’re going home.’

‘Hartford? Then it can only be Russell’s.’

‘You’re right, Mr Russell has offered me a job as vice-president of the bank, working alongside Tom.’

‘Serious banking? Not just speculating in the currency market?’

‘I’ll oversee his currency department, but I can promise you that it concentrates mainly on foreign exchange, not speculation. What Mr Russell most needs is for Tom and me to work on a complete reorganization of the bank. During the past few years Russell’s has been falling behind its competitors and...’ Su Ling placed her bag on the hall table and walked over to the phone. ‘Who are you calling?’ asked Nat.

‘My mother, of course, we must start looking for a house, and then we’ll have to consider a school for Luke, and once she’s got to work on that, I’ll need to be in touch with some former colleagues about a job, and then...’

‘Hold on, little flower,’ said Nat, taking his wife in his arms. ‘Am I to assume from this that you approve of the idea?’

‘Approve? I can’t wait to get out of New York. The idea of Luke starting his education in a school where the kids use machetes to sharpen their pencils horrifies me. I also can’t wait...’ The phone rang and Su Ling picked it up. She cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘It’s someone named Jason, from Chase Manhattan. Shall I tell him you’re no longer available?’

Nat smiled and took the phone.

‘Hi, Jason, what can I do for you?’

‘I’ve been thinking about your call, Nat, and we may just have an opening for you at Chase.’

‘That’s kind of you, Jason, but I’ve already accepted another offer.’

‘Not one of our rivals, I hope?’

‘Not yet, but give me a little time,’ said Nat, smiling.

When Fletcher reported to Matt Cunliffe that his father-in-law had been taken into the hospital, he was surprised to find that he was not all that sympathetic.

‘Domestic crises arise fairly often,’ Cunliffe remarked curtly. ‘We all have families to worry about. Are you sure this can’t wait until the weekend?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Fletcher, ‘I owe more to this man than anyone other than my parents.’

Fletcher had only left Bill Alexander’s room for a few moments, and already there was a less than subtle change in the atmosphere. He assumed that, by the time he returned, that change would have spread like a contagious disease to the rest of the staff.

He phoned Annie from Penn Station. She sounded calm, but relieved to know he was on his way home. When Fletcher stepped on to the train, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t brought any work with him for the first time since he joined the firm. He used the journey to consider his next move following his meeting with Bill Alexander, but he’d come to no definite conclusions by the time the train pulled into Ridgewood.

Fletcher took a cab from the station, and was not surprised to find the family car parked outside the front door, two suitcases already in the trunk, and Annie walking down the drive with Lucy in her arms. How different from his mother, he thought, yet how similar. He laughed for the first time that day.

On the journey up to Hartford, Annie reported all the details she’d picked up from her mother. Harry had suffered a heart attack a few minutes after arriving at the Capitol that morning, and was immediately rushed into hospital. Martha was by his side, and Jimmy, Joanna and the children were already on their way down from Vassar.

‘What are the doctors saying?’

‘That it’s too early for anything conclusive, but Dad has been warned that if he doesn’t slow down, it could well happen again and next time it might prove fatal.’

‘Slow down? Harry doesn’t know what the words mean. He’s one of fife’s speeding tickets.’

‘He may have been,’ said Annie, ‘but Mom and I are going to tell him this afternoon that he has to withdraw his name as a senate candidate at the next election.’

Bill Russell stared across his desk at Nat and Tom. ‘It’s what I’ve always wanted,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sixty in a couple of years’ time, and I feel I’ve earned the right not to be opening up the bank at ten every morning, and locking the front door before I go home at night. The thought of you two working together — to quote the Good Book — fills my heart with joy.’

‘I don’t know about the Good Book,’ said Tom, ‘but we feel the same way, Dad. So where do you want us to start?’

‘Of course I’m aware that the bank has fallen behind its rivals during the past few years, perhaps because as a family firm we’ve put greater emphasis on customer relations than on the bottom line. Something your father would approve of, Nat, which is perhaps why he’s had an account with us for over thirty years.’ Nat nodded his agreement. ‘You’ll also be aware that there have been one or two approaches from other banks with a view to taking us over, but that isn’t how I wanted to end my career with Bussell’s — just ending up as an anonymous branch of some vast corporation. So I’ll tell you what I have in mind. I want both of you to spend your first six months taking the bank apart from top to bottom. I’ll give you carte blanche to ask any questions, open any doors, read any files, study any accounts. At the end of those six months, you will report back what needs to be done. And don’t give a moment’s thought to trying to placate my feelings, because I know that if Bussell’s is to survive into the next century, it will need a complete overhaul. So what’s your first question?’

‘Can I have the front door keys?’ asked Nat.

‘Why?’ asked Mr Russell.

‘Because ten o’clock is a little too late for the staff of a progressive bank to be opening.’

As Tom drove them back to New York, he and Nat set about dividing their responsibilities.

‘Dad was touched that you turned down Chase to join us,’ said Tom.

‘You made exactly the same sacrifice when you left the Bank of America.’

‘Yes, but the old man has always assumed that I’d take over from him once he reached his sixty-fifth birthday, and I was just about to warn him that I wasn’t willing to do so.’

‘Why not?’ enquired Nat.

‘I don’t have the vision or ideas that are required to rescue the bank, but you do.’

‘Rescue?’ said Nat.

‘Yes, don’t let’s kid ourselves. You’ve studied the balance sheet, so you know only too well that we’re just about clearing enough to allow my parents to maintain their standard of living. But the profits haven’t risen for some years; the truth is that the bank needs your particular skills more than it requires an efficient packhorse like me. So it’s important to settle one thing before it ever becomes an issue — in banking terms I intend to report to you as chief executive.’

‘But it will still be necessary for you to become chairman once your father retires.’

‘Why?’ asked Tom. ‘When you’ll obviously be making all the strategic decisions?’

‘Because the bank bears your name, and that still matters in a town like Hartford. It’s equally important that the customers never find out what the chief executive is up to behind the scenes.’

‘I’ll go along with that on one condition,’ said Tom, ‘that all salaries, bonuses and any other financial considerations are allocated on an equal basis.’

‘That’s very generous of you,’ said Nat.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Tom. ‘Shrewd perhaps, but not generous, because fifty per cent of you will bring in a far higher return than one hundred per cent of me.’

‘Don’t forget that I’ve just lost Morgan’s a fortune,’ said Nat.

‘And no doubt learnt from the experience.’

‘Just as we did when we were up against Ralph Elliot.’

‘Now there’s a name from the past. Any idea what he’s up to?’ asked Tom as he turned on to Route 95.

‘The last thing I heard was that after Stanford he’d become a hot-shot lawyer in New York.’

‘I wouldn’t want to be one of his clients,’ said Tom.

‘Or go up against him for that matter,’ said Nat.

‘Well, at least that’s something we don’t have to worry about.’

Nat looked out of the grimy window as they travelled through Queens. ‘Don’t be too sure, Tom, because if anything were to go wrong, he’ll want to represent the other side.’

They sat in a circle around his bed, chatting about anything and everything except what was on their minds. The one exception was Lucy, who remained firmly in the middle of the bed and treated grandpa as if he was a rocking horse. Joanna’s children were more restrained. Fletcher couldn’t believe how quickly Harry Junior was growing.

‘Now before I get too tired,’ said Harry, ‘I need to have a private word with Fletcher.’

Martha shepherded the family out of the room, clearly aware of what her husband wanted to discuss with his son-in-law.

‘I’ll see you back at the house later,’ said Annie, as she dragged a reluctant Lucy away.

‘And then we should be starting back for Ridgewood,’ Fletcher reminded her. ‘I can’t afford to be late for work tomorrow.’ Annie nodded as she closed the door,

Fletcher drew up a chair and sat by the senator’s side. He didn’t bother with any Smalltalk, as his father-in-law was looking tired.

‘I’ve given a great deal of thought to what I’m about to say,’ said the senator, ‘and the only other person I’ve discussed it with is Martha, and she is in complete agreement with me. And like so many things over the past thirty years, I can’t be sure if it wasn’t her idea in the first place.’ Fletcher smiled. How like Annie, he thought, as he waited for the senator to continue. ‘I’ve promised Martha that I won’t run for re-election.’ The senator paused. ‘I see you’re not putting up any protest, so I must assume that you agree with my wife and daughter on this subject.’

‘Annie would prefer you to live to an old age, rather than die making a speech in the Senate Chamber, however important,’ said Fletcher, ‘and I agree with her.’

‘I know they’re right, Fletcher, but by God I’ll miss it.’

‘And they will miss you, sir, as you can see from the flowers and cards already in this room. By this time tomorrow, they’ll have filled every other room on this floor and be spilling out on to the pavement.’ The senator ignored the compliment, clearly not wishing to be diverted from his course.

‘When Jimmy was born, I had the crazy notion that one day he would take my place, perhaps even go on to Washington and represent the state. But it wasn’t long before I realized that was never going to be a possibility. I couldn’t be more proud of him, but he just isn’t cut out for public office.’

‘He made a damn fine job of getting me elected as president,’ said Fletcher. ‘Twice.’

‘He did indeed,’ said Harry, ‘but Jimmy should always be in the engine room, because he isn’t destined to be the driver.’ He paused again. ‘But then some twelve years ago I met a young man at the Hotchkiss-Taft football game, who I knew couldn’t wait to be the driver. A meeting incidentally, that I shall never forget.’

‘Nor me, sir,’ said Fletcher.

‘As the years passed, I watched that boy grow into a fine young man, and I’m proud he’s now my son-in-law and father of my granddaughter. And before I grow too maudlin, Fletcher, I think I ought to come to the point in case one of us falls asleep.’ Fletcher laughed.

‘Pretty soon I shall have to let it be known that I will not be running for re-election to the Senate.’ He raised his head and looked directly at Fletcher. ‘I would, at the same time, like to say how proud I am to announce that my son-in-law, Fletcher Davenport, has agreed to run in my place.’

28

It didn’t take six months for Nat to discover why Russell’s Bank had failed to increase its profits in over a decade. Almost every modern banking tenet had been ignored. Russell’s still lived in an age of written ledgers, personalized accounts and a sincerely held belief that the computer was more likely to make mistakes than a human being, and was therefore a waste of the bank’s time and money. Nat was in and out of Mr Russell’s office three or four times a day, only to find that something they had agreed on in the morning had been reversed by the afternoon. This usually occurred whenever a long-standing member of staff was seen leaving the same office an hour later with a smile on his or her face. It was often left for Tom to pick up the pieces; in fact, if he hadn’t been there to explain to his father why the changes were necessary, there might never have been a six-month report to present.

Nat would come home most nights exhausted and sometimes infuriated. He warned Su Ling there was likely to be a showdown when his report was finally presented. And he wasn’t altogether sure that he would still be the bank’s vice-president if the chairman was unable to stomach almost all of the changes he was recommending. Su Ling didn’t complain, although she had just about managed to get the three of them settled in their new house, sell the apartment in New York, find a nursery school for Luke, and prepare to take up her new appointment as professor of statistics at UConn in the fall. The idea of moving back to New York didn’t appeal to her.

In between, she had advised Nat on which computers would be most cost-effective for the bank, supervised their installation and also given night classes to those members of the staff who appreciated there was more to leam than how to press the on button. But Nat’s biggest problem was the bank’s chronic over-staffing. He had already pointed out to the chairman that Russell’s currently employed seventy-one staff and that Bennett’s, the only other independent bank in town, offered the same services with only thirty-nine employees. Nat wrote a separate report on the financial implications of over-staffing, suggesting an early retirement programme that, although it would cut into their profits for the next three years, would be highly beneficial in the long term. This was the sticking point on which Nat was unwilling to budge. Because, as he explained to Tom over dinner with Su ling, if they waited for another couple of years until Mr Russell retired, they would all be joining the ranks of the unemployed.

Once Mr Russell had read Nat’s report, he scheduled a Friday evening at six o’clock for the showdown. When Nat and Tom walked into the chairman’s office they found him at his desk writing a letter. He looked up as they entered the room.

‘I’m sorry to say that I’m unable to go along with your recommendations,’ said Mr Russell even before his two vice-presidents had sat down, ‘because I do not wish to fire employees, some of whom I have known and worked with for the past thirty years.’ Nat tried to smile as he thought about being sacked twice in six months, and wondered if Jason at Chase might still have an opening for him. ‘So I have come to the conclusion,’ continued the chairman, ‘that if this is going to work,’ he placed his hands on the report, as if blessing it, ‘the one person who will have to go is me.’ He scribbled his signature on the bottom of the letter he had been writing, and handed his resignation over to his son.

Bill Russell left the office at 6.12 that evening, and never entered the building again.

‘What are your qualifications to run for public office?’

Fletcher looked down from his place on the stage at the small group of journalists seated in front of him. Harry smiled. It was one of the seventeen questions and answers they had prepared the previous evening.

‘I don’t have a great deal of experience,’ admitted Fletcher, he hoped disarmingly, ‘but I was born, brought up and educated in Connecticut before going to New York to join one of the most prestigious law firms in the country. I’ve come home to put those skills to work for the people of Hartford.’

‘Don’t you feel that twenty-six is a bit young to be telling us how we should be running our lives?’ asked a young lady seated in the second row.

‘Same age as I was,’ said Harry, ‘and your father never complained.’ One or two of the older hacks smiled, but the young woman wasn’t quite so easily put off.

‘But you had just returned from a world war, senator, with three year’s experience as an officer at the front, so may I ask, Mr Davenport, did you burn your draft card during the height of the Vietnam war?’

‘No, I did not,’ said Fletcher, ‘I was not drafted, but had I been, I would have served willingly.’

‘Can you prove that?’ the journalist snapped back.

‘No,’ said Fletcher, ‘but if you were to read my speech at the Yale’s freshman debate, you would be left in no doubt of my feelings on this subject.’

‘If you are elected,’ asked another member of the press, ‘will your father-in-law be pulling the strings?’

Harry glanced across and saw that the question had annoyed Fletcher. ‘Calm down,’ he whispered. ‘He’s only doing his job. Stick to the answer we agreed on.’

‘If I am fortunate enough to be elected,’ said Fletcher, ‘it would be foolish of me not to take advantage of Senator Gates’s wealth of experience, and I will stop listening to him only when I consider he has nothing left to teach me.’

‘What do you feel about the Kendrick Amendment to the finance bill currently being debated in the house?’ The ball came swinging in from left field, and it certainly wasn’t one of the seventeen questions they had prepared for.

‘That’s a bit rough isn’t it, Robin?’ said the senator, ‘after all, Fletcher is...’

‘In so far as the clause affects senior citizens, I believe it discriminates against those who have already retired and are on fixed incomes. Most of us will have to retire at some time, and the only thing I remember Confucius saying was that a civilized society was one that educated its young and took care of its old. If I am elected, when Senator Kendrick’s amendment to the bill comes before the Senate, I will vote against it. Bad laws can be drafted in a legislative session, but then take years to repeal, and I will only ever vote for a bill that I believe can be realistically administered.’

Harry sat back in his chair. ‘Next question,’ he said.

‘In your CV, Mr Davenport, which I must say was most impressive, you claim you resigned from Alexander Dupont and Bell in order to run in this election.’

‘That is correct,’ said Fletcher.

‘Did a colleague of yours, a Mr Logan Fitzgerald, also resign around that time?’

‘Yes, he did.’

‘Is there any connection between his resignation and yours?’

‘None whatsoever,’ said Fletcher firmly.

‘What are you getting at?’ asked Harry.

‘Just a call from our New York office which they asked me to follow up,’ replied the journalist.

‘Anonymous, no doubt,’ said Harry.

‘I’m not at liberty to reveal my sources,’ the journalist replied, trying hard not to smirk.

‘Just in case your New York office didn’t tell you who that informant was, I’ll let you know his name just as soon as this press conference is over,’ snapped Fletcher.

‘Well, I think that just about wraps it up,’ said Harry, before anyone could ask a supplementary question. ‘Thank you all for joining us. You’ll get a regular shot at the candidate in his weekly campaign press conferences — which is more than I ever gave you.’

‘That was awful,’ said Fletcher as they walked off the stage. ‘I must learn to control my temper.’

‘You did just fine, my boy,’ said Harry, ‘and by the time I’ve finished with the bastards, the only thing they will remember about this morning was your answer on the Kendrick’s amendment to the finance bill. And frankly, the press are the least of our problems.’ Harry paused ominously. ‘The real battle will begin when we discover who the Republican candidate is.’

29

‘What do you know about her?’ asked Fletcher as they walked down the street together.

There wasn’t a lot Harry didn’t know about Barbara Hunter, as she had been his opponent for the past two elections, and a perpetual thorn in his flesh during the intervening years.

‘She’s forty-eight, born in Hartford, daughter of a farmer, educated in the local school system, and then at the University of Connecticut, married to a successful advertising executive, with three children, all living in the state, and she’s currently a member of the State Congress.’

‘Any bad news?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Yes, she doesn’t drink and is a vegetarian, so you’ll be visiting every bar and butcher in the constituency. And like anyone who has spent a lifetime in local politics, she’s made her fair share of enemies on the way, and as she barely won the Republican nomination this time round, you can be sure that several party activists didn’t want her in the first place. But more important, she lost the last two elections, so we paint her as a loser.’

Harry and Fletcher entered the Democratic headquarters on Park Street to find the front window covered in posters and photos of the candidate, something Fletcher still hadn’t become used to. The Right Man for the Job. He hadn’t thought a lot of the slogan until the media experts explained that it was good to have the words ‘right’ and ‘man’ in the message when your opponent was a Republican woman. Subliminal, they had explained.

Harry walked up the stairs to the conference room on the first floor, and took his seat at the head of the table. Fletcher yawned as he sat down, although they had only been campaigning for seven days; and there were still twenty-six to go. The mistakes you make today are history tomorrow morning, your triumphs forgotten by the early evening news. Pace yourself, was one of Harry’s most repeated maxims.

Fletcher looked around at the assembled group, a combination of pros and seasoned amateurs, with Harry no longer their candidate, but instead pressed into being campaign chairman. It was the only concession Martha had allowed, but she had told Fletcher to send him home the moment he showed the slightest sign of fatigue. As each day passed, it became harder to keep to Martha’s instructions, as it was Harry who always set the pace.

‘Anything new or devastating?’ Harry asked as he looked around the team, one or two of whom had played a role in all seven of his election victories. In the last encounter, he’d beaten Barbara Hunter by over five thousand votes, but with the polls now running neck and neck, they were about to find out just how much of that vote had been personal.

‘Yes,’ said a voice from the other end of the table. Harry smiled down at Dan Mason who had been with him for six of his seven campaigns. Dan had started by working the copier, and was now in charge of press and public relations.

‘The floor’s all yours, Dan.’

‘Barbara Hunter has just issued a press release challenging Fletcher to a debate. Presumably I tell her to get lost, and add that it’s a sign of someone who is desperate and knows they are going to lose. That’s what you always did.’

Harry was silent for a moment. ‘You’re right, Dan, I did,’ he eventually said, ‘but only because I was the incumbent and treated her as an upstart. In any case, I had nothing to gain from a debate, but that situation has changed now that we’re fielding an unknown candidate, so I think we need to discuss the idea more fully before we come to any conclusion. What are the advantages and disadvantages? Opinions?’ he said. Voices all started speaking at once.

‘Gives our man more exposure.’

‘Gives her the centre stage.’

‘Proves we have the outstanding debater, which because of his youth will come as a surprise.’

‘She knows the local problems — we could look inexperienced and ill-informed.’

‘We look young, dynamic, and energetic’

‘She looks experienced, canny and seasoned.’

‘We represent the youth of tomorrow.’

‘She represents the women of today.’

‘Fletcher could wipe the floor with her.’

‘She wins the debate, and we lose the election.’

‘Well, now we’ve heard the committee’s views, perhaps it’s time to consider the candidate’s,’ said Harry.

‘I’m quite happy to debate with Mrs Hunter,’ said Fletcher. ‘People will assume she’s more impressive simply because of her past record and my lack of experience, so I must try and turn that to our advantage.’

‘But if she outshines you on local issues, and makes it look as if you’re just not ready to do the job,’ said Dan, ‘then the election will be over in one evening. Don’t think of it as a thousand people in a hall. Try to remember that the whole event will be covered by local radio and television, and is certain to be plastered over the front page of the Hartford Courant the following morning.’

‘But that could work to our advantage as well,’ said Harry.

‘I agree,’ said Dan, ‘but it’s one hell of a risk to take.’

‘How long have I got to think about it?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Five minutes,’ said Harry, ‘perhaps ten, because if she’s issued a press statement, they’ll want to know our immediate response.’

‘Can’t we say we need a little time to think about it?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Harry, ‘that would look as if we’re debating the debate, and in the end you’d have to give in, so she then wins both ways. We either turn it down firmly, or accept it with enthusiasm. Perhaps we should take a vote on it,’ he added, looking around the table. ‘Those in favour?’ Eleven hands shot up. ‘Against?’ Fourteen hands were raised. ‘Well, that’s the end of that.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ said Fletcher. Everyone seated round the table stopped talking and looked at the candidate. ‘I am grateful for your opinions, but I do not intend to spend my political career being run by a committee, especially when the vote is that close. Dan, you will issue a statement saying I’m delighted to accept Mrs Hunter’s challenge, and look forward to debating the real issues with her, rather than the political posturing that the Republicans seem to have specialized in from the start of this campaign.’ There was a moment’s silence, before the room broke into spontaneous applause.

Harry smiled. ‘Those in favour of a debate?’ Every hand shot up. ‘Those against?’ None. ‘I declare the motion carried unanimously.’

‘Why did we have a second vote?’ Fletcher asked Harry as they left the room.

‘So that we can tell the press that the decision was unanimous.’

Fletcher smiled as they headed towards the station. Another lesson learnt.

A team of twelve canvassed the station every morning, most of them handing out leaflets, while the candidate shook hands with the early commuters leaving the city. Harry had told him to concentrate on those going into the station, because they almost certainly lived in Hartford, whereas those coming off the trains probably didn’t have a vote in the constituency.

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

At eight thirty they crossed the road to Ma’s and grabbed an egg and bacon sandwich. Once Ma had given her opinion on how the election was going, they headed off for the city’s insurance district to shake hands with ‘the suits’ as they arrived at their offices. In the car, Fletcher put on a Yale tie, which he knew many of the executives would identify with.

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

At nine thirty, they returned to campaign HQ for the early morning press conference. Barbara Hunter had already held hers an hour earlier, so Fletcher knew that there would only be one subject on the agenda that morning. On the way back, he replaced the Yale tie with something more neutral as he listened to the headlines on the morning news update, to make sure he couldn’t be surprised by a piece of breaking news. War had broken out in the Middle East. He would leave that to President Ford, because it wasn’t going to end up on the front page of the Hartford Courant.

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

When Harry opened the morning press conference, he told the assembled journalists even before they could ask the question that it had been a unanimous decision to take on Mrs Hunter head to head. Harry never referred to her as Barbara. When questioned about the debate — venue, time, format — Harry said this was yet to be decided, as they had only received the challenge earlier that morning, but he added, ‘I don’t foresee any problems.’ Harry knew only too well that the debate would throw up nothing but problems.

Fletcher was surprised by Harry’s reply when asked what he thought of the candidate’s chances. He had expected the senator to talk about his debating skills, his legal experience and his political acumen, but instead Harry said, Well of course, Mrs Hunter starts off with a built-in advantage. We all know that she’s a seasoned debater, with a great deal of experience on local issues, but I consider it typical of Fletcher’s honest, open approach to this election that he’s agreed to take her on.’

‘Doesn’t that make it a tremendous risk, senator?’ asked another journalist.

‘Sure does,’ admitted Harry, ‘but as the candidate has pointed out, if he wasn’t man enough to face Mrs Hunter, how could the public expect him to take on the bigger challenge of representing them?’ Fletcher couldn’t remember saying anything like that, although he didn’t disagree with the sentiment.

Once the press conference was over, and the last journalist had departed, Fletcher said, ‘I thought you told me Barbara Hunter was a poor debater, and took forever answering questions?’

‘Yep, that’s exactly what I said,’ admitted Harry.

‘Then why did you tell the journalists that...’

‘It’s all about expectations, my boy. Now they think you’re not up to it,’ Harry replied, ‘and that she’ll wipe the floor with you, so even if you only manage a draw they’ll declare you the winner.’

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’ kept repeating itself over and over like some hit song he just couldn’t get out of his mind.

30

Nat was delighted when Tom popped his head round the door and asked, ‘Can I bring a guest to dinner tonight?’

‘Sure, business or pleasure?’ Nat asked, looking up from his desk.

Tom hesitated, ‘I’m rather hoping that it might be both.’

‘Female?’ said Nat, now more interested.

‘Decidedly female.’

‘Name?’

‘Julia Kirkbridge.’

‘And what...’

‘That’s enough of the third degree, you can ask her all the questions you want to tonight because she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ said Su Ling when Nat sprung an extra guest on her only moments after he’d arrived home.

‘I should have called, shouldn’t I?’ he said.

‘It would have made life a little easier, but I expect you were making millions at the time.’

‘Something like that,’ said Nat.

‘What do we know about her?’ asked Su Ling.

‘Nothing,’ said Nat. ‘You know Tom; when it comes to his private life, he’s even more secretive than a Swiss banker, but as he’s willing to let us meet her one can only live in hope.’

‘What happened to that gorgeous redhead called Maggie? I’d rather thought that...’

‘Disappeared like all the others. Can you ever remember him inviting anyone to join us for dinner a second time?’

Su Ling thought about the question for a moment, and then admitted, ‘Now you mention it, I can’t. I suppose it could just be my cooking.’

‘No, it’s not your cooking, but I’m afraid that you are to blame.’

‘Me?’ said Su ling.

‘Yes, you. The poor man has been besotted with you for years, so everyone he goes out with is dragged along to dinner so that Tom can compare...’

‘Oh no, not that old chestnut again,’ said Su Ling.

‘It’s not an old chestnut, little flower, it’s the problem.’

‘But he’s never done more than kiss me on the cheek.’

‘And he never will. I wonder how many people are in love with someone they have never even kissed on the cheek.’

Nat disappeared upstairs to read to Luke as Su Ling set a fourth place at the table. She was polishing an extra glass, when the doorbell rang.

‘Can you get it, Nat? I’m a bit tied up.’ There was no response, so she took off her apron and went to the front door.

‘Hi,’ said Tom as he bent down and kissed Su Ling on the cheek, which only brought Nat’s words to mind.

‘This is Julia,’ he said. Su Ling looked up at an elegant woman, who was nearly as tall as Tom, and almost as slim as she was, although her fair hair and blue eyes suggested a heritage nearer Scandinavia than the Far East.

‘How nice to meet you,’ said Julia. ‘I know it’s hackneyed, but I really have heard so much about you.’

Su Ling smiled as she took Julia’s fur coat. ‘My husband,’ she said, ‘is caught up with...’

‘Black cats,’ said Nat as he appeared by Su Ling’s side. ‘I’ve been reading The Cat in the Hat to Luke. Hi, I’m Nat, and you must be Julia.’

‘Yes, I am,’ she said, giving Nat a smile that reminded Su Ling that other women found her husband attractive. ‘Let’s go into the living room and have a drink,’ said Nat, ‘I’ve put some champagne on ice.’

‘Do we have something to celebrate?’ asked Tom.

‘Other than you being able to find someone who is willing to accompany you to dinner, no, I can’t think of anything in particular, unless...’ Julia laughed. ‘Unless we include a call from my lawyers to say that the Bennett’s takeover has been clinched.’

‘When did you hear about that?’ asked Tom.

‘Late this afternoon; Jimmy called to say that they’ve signed all the documents. All that we have to do now is hand over the cheque.’

‘You didn’t mention this when you came in,’ said Su Ling.

‘The thought of Julia coming to dinner drove it out of my mind,’ said Nat, ‘but I did discuss the deal with Luke.’

‘And what was his considered opinion?’ asked Tom.

‘He thought that a dollar was far too much to pay for a bank.’

‘A dollar?’ echoed Julia.

‘Yes, Bennett’s have been declaring a loss for the past five years and, if you exclude the banking premises, their long-term debt is no longer covered by their assets, so Luke may prove to be right if I can’t turn it around in time.’

‘How old is Luke?’ asked Julia,

‘Two, but he already has a proper grasp of financial matters.’

Julia laughed. ‘So tell me more about the bank, Nat.’

‘It’s only the beginning,’ he explained as he poured the champagne, ‘I still have my eye on Morgan’s.’

‘And how much is that going to cost you?’ asked Su Ling.

‘Around three hundred million at today’s prices, but by the time I’m ready to make a bid, it could be over a billion.’

‘I can’t think in those sort of sums,’ said Julia, ‘it’s way out of my league.’

‘Now that’s not true, Julia,’ said Tom. ‘Don’t forget I’ve studied your company’s accounts, and unlike Bennett’s, you’ve made a profit for the past five years.’

‘Yes, but only just over a million,’ said Julia, giving him that smile again.

‘Excuse me,’ said Su Ling, ‘while I check on dinner.’

Nat smiled at his wife and then glanced at Tom’s guest. He already had the feeling that Julia just might make it to a second date. ‘What do you do, Julia?’ asked Nat.

‘What do you think I do?’ was thrown back with the same flirtatious smile.

‘I’d say you were a model, possibly an actress.’

‘Not bad. I used to be a model when I was younger, but for the past six years I’ve been involved in real estate.’

Su Ling reappeared. ‘If you’d like to come through, dinner is just about ready.’

‘Real estate,’ said Nat as he accompanied his guest into the dining room, ‘I would never have guessed.’

‘But it’s true,’ said Tom. ‘And Julia wants us to handle her account. There’s a site she’s looking at in Hartford, and she will be depositing five hundred thousand dollars with the bank, in case she needs to move quickly.’

‘Why did you select us?’ asked Nat, as his wife placed a bowl of lobster bisque in front of her.

‘Because my late husband dealt with Mr Russell over the Robinson Mall site. Although we were the underbidden on that occasion and failed to secure the deal, Mr Russell didn’t charge us,’ said Julia. ‘Not even a fee.’

‘That sounds like my father,’ said Tom.

‘So my late husband said that if we were ever to look at anything else in this area, we should only bank with Russell’s.’

‘Things have changed since then,’ said Nat, ‘Mr Russell has retired and

‘But his son is still there, as chairman.’

‘And he has me breathing down his neck to make sure people like you are charged when we give them a professional service. Though you’ll be interested to know that the mall has been a great success, showing an excellent return for its investors. So what brings you to Hartford?’

‘I read that there are plans to build a second mall on the other side of the city.’

‘That’s right. The council is putting the land up for sale with a development permit.’

‘What sort of figure are they looking for?’ asked Julia as she sipped her soup.

‘Around three million is the word on the street, but I think it’s likely to end up nearer three point three to three point five after the success of the Robinson’s site.’

‘Three point five is our upper limit,’ said Julia. ‘My company is by nature cautious, and in any case, there’s always another deal around the corner.’

‘Perhaps we could interest you in some of the other properties we represent,’ said Nat.

‘No, thank you,’ said Julia. ‘My firm specializes in malls, and one of the many things my husband taught me was never to stray away from your field of expertise.’

‘Wise man, your late husband.’

‘He was,’ said Julia. ‘But I think that’s enough business for one night, so once my money has been deposited, perhaps the bank would be willing to represent me at the auction? However I require complete discretion, I don’t want anyone else to know who you’re bidding for. Something else my husband taught me.’ She turned her attention to the hostess. ‘Can I help you with the next course?’

‘No, thank you,’ said Su Ling, ‘Nat’s hopeless, but is just about capable of carrying four plates into the kitchen, and when he remembers, pouring the occasional glass of wine.’

‘So how did you two meet?’ asked Nat while, prompted by Su Ling’s comment, he began to refill the glasses.

‘You wouldn’t believe it,’ said Tom, ‘but we met on a building site.’

‘I’m sure there has to be a more romantic explanation.’

‘When I was checking over the council land last Sunday, I came across Julia out jogging.’

‘I thought you were insistent about discretion,’ said Nat smiling.

‘Not many people seeing a woman jogging over a building site on a Sunday morning think she wants to buy it.’

‘In fact,’ said Tom, ‘it wasn’t until I’d taken her out for dinner at the Cascade that I discovered what Julia was really up to.’

‘Corporate real estate must be a tough world for a woman,’ said Nat.

‘Yes it is,’ said Julia, ‘but I didn’t choose it, it chose me. You see, when I left college in Minnesota, I did some modelling for a short time, before I met my husband. It was his idea that I should look at sites whenever I went out jogging, and then report back to him. Within a year I knew exactly what he was looking for and within two, I had a place on the board.’

‘So you now run the company.’

‘No,’ said Julia, ‘I leave that to my chairman and chief executive officer, but I remain the majority shareholder.’

‘So you decided to stay involved after your husband’s death?’

‘Yes, that was his idea, he knew he only had a couple of years to live, and as we didn’t have any children he decided to teach me everything about the business. I think even he was surprised by how willing a pupil I turned out to be.’

Nat began to clear away the plates.

‘Anyone for creme brûlée?’ asked Su Ling.

‘I couldn’t eat another mouthful; that lamb was so tender,’ said Julia. ‘But don’t let that stop you,’ she added patting Tom’s stomach.

Nat glanced across at Tom, and thought he’d never seen him looking so content. He suspected that Julia might even come to dinner a third time.

‘Is that really the time?’ asked Julia, looking down at her watch. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, Su Ling, but please forgive me, I have a board meeting at ten tomorrow morning, so I ought to be leaving.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Su Ling, rising from her place.

Tom leapt up from his chair and accompanied Julia out into the hall, before helping her on with her coat. He kissed Su Ling on the cheek, thanking her for a wonderful evening.

‘I’m only sorry that Julia has to rush back to New York. Let’s make it my place next time.’

Nat glanced across at Su Ling and smiled, but she didn’t respond.

Nat found himself chuckling as he closed the front door. ‘Some woman that,’ he said when he joined his wife in the kitchen and grabbed a drying-up cloth.

‘She’s a phony,’ said Su Ling.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.

‘Exactly what I said, she’s a phony — phony accent, phony clothes, and her phony story was altogether too neat and tidy. Don’t do any business with her.’

‘What can go wrong if she deposits five hundred thousand with the bank?’

‘I’d be willing to bet a month’s salary that the five hundred thousand never turns up.’

Although Su Ling didn’t raise the subject again that night, when Nat arrived at his office the following morning, he asked his secretary to dig up all the financial details she could find on Kirkbridge & Company of New York. She was back an hour later with a copy of their annual report, and latest financial statement. Nat checked carefully through the report and his eye finally settled on the bottom line. They had made a profit of just over a million the previous year, and all the figures tallied with those Julia had talked about over dinner. He then checked the board of directors. Mrs Julia Kirkbridge was listed as a director, below the chairman and chief executive. But because of Su Ling’s apprehension, he decided to take the enquiry one step further. He dialled the telephone number of their office in New York, without going through his secretary.

‘Kirkbridge and Company, how can I help you?’ said a voice.

‘Good morning, would it be possible to speak to Mrs Kirkbridge?’

‘No, I’m afraid not, sir, she’s in a board meeting,’ Nat glanced at his watch and smiled, it was ten twenty-five, ‘but if you leave your number, I’ll ask her to call you back just as soon as she’s free.’

‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ said Nat. As he put the phone down it rang again immediately. ‘It’s Jeb in new accounts, Mr Cartwright, I thought you would want to know that we have just received a wire transfer from Chase for the sum of five hundred thousand, to be credited to the account of a Mrs Julia Kirkbridge.’

Nat couldn’t resist calling Su Ling to tell her the news.

‘She’s still a phony,’ his wife repeated.

31

‘Heads or tails?’ asked the moderator.

‘Tails,’ said Barbara Hunter.

‘Tails it is,’ said the moderator. He looked across at Mrs Hunter and nodded. Fletcher couldn’t complain, because he would have called heads — he always did — so only wondered what decision she would make. Would she speak first, because that would determine at the end of the evening that Fletcher spoke last? If, on the other hand...

‘I’ll speak first,’ she said.

Fletcher suppressed a smile. The tossing of the coin had proved irrelevant; if he’d won, he would have elected to speak second.

The moderator took his seat behind the desk on the centre of the stage. Mrs Hunter sat on his right, and Fletcher on his left, reflecting the ideology of their two parties. But selecting where they should sit had been the least of their problems. For the past ten days there had been arguments about where the debate should be held, what time it should begin, who the moderator should be, and even the height of the lecterns from which they would speak, because Barbara Hunter was five foot seven, and Fletcher six foot one. In the end, it was agreed there should be two lecterns of different heights, one on either side of the stage.

The moderator acceptable to both was chairman of the journalism department at UConn’s Hartford campus. He rose from his place.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Frank McKenzie, and I will be moderator for this evening’s debate. The format calls on Mrs Hunter to begin with a six-minute opening statement, followed by Mr Davenport. I feel I should warn both candidates that I will ring this bell,’ he picked up a small bell by his side and rang it firmly, which caused some laughter in the audience and helped break the tension, ‘at five minutes to warn you both that you have sixty seconds left to speak. I will then ring it again after six minutes when you must deliver your final sentence. Following their opening statements, both candidates will then answer questions from a selected panel for forty minutes. Finally, Mrs Hunter followed by Mr Davenport, will each make their closing remarks for three minutes. I now call upon Mrs Hunter to open proceedings.’

Barbara Hunter rose from her place and walked slowly over to her lectern on the right-hand side of the stage. She had calculated that since ninety per cent of the audience would be watching the debate on television, she would address the largest number of potential voters if she spoke first, especially as a world series game was due to be aired at eight thirty, when the majority of viewers would automatically switch channels. Since both of them would have made their opening remarks by that time, Fletcher felt it wasn’t that significant. But he also wanted to speak second so that he could pick up on some of the points Mrs Hunter made during her statement, and if at the end of the evening, he had the last word, perhaps it might be the only thing the audience would remember.

Fletcher listened attentively to a predictable and well rehearsed opening from Mrs Hunter. She held the lectern firmly as she spoke. ‘I was born in Hartford. I married a Hartford man, my children were born at St Patrick’s Hospital and all of them still live in the state capital, so I feel I am well qualified to represent the people of this great city.’ The first burst of applause flooded up from the floor. Fletcher checked the packed audience carefully, and noted that about half of them were joining in, while the other half remained silent.

Among Jimmy’s responsibilities for the evening was the allocation of seats. It had been agreed that both parties would be given three hundred tickets each, with four hundred left over for the general public. Jimmy and a small band of helpers had spent hours urging their supporters to apply for the remaining four hundred, but Jimmy realized that the Republicans would be just as assiduous in carrying out the same exercise, so it was always going to end up around fifty-fifty. Fletcher wondered how many genuinely neutral people there were sitting in the auditorium.

‘Don’t worry about the hall,’ Harry had told him, ‘the real audience will be watching you on television and they’re the ones you need to influence. Stare into the middle of the camera lens, and look sincere,’ he added with a grin.

Fletcher made notes as Mrs Hunter outlined her programme, and although the contents were sensible and worthy, she had the sort of delivery that allowed the mind to wander. When the moderator rang the bell at five minutes, Mrs Hunter was only about half-way through her speech and even paused while she turned a couple of pages. Fletcher was surprised that such a seasoned campaigner hadn’t calculated that the occasional burst of applause would cut into her time. Fletcher’s opening remarks were timed at just over five minutes. ‘Better to finish a few seconds early than have to rush towards the end,’ Harry had warned him again and again. Mrs Hunter’s peroration closed a few seconds after the second bell had rung, making it sound as if she had been cut short. Nevertheless, she still received rapturous applause from half of the audience, and courteous acknowledgment from the remainder.

‘I’ll now ask Mr Davenport to make his opening statement.’

Fletcher slowly approached the lectern on his side of the stage, feeling like a man just a few paces away from the gallows. He was somewhat relieved by the warm reception he received. He placed his five-page, double spaced, large-type script on the lectern and checked the opening sentence, though in truth he had been over the speech so many times he virtually knew it by heart. He looked down at the audience and smiled, aware that the moderator wouldn’t start the clock until he’d delivered his first word.

‘I think I’ve made one big mistake in my life,’ he began. ‘I wasn’t born in Hartford.’ The ripple of laughter helped him, ‘But I made up for it. I fell in love with a Hartford girl when I was only fourteen.’ Laughter and applause followed. Fletcher relaxed for the first time and delivered the rest of his opening remarks with a confidence that he hoped belied his youth. When the bell for five minutes rang, he was just about to begin his peroration. He completed it with twenty seconds to spare, making the final bell redundant. The applause he received was far greater than he had been greeted with when he first approached the lectern, but then the opening statement was no more than the end of the first round.

He glanced down at Harry and Jimmy, who were seated in the second row. Their smiles suggested he had survived the opening skirmish.

‘The time has now come for the question session,’ said the moderator, ‘which will last for forty minutes. The candidates are to give brief responses. I’ll start with Charles Lockhart of the Hartford Courant.’

‘Does either candidate believe the educational grants system should be reformed?’ asked the local editor crisply.

Fletcher was well prepared for this question, as it had come up again and again at local meetings, and was regularly the subject of editorials in Mr Lockhart’s paper. He was invited to respond as Hunter had spoken first.

‘There should never be any discrimination that makes it harder for someone from a poor background to attend college. It is not enough to believe in equality, we must also insist on equality of opportunity.’ This was greeted with a sprinkling of applause and Fletcher smiled down at the audience,

‘Fine words,’ responded Mrs Hunter cutting into the applause, ‘but you out there will also expect fine deeds. I’ve sat on school boards so you don’t have to lecture me on discrimination, Mr Davenport, and if I am fortunate enough to be elected senator, I will back legislation that supports the claims of all men,’ she paused, ‘and women, to equal opportunities.’ She stood back from the lectern while her supporters began cheering. She turned her gaze on Fletcher. ‘Perhaps someone who has had the privilege of being educated at Hotchkiss and Yale might not be able to fully grasp that.’

Damn, thought Fletcher, I forgot to tell them that Annie sat on a school board, and they had just enrolled Lucy in Hartford Elementary, a local public school. When there had only been twelve in the audience, he had remembered every time.

Questions on local taxes, hospital staffing, public transportation and crime predictably followed. Fletcher recovered from the opening salvo and began to feel that the session would end in a draw, until the moderator called for the last question.

‘Do the candidates consider themselves truly independent, or will their policies be dictated by the party machine, and their vote in the Senate dependent on the views of retired politicians?’ The questioner was Jill Bernard, weekend anchor of a local radio talk show, which seemed to have Barbara Hunter on every other day.

Mrs Hunter replied immediately. ‘All of you in this hall know that I had to fight every inch of the way to win my party’s nomination, and unlike some, it wasn’t handed to me on a plate. In fact, I’ve had to fight for everything in my life, as my parents couldn’t afford silver spoons. And may I remind you that I haven’t hesitated to stand firm on issues whenever I believed my party was wrong. It didn’t always make me popular, but no one has ever doubted my independence. If elected to the senate, I wouldn’t be on the phone every day seeking advice on how I should vote. I will be making the decisions and I will stand by them.’ She finished to rapturous applause.

The knot in his stomach, the sweat in the palms of his hands, and the weakness in his legs had all returned as Fletcher tried to collect his thoughts. He looked down at the audience to see every eye boring into him.

‘I was born in Farmington, just a few miles away from this hall. My parents are long-standing active contributors to the Hartford community through their professional and voluntary work, in particular for St Patrick’s hospital.’ He looked down at his parents, who were sitting in the fifth row. His father’s head was held high, his mother’s was bowed. ‘My mother sat on so many non-profit boards, I thought I must be an orphan, but they have both come along to support me tonight. Yes, I did go to Hotchkiss, and Mrs Hunter is right. It was a privilege. Yes, I did go to Yale, a great Connecticut university. Yes, I did become president of the college council, and yes I was editor of the Law Review, which is why I was invited to join one of the most prestigious legal firms in New York. I make no apology for never being satisfied with second place. And I was equally delighted to give all that up so that I could return to Hartford and put something back into the community where I was raised. By the way, on the salary the state are offering, I won’t be able to afford many silver spoons and so far, no one’s offered me anything on a plate.’ The audience burst into spontaneous applause. He waited for the applause to die down, before he lowered his voice almost to a whisper. ‘Don’t let’s disguise what this questioner was getting at. Will I regularly be on the phone to my father-in-law, Senator Harry Gates? I expect so, I am married to his only daughter.’ More laughter followed. ‘But let me remind you of something you already know about Harry Gates. He’s served this constituency for twenty-eight years with honour and integrity, at a time when those two words seem to have lost their meaning, and frankly,’ said Fletcher turning to face his Republican rival, ‘neither of us is worthy to take his place. But if I am elected, you bet I’ll take advantage of his wisdom, his experience and his foresight; only a blinkered egotist wouldn’t. But let me also make one thing clear,’ he said, turning back to face the audience, ‘I will be the person who represents you in the Senate.’

Fletcher returned to his place with over half of the audience on their feet cheering. Mrs Hunter had made the mistake of attacking him on ground where he needed no preparation. She tried to recover in her closing remarks, but the blow had been landed.

When the moderator said, ‘I’d like to thank both candidates,’ Fletcher did something Harry had recommended at lunch the previous Sunday. He immediately walked across to his opponent, shook her by the hand, and paused to allow the Courant’s photographer to record the moment.

The following day, the picture of the two of them dominated the front page, and achieved exactly what Harry had hoped for — the image of a six-foot-one man, towering over a five-foot-seven woman. ‘And don’t smile, look serious,’ he’d added. ‘We need them to forget how young you are.’

Fletcher read the words below the picture — nothing between them. The editorial said that he had held his own in the debate, but Barbara Hunter still led the opinion polls by two per cent with only nine days to go.

32

‘Do you mind if I smoke?’

‘No, it’s only Su Ling who doesn’t approve of the habit.’

‘I don’t think she approves of me either,’ said Julia Kirkbridge, as she flicked on her lighter.

‘You have to remember that she was brought up by a very conservative mother,’ said Tom. ‘She even disapproved of Nat to begin with, but she’ll come round, especially when I tell her...’

‘Shh,’ said Julia, ‘for now that must remain our little secret.’ She inhaled deeply, and then added, ‘I like Nat; you two obviously make a good team.’

‘We do, but I’m keen to close this deal while he’s on holiday, especially after his triumph in taking over our oldest rival.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Julia, ‘but how do you rate our chances?’

‘It’s beginning to look as if there are only two or three serious bidders in the field. The restrictions set out in the council’s offer document should eliminate any cowboys.’

‘Restrictions?’

‘The council is demanding not only that the bidding must be by public auction, but that the full amount has to be paid on signature.’

‘Why are they insisting on that?’ asked Julia, sitting up in bed. ‘In the past, I’ve always put ten per cent downand assumed I would be given at least twenty-eight days before I had to complete.’

‘Yes, that would be normal practice, but this site has become a political hot potato. Barbara Hunter is insisting there be no hold-ups, because one or two other deals have fallen through recently when it was discovered that a speculator didn’t have the necessary resources to complete the agreement. And don’t forget, we’re only days away from an election, so they are making sure that there can be no come-backs later.’

‘Does that mean I’ll have to deposit another three million with you by next Friday?’ asked Julia.

‘No, if we secure the property, the bank will cover you with a short-term loan.’

‘But what if I renege on the deal?’ asked Julia.

‘It doesn’t matter to us,’ said Tom. *We would sell it on to the under-bidder, and still have your five hundred thousand to cover any loss.’

‘Banks,’ said Julia as she stubbed out her cigarette and slid under the sheets. ‘You never lose.’

‘I want you to do me a favour,’ said Su Ling as the plane began its descent into Los Angeles airport.

‘Yes, little flower, I’m listening.’

‘See if you can go a whole week without phoning the bank. Don’t forget this is Luke’s first big trip.’

‘Mine too,’ said Nat, putting his arm round his son, ‘I’ve always wanted to visit Disneyland.’

‘Now stop teasing, you made a deal, and I expect you to keep to it.’

‘I would like to keep an eye on the deal that Tom’s trying to close with Julia’s company.’

‘Don’t you think Tom just might like to have a little triumph of his own, one that hadn’t been double-checked by the great Nat Cartwright? It was you, after all, who decided to trust her.’

‘I take your point,’ said Nat, as Luke clung to him as the plane touched down. ‘But do you mind if I phone him on Friday afternoon just to find out if our bid on the Cedar Wood project was successful?’

‘No, as long as you do leave it until Friday afternoon.’

‘Dad, will we travel in a sputnik?’

‘You bet,’ said Nat, ‘why else would you go to LA?’

Tom met Julia off the train from New York and drove her straight to City Hall. They walked in to find the cleaners just leaving after the debate the previous evening. Tom had read in the Hartford Courant that over a thousand people attended the event, and the paper’s editorial had suggested there wasn’t much to pick between the two candidates. He’d always voted Republican in the past, but he thought that Fletcher Davenport sounded like a decent man.

‘Why have we arrived so early?’ asked Julia, breaking into his thoughts.

‘I want to be familiar with the layout of the room,’ explained Tom, ‘so that when the bidding starts, we can’t be taken by surprise. Don’t forget, the whole thing could all be over in a few minutes.’

‘Where do you think we should sit?’

‘Half-way back on the right. I’ve already told the auctioneer what sign I intend to use when I’m bidding.’

Tom looked up towards the stage and watched as the auctioneer mounted the rostrum, tapped the microphone, and stared down at the tiny audience, checking everything was in place.

‘Who are all these people?’ asked Julia, looking around the hall.

‘A mixture of council officials, including the chief executive, Mr Cooke, representatives from the auctioneer’s, and the odd person who’s got nothing better to do on a Friday afternoon. But as far as I can see, there are only three serious bidders.’ Tom checked his watch. ‘Perhaps we should sit down.’

Julia and Tom took their places about half-way back on the end of the row. Tom picked up the sales brochure on the seat beside him, and when Julia touched his hand, he couldn’t help wondering how many people would work out that they were lovers. He turned the page and studied an architect’s mock-up of what the proposed mall might look like. He was still reading through the small print when the auctioneer indicated he was ready to begin. He cleared his throat.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, ‘there is only one item to come under the hammer this afternoon, a prime site on the north side of the city known as Cedar Wood. The city council is offering this property with approval for commercial development. The terms of payment and regulatory requirements are detailed in the brochure to be found on your seats. I must stress that if any of the terms are not adhered to, the council is within its rights to withdraw from the transaction.’ He paused to allow his words to sink in. ‘I have an opening bid of two million,’ he declared, and immediately looked in Tom’s direction.

Although Tom said nothing and gave no sign, the auctioneer announced, ‘I have a new bidder at two million two hundred and fifty thousand.’ The auctioneer made a show of glancing round the room, despite the fact he knew exactly where the three serious bidders were seated. His eyes settled on a well-known local lawyer in the second row, who raised his brochure. ‘Two million five hundred thousand, it’s with you, sir.’ The auctioneer turned his attention back to Tom, who didn’t even blink. ‘Two million seven hundred and fifty thousand.’ His eyes returned to the lawyer, who waited for some time before he once again raised his brochure. ‘Three million,’ said the auctioneer, and immediately looked in Tom’s direction before saying, ‘Three million two hundred and fifty thousand.’ He returned to the lawyer, who seemed to hesitate. Julia squeezed Tom’s hand between the chairs. ‘I think we’ve got it.’

‘Three million five hundred thousand?’ suggested the auctioneer, his eyes fixed on the lawyer.

‘Not yet we haven’t,’ Tom whispered.

‘Three million five hundred thousand,’ repeated the auctioneer hopefully. ‘Three million five hundred thousand,’ he repeated gratefully as the brochure rose for a third time.

‘Damn,’ said Tom, taking off his glasses, ‘I think we must have both settled on the same upper limit.’

‘Then let’s go to three six,’ said Julia. ‘That way at least we’ll find out.’

Although Tom had removed his glasses — the sign that he was no longer bidding — the auctioneer could see that Mr Russell was in deep conversation with the lady seated next to him. ‘Have we finished bidding, sir? Or...’

Tom hesitated and then said, ‘Three million six hundred thousand.’

The auctioneer swung his attention back to the lawyer, who had placed his brochure on the empty seat beside him. ‘Can I say three million seven hundred thousand sir, or are we all finished?’

The brochure remained on the seat. ‘Any other bids from the floor?’ asked the auctioneer as his eyes swept the dozen or so people who were seated in a hall that had held a thousand the night before. ‘One last chance, otherwise I shall let it go at three million six hundred thousand.’ He raised his hammer and, receiving no response, brought it down with a thud. ‘Sold for three million six hundred thousand dollars to the gentleman at the end of the row.’

‘Well done,’ said Julia.

‘It’s going to cost you another hundred thousand,’ said Tom, ‘but we couldn’t have known that two of us would settle on the same upper limit. I’ll just go and sort out the paperwork and hand over the cheque, then we can go off and celebrate.’

‘What a good idea,’ said Julia, as she ran a finger down the inside of his leg.

‘Congratulations, Mr Russell,’ said Mr Cooke. ‘Your client has secured a fine property which I am sure in the long-term will yield an excellent return.’

‘I agree,’ said Tom, as he wrote out a cheque for three point six million dollars and handed it across to the council’s chief executive.

‘Is Russell’s Bank the principal in this transaction?’ enquired Mr Cooke as he studied the signature.

‘No, we are representing a New York client who banks with us.’

‘I am sorry to appear to be nitpicking about this, Mr Russell, but the terms of the agreement make it clear that the cheque for the full amount must be signed by the principal and not by his or her representative.’

‘But we represent the company, and are holding their deposit.’

‘Then it shouldn’t be too difficult for your client to sign a cheque on behalf of that company,’ suggested Mr Cooke.

‘But why...’ began Tom.

‘It’s not for me to try and fathom the machinations of our elected representatives, Mr Russell, but after the debacle last year over the Aldwich contract and the questions I have to answer daily from Mrs Hunter,’ he let out a sigh. ‘I have been left with no choice but to keep to the letter, as well as the spirit, of the agreement.’

‘But what can I do about it at this late stage?’ asked Tom.

‘You still have until five o’clock to produce a cheque signed by the principal. If you fail to do so, the property will be offered to the under-bidder for three point five million, and the council will look to you to make up the difference of one hundred thousand dollars.’

Tom ran to the back of the room. ‘Have you got your cheque book with you?’

‘No,’ said Julia. ‘You told me that Russell’s would cover the full amount until I transferred the difference on Monday.’

‘Yes I did,’ said Tom, trying to think on his feet. ‘There’s nothing else for it,’ he added, ‘we’ll just have to go straight to the bank.’ He checked his watch, it was nearly four o’clock. ‘Damn,’ he added, painfully aware that if Nat hadn’t been on holiday, he would have spotted the sub-clause and anticipated its consequences. On the short walk from City Hall to Russell’s Bank, Tom explained to Julia what Mr Cooke had insisted on.

‘Does that mean I’ve lost the deal, not to mention a hundred thousand?’

‘No, I’ve already thought of a way round that, but it will need your agreement.’

‘If it will secure the property,’ said Julia, ‘I’ll do whatever you advise.’

As soon as they entered the bank, Tom went straight to his office, picked up a phone and asked the chief teller to join him. While he waited for Ray Jackson to arrive, he took out a blank cheque book and began writing out the words three million six hundred thousand dollars. The chief teller knocked on the door and entered the chairman’s office.

‘Ray, I want you to transfer three million one hundred thousand dollars to Mrs Kirkbridge’s account.’

The chief teller hesitated for a moment. ‘I’ll need a letter of authorization before I can transfer such a large amount,’ he said. ‘It’s way above my limit.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said the chairman, and removed the standard form from his top drawer and quickly filled in the relevant figures. Tom didn’t comment on the fact that it was also the largest sum he had ever authorized. He passed the form across to the chief teller, who studied the details carefully. He looked as if he wanted to query the chairman’s decision, and then thought better of it.

‘Immediately,’ emphasized Tom.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the chief teller, and departed as quickly as he had arrived.

‘Are you sure that was sensible?’ asked Julia. ‘Aren’t you taking an unnecessary risk?’

‘We have the property and your five hundred thousand, so we can’t lose. As Nat would say, it’s a belt and braces job.’ He turned the cheque book round and asked Julia to sign it and print beneath her signature the name of her company. Once Tom had checked it he said, ‘We’d better get back to City Hall as quickly as possible.’

Tom tried to remain calm as he dodged in and out of the traffic while crossing Main Street before jogging up the steps to City Hall. He kept having to wait for Julia, who explained it wasn’t easy to keep up with him in high heels. When they re-entered the building, Tom was relieved to find Mr Cooke was still seated behind his desk at the far end of the hall. The chief executive rose when he saw them heading towards him.

‘Hand over the cheque to the thin man with the bald head,’ said Tom, ‘and smile.’

Julia carried out Tom’s instructions to the letter, and received a warm smile in return. Mr Cooke studied the cheque carefully. ‘This seems to be in order, Mrs Kirkbridge, if I could just see some form of identification.’

‘Certainly,’ said Julia, and took a driver’s licence out of her handbag.

Mr Cooke studied the photo and the signature. ‘It’s not a flattering picture of you,’ he said. Julia smiled. ‘Good, now all that is left for you to do is sign all the necessary documents on behalf of your company.’

Julia signed the council agreement in triplicate and handed a copy over to Tom. ‘I think you’d better hold on to this until the money is safely transferred,’ she whispered.

Mr Cooke looked at his watch. ‘I shall be presenting this cheque first thing on Monday morning, Mr Russell,’ he said, ‘and I would be obliged if it were cleared as quickly as is convenient. I don’t want to give Mrs Hunter any more ammunition than is necessary only days before the election.’

‘It will be cleared on the same day it’s presented,’ Tom assured him.

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Mr Cooke to a man he regularly had a round of golf with at their local club.

Tom wanted to give Julia a hug, but restrained himself. ‘I’ll just run back to the bank and let them know that it all went smoothly, then we can go home.’

‘Do you really have to?’ asked Julia. ‘After all, they won’t be presenting the cheque until Monday morning.’

‘I guess that’s right,’ said Tom.

‘Damn,’ said Julia, bending down to take off one of her shoes, ‘I’ve broken the heel running up those steps.’

‘Sorry,’ said Tom, ‘that was my fault, I shouldn’t have made you rush back from the bank. As it turned out we had more than enough time.’

‘It’s not a problem,’ said Julia, smiling, ‘but if you could fetch the car, I’ll join you at the bottom of the steps.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Tom. He jogged back down and across to the parking lot.

He was back outside City Hall a few minutes later, but Julia was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps she had slipped back inside? He waited a few moments, but she still didn’t appear. He cursed, leapt out of the illegally parked car and ran up the steps and into the building to find Julia in one of the phone booths. The moment she saw him, she hung up.

‘I’ve just been telling New York about your coup, darling, and they’ve instructed our bank to transfer the three million one hundred thousand before close of business.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ said Tom, as they strolled back to the car together. ‘So shall we have supper in town?’

‘No, I’d rather go back to your place and have a quiet meal on our own,’ said Julia.

When Tom pulled up in his driveway, Julia had already removed her coat, and by the time they reached the bedroom on the second floor, she had left a paper-chase of clothes in her wake. Tom was down to his underwear and Julia was peeling off a stocking when the phone rang.

‘Leave it.’ Julia said as she fell to her knees and pulled down his boxer shorts.

‘There’s no reply,’ said Nat, ‘they must have gone out for dinner.’

‘Can’t it wait until we get back on Monday?’ asked Su Ling.

‘I suppose so,’ admitted Nat reluctantly, ‘but I’d like to have known if Tom managed to close the Cedar Wood deal, and if so, at what price.’

33

‘Too close to call’ ran the banner headline in the Washington Post on election morning. ‘NECK AND NECK’ was the opinion of the Hartford Courant. The first referred to the national race between Ford and Carter for the White House, the second to the local battle between Hunter and Davenport for the State Senate Chamber. It annoyed Fletcher that they always put her name first, like Harvard before Yale.

‘All that matters now,’ said Harry as he chaired the final campaign meeting at six that morning, ‘is getting our supporters to the polls.’ No longer was there any need to discuss tactics, press statements, or policy. Once the first vote had been cast, everyone seated round the table had a new responsibility.

A team of forty would be in charge of the car pool, armed with a list of voters who required a lift to their nearest polling place, the old, the infirm, the downright lazy and even some who took a vicarious pleasure in being taken to the poll just so they could vote for the other side.

The next team, and by far the largest, were those who manned the bank of phones back at headquarters.

‘They’ll be on two-hour shifts,’ said Harry, ‘and must spend their time contacting known supporters to remind them that it’s election day, and then later to make sure they’ve cast their vote. Some of this group will need to be called three or four times before the polls close at eight this evening,’ Harry reminded them.

The next group, whom Harry described as the beloved amateurs, ran the counting houses all over the borough. They would keep a minute by minute up-date on how the voting was going in their district. They could be responsible for as few as a thousand voters or as many as three thousand, depending on whether theirs was a built-up or a rural area. ‘They are,’ Harry reminded Fletcher, ‘the backbone of the party. From the moment the first vote is cast, they’ll have volunteers sitting outside the polling stations ticking off names of the voters as they go to the polls. Every thirty minutes those lists will be handed over to runners, who will take them back to the house where the full register will be laid out on tables or pinned to a wall. That list will then be marked up — a red line through the name for any Republican voter, blue for Democrats, and yellow for unknown. One glance at the boards at any time, and the captain of the precinct will know exactly how the vote is progressing. As many of the captains have done the same job for election after election, they’ll be able to give you an immediate comparison with any past poll. The details, once “boarded”, are then relayed through to headquarters so that the phoners don’t keep bothering a pledge who has already cast their vote.’

‘So what’s the candidate supposed to do all day?’ asked Fletcher, once Harry had come to the end of his briefing.

‘Keep out of the way,’ said Harry, ‘which is why you have a programme of your own. You will visit the forty-four counting houses, because they all expect to see the candidate at some time during the day. Jimmy will act as your driver, known as “the candidate’s friend”, because we certainly can’t afford any spare workers wasting their time on you.’

Once the meeting had broken up, and everyone had dashed off to their new assignments, Jimmy explained just how Fletcher would spend the rest of the day, and he spoke with some experience, because he’d carried out the same exercise for his father during the previous two elections.

‘First the no-no’s,’ said Jimmy when Fletcher joined him in the front of the car. ‘As we have to visit all forty-four houses between now and eight o’clock this evening when the polls close, everyone will offer you a coffee, and between 11.45 and 2.15 lunch, and after 5.30 a drink. You must always reply with a polite but firm no to any such offer. You will only drink water in the car, and we’ll have lunch at 12.30 for thirty minutes back at headquarters, just so they realize they’ve got a candidate, and you won’t eat again until after the polls close.’

Fletcher thought he might become bored, but each visit produced a new cast of characters and a new set of figures. For the first hour, the sheets showed just a few names crossed out, and the captains were quickly able to tell him how the turnout compared with past elections. Fletcher was encouraged by how many blue lines had appeared before ten o’clock, until Jimmy warned him that the time between seven and nine was always good pickings for the Democrats as the industrial and night-shift workers vote before they start, or after they have finished work. ‘Between ten and four, the Republicans should go into the lead,’ Jimmy added, ‘while after five and up until the close of the polls is always the time when the Democrats have to make their comeback. So just pray for rain between ten and five, followed by a fine warm evening.’

By 11 a.m. all the captains were reporting that the poll was slightly down compared with the last election when it had closed on fifty-five per cent. ‘Anything below fifty per cent, we lose, over fifty and we’re in with a shout,’ said Jimmy, ‘above fifty-five and it’s yours by a street.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Because the Republicans traditionally are more likely to turn out in any weather, so they always benefit from a low turnout. Making sure our people vote has always been the Democrats’ biggest problem.’

Jimmy stuck rigidly to his schedule. Just before arriving he would hand Fletcher a slip of paper with the basic facts on the household running that district. Fletcher would then commit the salient points to memory before he reached the front door.

‘Hi, Dick,’ he said when the door was opened, ‘good of you to allow us to use your house again, because of course this is your fourth election.’ Listen to reply. ‘How’s Ben, is he still at college?’ Listen to reply. ‘I was sorry to hear about Buster — yes, Senator Gates told me.’ Listen to reply. ‘But you have another dog now, Buster Jr — is that right?’

Jimmy also had his own routine. After ten minutes he would whisper, ‘I think you ought to be leaving.’ At twelve, he would begin to sound a little anxious and dispense with think, and at fourteen, he became insistent. After shaking hands and waving, it always took another couple of minutes before they could finally get away. Even with Jimmy keeping to a rigorous schedule, they still arrived back at campaign headquarters twenty minutes late for lunch.

Lunch was a snack rather than a meal, as Fletcher grabbed a sandwich from a table that was heaped with food. He took the occasional bite as he and Annie moved from office to office, shaking hands with as many of the workers as possible.

‘Hi, Martha, what’s Harry up to?’ asked Fletcher as he entered the phone room.

‘He’s outside the old State House doing what he does best, pressing the flesh, dispensing opinions, and making sure people haven’t forgotten to vote. He should be back at any moment.’

Thirty minutes later Fletcher passed Harry in the corridor on his way out, as Jimmy had insisted that, if they were still going to visit every counting house, then they had to leave by 1.10. ‘Good morning, senator,’ said Fletcher.

‘Good afternoon, Fletcher, glad you were able to find time to eat.’

The first house they visited after lunch showed that the Republicans had gone into a slight lead, which continued to increase during the afternoon. By five o’clock there were still fifteen captains left to visit. ‘If you miss one of them,’ said Jimmy, ‘we’ll never hear the end of it, and they sure won’t be there for you next time around.’

By six o’clock the Republicans had a clear lead, and Fletcher tried not to show that he was feeling a little depressed. ‘Relax,’ said Jimmy, and promised him it would look better in a couple of hours’ time; what he didn’t mention was that by this time in the evening, his father always had a small lead and therefore knew he’d won. Fletcher envied those who were running for seats where they weighed the votes.

‘How much easier to relax if you knew you were certain to win, or certain to lose.’

‘I wouldn’t know how that feels,’ said Jimmy, ‘Dad won his first election by 121 votes before I was born, and during the past thirty years built up his majority to just over 11,000, but he always says if sixty-one people had voted the other way, he would have lost that first election, and might never have been given a second chance.’ Jimmy regretted the words the moment he said them.

By seven, Fletcher was relieved to see a few more blue lines appearing on the sheets and although the Republicans were still in the lead, the feeling was that it would go to the line. Jimmy had to cut the last six houses down to eleven minutes each, and even then he didn’t reach the final two until after the poll had closed.

‘What now?’ asked Fletcher as he walked away from the last house.

Jimmy checked his watch. ‘Back to HQ and listen to the tallest stories you’ve ever heard. If you win, they will become folklore, and if you lose, they will be disowned and quickly forgotten.’

‘Like me,’ commented Fletcher.

Jimmy turned out to be right, because back at HQ everyone was talking at once, but only the foolhardy and naturally optimistic were willing to predict what the result would be. The first exit poll was broadcast minutes after the last vote had been cast and showed that Hunter had won by a whisker. The national polls were predicting that Ford had beaten Carter.

‘History repeating itself,’ said Harry as he walked into the room. ‘Those same guys were telling me that Dewey was going to be our next president. They also said I’d lose by a whisker, and we cut both those whiskers off, so don’t worry about straw polls, Fletcher, they’re for straw men.’

‘What about the turnout?’ asked Fletcher, recalling Jimmy’s words.

‘Too early to be sure, it’s certainly over fifty per cent, but not fifty-five.’

Fletcher looked around at his team and realized that it was no longer any use thinking about how to gather in votes, as the time had come to count them.

‘There’s not much else we can do now,’ said Harry, ‘except to make sure that our tellers register at City Hall before ten. The rest of you should take a break, and we’ll all meet up at the count later. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.’

In the car on the way to Mario’s, Harry told Fletcher he couldn’t see a lot of point in them turning up much before eleven, ‘so let’s have a quiet meal and follow the party’s fortunes in the rest of the country on Mario’s television.’

Any chance of a quiet meal evaporated when Fletcher and Harry entered the restaurant, and several of the diners rose to their feet and applauded the two men all the way to their table in the corner. Fletcher was pleased to find his parents had already arrived, and were enjoying a drink.

‘So what can I recommend?’ asked Mario once everybody had settled down.

‘I’m too tired to even think about it,’ said Martha. ‘Mario, why don’t you go ahead and choose for us, as you’ve never taken any notice of our opinion in the past.’

‘Of course, Mrs Gates,’ said Mario, ‘just leave it to me.’

Annie stood up and waved when Joanna and Jimmy walked in. As Fletcher kissed Joanna on the cheek, he glanced over her shoulder to see Jimmy Carter on Mario’s television arriving back at his ranch, and moments later President Ford stepping on to a helicopter. He wondered what sort of a day they’d had.

‘Your timing is perfect,’ said Harry as Joanna took the seat next to him, ‘we’ve only just arrived. How are the children?’

Within minutes, Mario returned carrying two large plates of antipasti, while a waiter followed with two carafes of white wine. ‘The wine is on the house,’ declared Mario, ‘I think maybe you make it,’ he said as he poured a glass for Fletcher to taste. Someone else who wasn’t willing to predict the result.

Fletcher put a hand under the table and touched Annie’s knee. ‘I’m going to say a few words.’

‘Must you?’ said Jimmy, pouring himself a second glass of wine. ‘I’ve heard enough speeches from you to last a lifetime.’

‘It will be short, I promise you,’ Fletcher said as he rose from his place, ‘because everyone I want to thank is at this table. Let me start with Harry and Martha. If I hadn’t sat next to their dreadful little brat on my first day at school, I would never have met Annie, or indeed Martha and Harry, who have changed my whole life, although in truth it is my mother who is to blame, because it was she who insisted that I went to Hotchkiss rather than Taft. How different my life might have been if my father had had his way.’ He smiled at his mother. ‘So thank you.’ He sat down just as Mario reappeared at their table carrying another bottle of wine.

‘I don’t remember ordering that,’ said Harry.

‘You didn’t,’ said Mario, ‘it’s a gift from a gentleman sitting on the far side of the room.’

‘That’s very kind of him,’ said Fletcher, ‘did he leave his name?’

‘No, all he said was that he was sorry not to be able to give you more help during the election, but he’s been involved in a takeover. He’s one of our regulars,’ added Mario, ‘I think he’s something to do with Russell’s Bank.’

Fletcher looked across the restaurant and nodded when Nat Cartwright raised a hand. He had a feeling that he’d seen him somewhere before.

34

‘How did she manage it?’ asked Tom, his face ashen.

‘She chose her victim well and, to be fair, she paid meticulous attention to detail.’

‘But that doesn’t explain...’

‘How she knew we would agree to transfer the money? That was the easy part,’ said Nat. ‘Once all the other pieces had fallen neatly into place, all Julia had to do was call Ray and instruct him to move her account to another bank.’

‘But Russell’s closes at five, and most of the staff leave before six, especially at a weekend.’

‘In Hartford.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Tom.

‘She instructed our chief cashier to transfer the full amount to a bank in San Francisco, where it was still only two in the afternoon.’

‘But I only left her alone for a few minutes.’

‘Long enough for her to make a phone call to her lawyer.’

‘Then why didn’t Ray contact me?’

‘He tried to, but you weren’t in the office and she took the phone off the hook when you got home, and don’t forget when I called you from LA, it was three thirty, but it was six thirty in Hartford and Russell’s was already closed.’

‘If only you hadn’t been on vacation.’

‘My bet is she took that into consideration as well,’ said Nat.

‘But how?’

‘One call to my secretary asking for an appointment that week, and she would have known I would be in LA, and no doubt you confirmed as much soon after you’d met her.’

Tom hesitated. ‘Yes, I did. But it doesn’t explain why Ray didn’t refuse to action the transfer.’

‘Because you’d deposited the full amount in her account, and the law is very clear in a case like this: if she asks for a transfer, we have no choice but to carry out her instructions. As her lawyer pointed out when he called Ray at four fifty, by which time you were on your way back home.’

‘But she’d already signed a cheque and handed it over to Mr Cooke.’

‘Yes, and if you had returned to the bank and informed our chief teller about that cheque, he might have felt able to hold off any decision until Monday.’

‘But how could she be so confident that I would authorize the extra money to be placed in her account?’

‘She wasn’t, that’s why she opened an account with us and deposited $500,000, assuming we would accept that she had more than sufficient funds to cover the purchase of Cedar Wood.’

‘But you told me that her company checked out?’

‘And it did. Kirkbridge and Co is based in New York and made a profit of just over a million dollars last year, and surprise, surprise, the majority shareholder is a Mrs Julia Kirkbridge. And it was only because Su Ling thought she was a phony that I even called to check and see if the company was having a board meeting that morning. When the switchboard operator informed me that Mrs Kirkbridge couldn’t be disturbed as she was in that meeting, the last piece of the jigsaw fell neatly into place. Now that’s what I mean by attention to detail.’

‘But there’s still a missing link,’ said Tom.

‘Yes, and that’s what turns her from an ordinary flim-flam artist into a fraudster of true genius. It was Harry Gates’s amendment to the finance bill that presented her with a hoop that she knew we would have to jump through.’

‘How does Senator Gates get in on the act?’ asked Tom.

‘It was he who proposed the amendment to the property bill stipulating that all future transactions enacted with the council should be paid in full on signature of the agreement.’

‘But I told her that the bank would cover whatever surplus proved necessary.’

‘And she knew that wouldn’t be sufficient,’ said Nat, ‘because the senator’s amendment insisted that the principal beneficiary,’ Nat opened the brochure at a passage he had underlined, ‘had to sign both the cheque and the agreement. The moment you rushed back to enquire if she had a cheque book with her, Julia knew she had you by the balls.’

‘But what if I’d said the deal is off unless you can come up with the full amount?’

‘She would have returned to New York that night, transferred her half million back to Chase, and you would never have heard from her again.’

‘Whereas she pocketed three point one million dollars of our money and held on to her own $500,000,’ said Tom.

‘Correct,’ said Nat, ‘and by the time the banks open in San Francisco this morning, that money will have disappeared off to the Cayman Islands via Zurich or possibly even Moscow, and although I’ll obviously go through the motions, I don’t believe we have a hope in hell of retrieving one cent of it.’

‘Oh, God,’ said Tom, ‘I’ve just remembered that Mr Cooke will be presenting that cheque this morning, and I gave him my word that it would be cleared the same day.’

‘Then we shall have to clear it,’ said Nat. ‘It’s one thing for the bank to lose money, quite another for it to lose its reputation, a reputation which your grandfather and father took a hundred years to establish.’

Tom looked up at Nat. ‘The first thing I must do is resign.’

‘Despite your naivety, that’s the last thing you should do. Unless, of course, you want everyone to find out what a fool you’ve made of yourself and immediately transfer their accounts to Fairchild’s. No, the one commodity I need is time, so I suggest you take a few days off. In fact, don’t mention the Cedar Wood project again, and if anyone should raise the subject, you simply refer them to me.’

Tom remained silent for some time, before he said, ‘The true irony is that I asked her to marry me.’

‘And her true genius is that she accepted,’ replied Nat.

‘How did you know that?’ asked Tom.

‘It would have all been part of her plan.’

‘Clever girl,’ said Tom.

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Nat, ‘because if you two had become engaged, I was ready to offer her a place on the board.’

‘So she had you fooled as well,’ said Tom.

‘Oh yes,’ replied Nat, ‘with her grasp of finance she wouldn’t have been a passenger, and had she married you she would have made a lot more than three point one million, so there must be another man involved.’ Nat paused. ‘I suspect he was the one on the other end of the phone.’ He turned to leave. ‘I’ll be in my office,’ he said, ‘and remember, we only ever discuss this matter in private, nothing in writing, never on the phone.’

Tom nodded as Nat closed the door quietly behind him.

‘Good morning, Mr Cartwright,’ said Nat’s secretary as he walked into his office, ‘did you have a good vacation?’

‘Yes I did thank you, Linda,’ he replied cheerily. ‘I’m not sure who enjoyed Disneyland more, Luke or myself.’ She smiled. ‘Any real problems?’ he asked innocently.

‘No, I don’t think so. The final documents for the takeover of Bennett’s came through last Friday, so from January 1st, you’ll be running two banks.’

Or none, thought Nat. ‘I need to speak to a Mrs Julia Kirkbridge, the director of...’

‘Kirkbridge and Co,’ said Linda. Nat froze. ‘You asked for the details of her company just before you went on vacation.’

‘Of course I did,’ said Nat.

Nat was rehearsing what he would say to Mrs Kirkbridge, when his secretary buzzed through to tell him that she was on the fine.

‘Good morning, Mrs Kirkbridge, my name is Nat Cartwright, I’m the chief executive of Russell’s Bank in Hartford, Connecticut. We have a proposition we thought your company might be interested in, and as I’m in New York later today, I hoped you would be able to spare me a few minutes.’

‘Can I call you back, Mr Cartwright?’ she replied in a crisp English accent.

‘Of course,’ said Nat, ‘I look forward to hearing from you.’

He wondered how long it would take Mrs Kirkbridge to discover that he was the chief executive of Russell’s Bank. She was obviously checking, because she didn’t even ask for his telephone number. When the phone rang again his secretary said, ‘Mrs Kirkbridge on the line.’

Nat checked his watch; it had taken her seven minutes.

‘I could see you at two thirty this afternoon, Mr Cartwright; would that suit you?’

‘Suits me just fine,’ said Nat.

He put the phone down and buzzed Linda. ‘I’ll need a ticket on today’s eleven-thirty train to New York.’

Nat’s next call was to Rigg’s Bank in San Francisco, who confirmed his worst fears. They had been instructed to send the money to Banco Mexico only moments after it had been deposited with them. From there, Nat knew it would follow the sun until it finally disappeared over the horizon. He decided it would be pointless to call in the police unless he wanted half the banking community let in on the secret. He suspected that Julia, or whatever her real name was, had also worked that out.

Nat got through a great deal of the backlog caused by his absence before leaving the office to catch the train to New York. He made it to the offices of Kirkbridge & Co on 97th Street with only moments to spare. He hadn’t even had time to take a seat in reception before a door opened. He looked up to see an elegant, well-dressed woman standing in the doorway. ‘Mr Cartwright?’

‘Yes,’ he said, rising from his seat.

‘I’m Julia Kirkbridge; would you like to come through to my office?’ The same crisp English accent. Nat could not recall how long ago it was that a director of any company had come to collect him in the reception area rather than sending a secretary, especially one working out of New York.

‘I was intrigued by your call,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge as she ushered Nat through to a comfortable seat by the fireplace. ‘It’s not often a Connecticut banker comes to New York to visit me.’

Nat took some papers out of his case, as he tried to assess the woman sitting opposite him. Her clothes, like those of her impersonator, were smartly tailored, but far more conservative, and although she was slim and in her mid thirties, her dark hair and dark eyes were a total contrast to the blonde from Minnesota.

‘Well, it’s quite simple really,’ began Nat. ‘Hartford City Council has put another site on the market that has planning approval for a shopping mall. The bank has purchased the land as an investment and is looking for a partner. We thought you might be interested.’

‘Why us?’ asked Julia.

‘You were among the original companies that bid for the Robinson’s site, which, incidentally, has proved to be a great success, so we thought you might want to be involved in this new venture.’

‘I’m somewhat surprised that you didn’t think of approaching us before you made your bid,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge, ‘because had you done so, you would have discovered that we had already considered the terms far too restrictive.’ Nat was taken by surprise. ‘After all,’ continued Mrs Kirkbridge, ‘that is what we do.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Nat, buying time.

‘May I ask how much it went for?’ asked Mrs Kirkbridge.

‘Three point six million.’

‘That was way above our estimate,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge, turning a page of the file on the table in front of her.

Nat had always considered himself a good poker player, but he had no way of knowing if Mrs Kirkbridge was bluffing. He only had one card left. ‘Well, I’m sorry to have wasted your time,’ he said, rising from his place.

‘Perhaps you haven’t,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge, who remained seated, ‘because I’m still interested in listening to your proposal.’

‘We’re looking for a fifty-fifty partner,’ said Nat, resuming his seat.

‘What does that mean exactly?’ asked Mrs Kirkbridge.

‘You put up $1.8 million, the bank finances the rest of the project, and once the debt has been recouped, all the profits will be divided fifty-fifty.’

‘No bank fees, and the money loaned at prime rate?’

‘I think we would consider that,’ said Nat.

‘Then why don’t you leave all the details with me, Mr Cartwright, and I’ll come back to you. How long have I got before you need a decision?’

‘I’m meeting two other possible investors while I’m in New York,’ said Nat. ‘They were also bidders for the Robinson’s site.’

From the expression on her face, there was no way of telling if she believed him.

Mrs Kirkbridge smiled. ‘Half an hour ago,’ she said, ‘I had a call from the chief executive of the Hartford City Council, a Mr Cooke.’ Nat froze. ‘I didn’t take the call as I thought it would be prudent to see you first. However, I find it hard to believe that this was the type of case study they expected you to analyse at Harvard Business School, Mr Cartwright, so perhaps the time has come for you to tell me why you really wanted to see me.’

35

Annie drove her husband to City Hall, and it was the first time they had been alone all day. ‘Why don’t we just go home?’ said Fletcher.

‘I expect every candidate feels that way just before the count.’

‘Do you know, Annie, we haven’t once discussed what I’m going to do if I lose.’

‘I’ve always assumed you’d join another law firm. Heaven knows enough have been knocking on your door. Didn’t Simpkins and Welland say they needed someone who specializes in criminal law?’

‘Yes, and they’ve even offered me a partnership, but the truth is that politics is what I enjoy doing most. I’m even more obsessed than your father.’

‘That’s not possible,’ said Annie. ‘By the way, he said to use his parking space.’

‘No way,’ said Fletcher, ‘only the senator should occupy that spot. No, we’ll park down one of the side streets.’ Fletcher glanced out of the window to see dozens of people walking up City Hall steps.

‘Where are they going?’ he asked. ‘They can’t all be close relations of Mrs Hunter.’

Annie laughed. ‘No, they’re not, but the public are allowed to watch the count from the gallery. It’s an old Hartford tradition,’ she added as she finally found a parking space some distance from City Hall.

Fletcher and Annie held hands as they joined the crowds heading into the hall. Over the years, he had watched countless politicians and their wives holding hands on election day, and often wondered how many performed the ritual simply for the cameras. He squeezed Annie’s hand as they strolled up the steps trying to look relaxed.

‘Do you feel confident, Mr Davenport?’ asked a local newscaster, thrusting a microphone into his face.

‘No,’ said Fletcher honestly. ‘Nervous as hell.’

‘Do you think you’ve beaten Mrs Hunter?’ tried the reporter again.

‘I’ll be happy to answer that question in a couple of hours’ time.’

‘Do you believe it’s been a clean fight?’

‘You’d be a better judge of that than me,’ said Fletcher as he and Annie reached the top step and walked into the building.

As they entered the hall, there was a ripple of applause from some of those seated in the gallery. Fletcher glanced up, smiled and waved, trying to look confident, even though he didn’t feel it. When he glanced back down, the first face he saw was Harry’s. He looked pensive.

How different City Hall felt from the day of the debate. All the chairs had been replaced by a horseshoe of long tables. In the centre stood Mr Cooke, who had presided over seven previous elections. This would be his last, as he was due to retire at the end of the year.

One of his officials was checking the black boxes, which were lined up on the floor inside the horseshoe. Mr Cooke had made it clear during the briefing he had given both candidates the previous day that the count would not begin until all forty-eight ballot boxes had arrived from their polling stations and had been authenticated. As the poll closed at 8 p.m. this procedure usually took about an hour.

A second ripple of applause broke out, and Fletcher glanced round to see Barbara Hunter enter the room, also displaying a smile of confidence as she waved to her supporters in the gallery.

Once all forty-eight boxes had been checked, their seals were broken by the officials and the votes emptied on to the tables ready for counting. Seated on either side of the horseshoe were the hundred or so counters. Each group consisted of one representative from the Republican party, one from the Democrats and a neutral observer standing a pace behind them. If an observer was unhappy about anything once the counting had begun, he or she would raise a hand and Mr Cooke or one of his officials would go to that table immediately.

Once the votes had been emptied on to the tables, they were separated into three piles — a Republican pile, a Democratic pile and a third, smaller pile of disputed ballot papers. Most of the constituencies around the nation now carried out this entire process by machine, but not Hartford, although everyone knew that would change the moment Mr Cooke retired.

Fletcher began walking round the room, watching as the different piles grew. Jimmy carried out the same exercise, but strolled in the opposite direction. Harry didn’t move as he watched the boxes being unsealed, his eyes rarely straying from what was taking place inside the horseshoe. Once all the boxes had been emptied, Mr Cooke asked his officials to count the votes and place them in piles of one hundred.

‘This is where the observer becomes important,’ Harry explained as Fletcher came to a halt by his side. ‘He has to be sure that no ballot is counted twice, or two aren’t stuck together.’ Fletcher nodded, and continued his perambulation, occasionally stopping to watch a particular count, one moment feeling confident, the next depressed, until Jimmy pointed out that the boxes came from different districts and he could never be sure which ones had come from a Republican stronghold and which from a Democratic area.

‘What happens next?’ asked Fletcher, aware that Jimmy was attending his fourth count.

‘Arthur Cooke will add up all the ballots and announce how many people have voted, and calculate what percentage that is of the electorate.’ Fletcher glanced up at the clock — it was just after eleven, and in the background, he could see Jimmy Carter on the big screen, chatting to his brother Billy. The early polls suggested that the Democrats were returning to the White House for the first time in eight years. Would he be going to the Senate for the first time?

Fletcher turned his attention back to Mr Cooke, who appeared to be in no hurry as he went about his official business. His pace did not reflect the heartbeat of either candidate. Once he had gathered up all the sheets, he went into a huddle with his officials, and transferred his findings on to a calculator, his only concession to the 1970s. This was followed by the pressing of buttons, nods and mutters, before two numbers were written neatly on to a separate piece of paper. He then walked across the floor and up on to the stage at a stately pace. He tapped the microphone, which was enough to bring silence, as the crowd was impatient to hear his words.

‘God damn it,’ said Harry, ‘it’s been over an hour already. Why doesn’t Arthur get on with it?’

‘Calm down,’ said Martha, ‘and try to remember that you’re no longer the candidate.’

‘The number of people who cast votes in the election for the Senate is 42,429, which is a turnout of 52.9 per cent.’ Mr Cooke left the stage without another word, and returned to the centre of the horseshoe. His team then proceeded to check the piles of one hundreds, but it was another forty-two minutes before the chief executive climbed back on to the stage. This time he didn’t need to tap the microphone. ‘I have to inform you,’ he said, ‘that there are seventy-seven disputed ballots, and I will now invite the two candidates to join me in the centre of the room so that they can decide which ones should be considered valid.’

Harry ran for the first time that day and grabbed Fletcher before he joined Mr Cooke in the horseshoe. ‘That means that whichever one of you is in the lead, it must be by less than seventy-seven votes, otherwise Cooke wouldn’t be bothering to go through this whole rigmarole of seeking your opinions.’ Fletcher nodded his agreement. ‘So you must select someone to check over those crucial votes for you.’

‘That’s not a difficult choice,’ Fletcher replied. ‘I select you.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry, ‘because that will put Mrs Hunter on her guard, and for this little exercise you’ll need someone who she won’t feel threatened by.’

‘Then how about Jimmy?’

‘Good idea, because she’s bound to think that she can get the better of him.’

‘Not a hope,’ said Jimmy as he appeared by Fletcher’s side.

‘I may need you to,’ said Harry mysteriously.

‘Why?’ asked Jimmy.

‘It’s just a hunch,’ replied Harry, ‘no more, but once it comes to deciding those few precious votes, Mr Cooke will be the man to watch, not Barbara Hunter.’

‘But he won’t try anything on with four of us standing over him,’ said Jimmy, ‘not to mention all those staring down from the gallery.’

‘And he wouldn’t dream of doing so,’ said Harry. ‘He’s one of the most punctilious officials I’ve ever dealt with, but he detests Mrs Hunter.’

‘For any particular reason?’ asked Fletcher.

‘She’s been on the phone to him every day since this campaign began, demanding statistics on everything from housing to hospitals, even legal opinions on planning permits, so my bet is he’ll not relish the idea of her becoming a member of the Senate. He’s got quite enough to be worrying about without the likes of Barbara Hunter taking up every spare moment of his time.’

‘But, as you said, there’s nothing he can do.’

‘Nothing that’s illegal,’ said Harry. ‘But should there be any disagreement over a vote, he will be asked to arbitrate, so whatever he recommends, just say “Yes, Mr Cooke”, even if you think at the time it favours Mrs Hunter.’

‘I think I understand,’ said Fletcher.

‘I’m damned if I do,’ said Jimmy.

Su Ling checked the dining-room table. When the front doorbell rang, she didn’t bother to call up for Nat, because she knew he was rereading The Cat in the Hat. ‘Read it again, Dad,’ Luke always demanded when they reached the last page. Su Ling opened the door to find Tom clutching a bunch of parrot tulips. She gave him a big hug, as if nothing had happened since they last met.

‘Will you marry me?’ asked Tom.

‘If you can cook, read The Cat in the Hat, answer the door and set the table all at the same time I’ll give serious consideration to your proposal.’ Su Ling took the flowers. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. ‘They’ll look beautiful on the dining table.’ Su Ling smiled, ‘I’m so sorry about Julia Kirkbridge, or whatever her real name was.’

‘Never mention that woman to me again,’ said Tom. ‘In future, our dinners will just be the three of us, a ménage à trois; sadly without the ménage.’

‘Not tonight,’ said Su ling. ‘Didn’t Nat tell you? He’s invited a business colleague to join us. I assumed you knew all about it and I as usual, was the only person he informed at the last minute.’

‘He didn’t mention anything about it to me,’ said Tom as the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ said Nat, as he came bounding down the stairs.

‘Now, promise me you won’t talk shop all evening, because I want to hear all about your trip to London...’

‘How nice to see you again,’ said Nat.

‘It was just a short break,’ said Tom.

‘Let me take your coat,’ said Nat.

‘Yes, but did you manage to see any theatre?’

‘... yes, I saw Judi...’ began Tom as Nat ushered his guest into the living room.

‘Let me first introduce you to my wife, Su Ling. Darling, this is Julia Kirkbridge, who, as I’m sure you know, is our partner in the Cedar Wood project.’

‘How nice to meet you, Mrs Cartwright.’

Su Ling recovered more quickly than Tom. ‘Please call me Su Ling.’

‘Thank you, and you must call me Julia.’

‘Julia, this is my chairman, Tom Russell, who I know has been looking forward to meeting you.’

‘Good evening, Mr Russell. After all Nat has told me about you, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you too.’ Tom shook her hand, but couldn’t think of anything to say.

‘A glass of champagne I think, to celebrate the signing of the contract.’

‘The contract?’ mumbled Tom.

‘What a nice idea,’ said Julia. Nat opened the bottle and poured three glasses, while Su Ling disappeared into the kitchen. Tom continued to stare at the second Mrs Kirkbridge as Nat handed them both a glass of champagne.

‘To the Cedar Wood project,’ said Nat, raising his glass.

Tom just managed to get out the words, ‘The Cedar Wood project.’

Su Ling reappeared, smiled at her husband, and said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to bring our guests in for dinner?’

‘Now, I think it’s only fair, Julia, that I should explain to my wife and Tom that you and I have no secrets.’

Julia smiled. ‘None that I can think of, Nat, especially after signing a confidentiality agreement concerning the details of the Cedar Wood transaction.’

‘Yes, and I think it should stay that way,’ said Nat, smiling across at her, as Su Ling placed the first course on the table.

‘Mrs Kirkbridge,’ said Tom, not touching his lobster bisque.

‘Please call me Julia; after all we have known each other for some time.’

‘Have we?’ said Tom, ‘I don’t...’

‘That’s not very flattering, Tom,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge, ‘after all, it was only a few weeks ago, when I was out jogging that you invited me for a drink and then to dinner at the Cascade the following evening. That’s when I first told you about my interest in the Cedar Wood project.’

Tom turned to Nat. ‘This is all very clever, but you seem to have forgotten that Mr Cooke, the auctioneer, and our chief teller, have all come into contact with the original Mrs Kirkbridge.’

‘The first Mrs Kirkbridge, yes, but not the original,’ said Nat. ‘And I have already given that problem some considerable thought. There is no reason why Mr Cooke should ever meet Julia, as he retires in a few months’ time. As for the auctioneer, it was you who did the bidding, not Julia, and you needn’t worry about Ray because I’m going to move him to the Newington branch.’

‘But what about the New York end?’ said Tom.

‘They know nothing,’ said Julia, ‘other than that I have closed a very advantageous deal.’ She paused. ‘This is lovely lobster bisque, Su Ling. It’s always been my favourite.’

‘Thank you,’ said Su Ling as she cleared away the soup bowls and returned to the kitchen.

‘And, Tom, can I just say while Su Ling is out of the room, that I would prefer to forget any other little indiscretions that are rumoured to have taken place during the past month.’

‘You bastard,’ said Tom, turning to face Nat.

‘No, to be fair,’ said Julia, ‘I did insist on being told everything before I signed the confidentiality agreement.’

Su Ling returned carrying a serving dish. The smell of roast lamb was tantalizing. ‘I’ve now worked out why Nat asked me to serve exactly the same meal a second time, but I’m bound to ask, how much more do I need to know if I’m to keep up this charade?’

‘What would you like to know?’ asked Julia.

‘Well, I’ve worked out that you’re the real McCoy, and therefore must be the majority shareholder of the Kirkbridge company, but what I’m not sure about is, did you at your husband’s request jog over building sites on a Sunday morning and then report back to him?’

Julia laughed. ‘No, my husband didn’t expect me to do that, as I already have an architecture degree.’

‘And may I ask,’ continued Su Ling, ‘did Mr Kirkbridge die of cancer and then leave the company to you, having taught you everything he knew?’

‘No, he’s very much alive, but I divorced him two years ago, when I discovered he was siphoning off the company’s profits for his personal use.’

‘But wasn’t it his company?’ asked Tom.

‘Yes, and I wouldn’t have minded so much if he hadn’t been lavishing those profits on another woman.’

‘Would that woman by any chance be around five foot eight, blonde, like expensive clothes, and claim to hail from Minnesota?’

‘You’ve obviously met her,’ said Julia, ‘and I expect it was also my ex-husband who called you from a bank in San Francisco claiming to be Mrs Kirkbridge’s lawyer.’

‘You’ve no idea where the two of them are at the moment by any chance?’ asked Tom. ‘Because I’d like to kill them.’

‘Absolutely no idea,’ said Julia, ‘but should you find out, please let me know. Then you can kill her and I can kill him.’

‘Anyone for creme brûlée?’ asked Su Ling.

‘How did the other Mrs Kirkbridge answer that question?’ enquired Julia.

Members of the public were leaning over the balcony observing every move, and Mr Cooke seemed to want everyone in the hall to witness what was going on. Fletcher and Jimmy left the senator to join Mrs Hunter and her representative inside the horseshoe.

‘There are,’ said Mr Cooke addressing both candidates, ‘seventy-seven disputed ballot papers, of which I believe forty-three are invalid, however there remain difficulties over the other thirty-four.’ Both candidates nodded. ‘First I am going to show you the forty-three,’ said the returning officer, placing his hand on the larger of the two piles, ‘which I consider to be invalid. If you agree, I shall then go through the remaining thirty-four that are still in dispute,’ his hand transferring across to the smaller pile. Both candidates nodded again. ‘Just say no if you disagree,’ said Mr Cooke, as he began to turn over the ballot papers in the larger pile, only to reveal that no vote had been registered on any of them. As neither candidate put up any objection, he completed this part of the exercise in under two minutes.

‘Excellent,’ said Mr Cooke, pushing those ballot papers to one side, ‘but now we must consider the crucial thirty-four.’ Fletcher noted the word crucial, and realized just how close the final result must be. ‘In the past,’ continued Mr Cooke, ‘if both parties were unable to agree, then the final decision would be left to a third party,’ He paused.

‘If there is any dispute,’ said Fletcher, ‘I am quite happy to abide by your decision, Mr Cooke.’

Mrs Hunter didn’t immediately respond and began whispering to her aide. Everyone waited patiently for her response. ‘I am also happy that Mr Cooke should act as the arbitrator,’ she finally conceded.

Mr Cooke gave a slight bow. ‘Of the thirty-four votes in the disputed pile,’ he said, ‘eleven I believe can quickly be dealt with, as they are what I would call, for lack of a better description, the Harry Gates supporters,’ He then laid out on the table eleven votes that had ‘Harry Gates’ written across the ballot paper. Fletcher and Mrs Hunter studied them one by one.

‘They are obviously invalid,’ said Mrs Hunter.

‘However, two of them,’ continued Mr Cooke, ‘also have a cross against Mr Davenport’s name.’

‘They must still be invalid,’ said Mrs Hunter, ‘because as you can see, Mr Gates’s name is clearly written across the paper, making them spoilt ballots.’

‘But...’ began Jimmy.

‘As there is obviously some disagreement on these two ballots,’ said Fletcher, ‘I’m happy to allow Mr Cooke to decide.’

Mr Cooke looked towards Mrs Hunter and she nodded reluctantly. ‘I concur that the one with “Mr Gates should be president” written across it is indeed invalid.” Mrs Hunter smiled. ‘However, the one that has a cross by Mr Davenport’s name with the added comment, “but I’d prefer Mr Gates”, is in my view under election law, a clear indication of the voter’s intention, and I therefore deem it to be a vote for Mr Davenport.’ Mrs Hunter looked annoyed but, aware of the crowd peering down from the gallery, managed a weak smile. ‘Now we can turn to the seven votes where Mrs Hunter’s name appears on the ballot.’

‘Surely they must all be mine,’ said Mrs Hunter as Mr Cooke laid them out neatly in a row so that the two candidates could consider them.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Mr Cooke,

The first had written on it, ‘Hunter is the winner’, with a cross against Hunter.

‘That person clearly voted for Mrs Hunter,’ said Fletcher.

‘I agree,’ said Mr Cooke as a ripple of applause emanated from the gallery.

‘That boy’s honesty will be the death of him,’ said Harry.

‘Or the making of him,’ said Martha.

‘Hunter would be a dictator’, was written across the next with no cross against either name. ‘I believe that to be invalid,’ said Mr Cooke. Mrs Hunter reluctantly nodded.

‘Despite being accurate,’ said Jimmy under his breath.

‘Hunter is a bitch’, ‘Hunter should be shot’, ‘Hunter is mad’, ‘Hunter is a loser’, ‘Hunter for pope’ were also declared invalid. Mrs Hunter did not bother to suggest that any of these wanted her to be Hartford’s next senator.

‘Now we come to the final group of sixteen,’ said Mr Cooke. ‘Here the voter did not use a cross to indicate his or her preference.’ The sixteen votes had been placed in a separate pile, and the top one had a tick in the box opposite the name ‘Hunter’.

‘That is clearly a vote for me,’ insisted the Republican candidate.

‘I have a tendency to agree with you,’ said Mr Cooke. ‘The voter appears to have made his wishes quite clear; however I will need Mr Davenport to accept that judgement before I can proceed.’

Fletcher looked outside the horseshoe and caught Harry’s eye. He gave a slight nod. ‘I agree that it is clearly a vote for Mrs Hunter,’ he said. Applause once again broke out in the gallery from the pro-Hunter supporters. Mr Cooke removed the top ballot paper to reveal that the one underneath also had a tick in the box opposite ‘Hunter’.

‘Now that we’ve agreed on the principle,’ said Mrs Hunter, ‘that must also count as my vote.’

‘I have no quarrel with that,’ said Fletcher.

‘Then those two votes go to Mrs Hunter,’ said Mr Cooke, who removed the second voting slip to reveal a tick by Fletcher’s name on the one underneath. Both candidates nodded.

‘Two-one in favour of Hunter,’ said Mr Cooke before he removed that vote, to show the next had a tick in the ‘Hunter’ box.

‘Three-one,’ she said, unable to hide a smirk.

Fletcher began to wonder if Harry might have miscalculated. Mr Cooke removed the next ballot paper to reveal a tick by Fletcher’s name.

‘Three-two,’ Jimmy said as the chief executive began to remove the votes from the pile more quickly. As each one showed a clear tick, neither candidate was able to object. The crowd in the gallery began to chant — three-all, four-three — in Fletcher’s favour — five-three, six-three, seven-three, eight-three, eight-four, nine-four, ten-four, eleven-four, ending on twelve-four in Fletcher’s favour.

Mrs Hunter couldn’t hide her anger as Mr Cooke, looking up at the gallery, proclaimed, ‘And that completes the checking of spoilt ballot papers, making an overall position of fourteen for Mr Davenport and six for Mrs Hunter.’ He then turned back to the candidates and said, ‘May I thank you both for your magnanimous approach to the whole proceedings.’

Harry allowed himself a smile as he joined in the renewed applause that followed Mr Cooke’s statement. Fletcher quickly left the horseshoe and rejoined his father-in-law on the outside.

‘If you win by fewer than eight votes my boy, we’ll know who to thank, because now there’s nothing Mrs Hunter can do about it.’

‘How long before we find out the result?’ asked Fletcher.

‘The vote? Only a few minutes,’ said Harry, ‘but the result, I suspect, won’t be sorted out for several hours.’

Mr Cooke studied the figures on his calculator, and then transferred them on to a slip of paper, which all four of his officials dutifully signed. He returned to the stage for a third time. ‘Both sides having agreed on the disputed ballots, I can now inform you that the result of the election to the Senate for Hartford County is: Mr Fletcher Davenport 21,218, Mrs Barbara Hunter, 21, 211.’ Harry smiled.

Mr Cooke made no attempt to speak during the uproar that followed, but once he had regained the attention of the floor, he announced, ‘There will be a recount,’ even before Mrs Hunter could demand one.

Harry and Jimmy circled the room, uttering only one word to each of their observers. Concentrate. Fifty minutes later, it was found that three of the piles only had ninety-nine votes, while another four had one hundred and one. Mr Cooke checked all seven offending piles for a third time, before returning to the stage.

‘I declare the result of the election to the Senate for Hartford County to be as follows: Mr Davenport 21,217, Mrs Hunter 21,213.’

Mr Cooke had to wait for some time before he could be heard above the noise. ‘Mrs Hunter has once again called for a recount.’ This time some boos mingled with the cheers, as the gallery settled down to watch the counters begin the entire process again. Mr Cooke was punctilious in making sure that each pile was checked and double-checked, and if there was any doubt he went over it again himself. He didn’t walk back on to the stage until a few minutes after one in the morning, when he asked both candidates to join him.

He tapped the microphone to be sure it was still working. ‘I declare the result of the election to the Senate for Hartford County, to be Mr Fletcher Davenport 21,216, Mrs Barbara Hunter 21,214.’ The cheers and boos were even louder this time, and it was several minutes before order could be restored. Mrs Hunter leant forward and suggested to Mr Cooke in a stage whisper that as it was past one, the council workers should be allowed to go home, and a further recount should take place in the morning.

He listened politely to her protestations, before returning to the microphone. However, he had clearly anticipated every eventuality. ‘I have with me,’ he said, ‘the official election handbook.’ He held it up for all to see as a priest might the Bible. ‘And I refer to a ruling on page ninety-one. I will read out the relevant passage.’ The hall fell silent as they waited for Mr Cooke’s deliberations. ‘In an election for the Senate, if any one candidate should win the count three times in a row, by however small a majority, he or she will be declared the winner. I therefore declare Mr...’ But the rest of his words were drowned by Fletcher’s cheering supporters.

Harry Gates turned round and shook Fletcher by the hand. He could hardly make out the former senator’s words above the uproar.

Fletcher thought he heard Harry say, ‘May I be the first to congratulate you, senator.’