Sons of Fortune

36

Nat was on the train back from New York when he read the short piece in the New York Times. He had attended a board meeting of Kirkbridge & Co, where he was able to report that the first stage of building on the Cedar Wood site had been completed. The next phase was to lease the seventy-three shops, which ranged in size from a thousand to twelve thousand square feet. Many of the successful retailers currently on the Robinson’s site had already shown an interest, and Kirkbridge & Co were preparing a brochure and application form for several hundred potential customers. Nat had also booked a full-page ad in the Hartford Courant and agreed to be interviewed about the project for the weekly property section.

Mr George Turner, the council’s new chief executive, had nothing but praise for the enterprise, and in his annual report, singled out Mrs Kirkbridge’s contribution as project coordinator. Earlier in the year, Mr Turner had visited Russell’s Rank, but not before Ray Jackson had been promoted to manager of their Newington branch.

Tom’s progress was somewhat slower as it had taken him seven months before he plucked up the courage to invite Julia out for dinner. It took her seven seconds to accept.

Within weeks Tom was on the 4.49 p.m. train to New York every Friday afternoon, returning to Hartford on the Monday morning. Su Ling kept asking for progress reports, but Nat seemed unusually ill-informed.

‘Perhaps we’ll find out more on Friday,’ he said, reminding her that Julia was down for the weekend, and they had both accepted an invitation to join them for dinner.

Nat reread the short piece in the New York Times, which didn’t go into any detail, and left the impression that there was a lot more behind the story. William Alexander of Alexander Dupont & Bell, has announced his resignation as senior partner of the firm founded by his grandfather. Mr Alexander’s only comment was that for some time he had been planning to take early retirement.

Nat looked out of the window at the Hartford countryside speeding by. He recognized the name, but couldn’t place it.

‘Mr Logan Fitzgerald is on line one, senator.’

‘Thank you, Sally.’ Fletcher received over a hundred calls a day, but his secretary only put them through when she knew they were old friends or urgent business.

‘Logan, how good to hear from you. How are you?’

‘I’m well, Fletcher, and you?’

‘Never better,’ Fletcher replied.

‘And the family?’ asked Logan.

‘Annie still loves me, heaven knows why, because I rarely leave the building before ten, Lucy is at Hartford Elementary and we’ve put her down for Hotchkiss. And you?’

‘I’ve just made partner,’ said Logan.

‘That’s no surprise,’ said Fletcher, ‘but many congratulations’.

‘Thanks, but that wasn’t why I was calling. I wanted to check if you’d spotted the piece about Bill Alexander’s resignation in the Times.’ Fletcher felt a chill go through his body at the mere mention of the name,

‘No,’ he said, as he leant across the desk and grabbed his copy of the paper. ‘Which page?’

‘Seven, bottom right.’

Fletcher quickly flicked through the pages until he saw the headline, Leading lawyer resigns. ‘Hold on while I just read the piece.’ When he’d come to the end, all he said was, It doesn’t add up. He was married to that firm, and he can’t be a day over sixty.’

‘Fifty-seven,’ said Logan.

‘But the partners’ mandatory retirement age is sixty-five, and even then they keep you on as an in-house advisor until you’re seventy. It doesn’t add up.’ Fletcher repeated.

‘Until you dig a little.’

‘And when you dig a little, what do you find?’ asked Fletcher.

‘A hole.’

‘A hole?’

‘Yes, it seems that a large sum of money went missing from a client’s account when...’

‘I have no time for Bill Alexander,’ Fletcher cut in, ‘but I do not believe that he would remove one penny from a client’s account. In fact I’d stake my reputation on it.’

‘I agree with you, but what will interest you more is that the New York Times didn’t bother to report the name of the other partner who resigned on the same day.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘Ralph Elliot, no less.’

‘They both went on the same day?’

‘They sure did.’

‘And what reason did Elliot give for resigning? It certainly can’t have been because he was planning to take early retirement.’

‘Elliot gave no reason; in fact their PR spokeswoman is reported to have said that he was unavailable for comment, which must be a first.’

‘Did she add anything?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Only that he was a junior partner, but she failed to point out that he was also Alexander’s nephew.’

‘So a large sum of money goes missing from a client’s account, and Uncle Bill decided to take the rap rather than embarass the firm.’

‘That sounds about right,’ said Logan.

Fletcher could feel the sweat on the palms of his hands as he put the phone down.

Tom burst into Nat’s office. ‘Did you spot the piece in the New York Times about Bill Alexander’s resignation?’

‘Yes, I recalled the name, but couldn’t remember why.’

‘It was the law firm Ralph Elliot joined after he left Stanford.’

‘Ah yes,’ said Nat, putting down his pen, ‘so is he the new senior partner?’

‘No, but he is the other partner who resigned. Joe Stein tells me that half a million has gone missing from a client account, and the partners had to cover the sum out of their own earnings. The name on the street is Ralph Elliot.’

‘But why would the senior partner have to resign if Elliot’s name is in the frame?’

‘Because Elliot’s his nephew, and Alexander pushed for him to be the youngest partner in the firm’s history.’

‘Sit still and revenge will visit thine enemies.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Tom, ‘but it might revisit Hartford.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.

‘He’s telling everyone that Rebecca is missing her friends, so he’s bringing his wife back home.’

‘His wife?’

‘Yeah. Joe says they were married in a New York registry office quite recently, but not before she also resembled a big apple.’

‘I wonder who the father is,’ said Nat almost to himself.

‘And he’s opened an account at our Newington branch, obviously unaware that you’re the bank’s chief executive.’

‘Elliot knows only too well who the bank’s chief executive is. Just let’s be sure he doesn’t deposit half a million,’ Nat added with a smile.

‘Joe says there’s no proof, and what’s more, Alexander’s has a reputation for being tight-lipped, so don’t expect to hear anything more from that quarter.’

Nat looked up at Tom. ‘Elliot wouldn’t come home unless he had a job to go to. He’s too proud for that. But just who’s been foolhardy enough to employ him?’

The senator picked up line one. ‘Mr Gates,’ said his secretary.

‘Business or pleasure?’ Fletcher asked when Jimmy came on the line.

‘Certainly not pleasure,’ replied Jimmy. ‘Have you heard Ralph Elliot is back in town?’

‘No. Logan rang this morning to tell me that he’d resigned from AD and B but he didn’t say anything about him returning to Hartford.’

‘Yeah, he’s joining Belman and Wayland as the partner in charge of corporate business. In fact, part of his agreement is that the firm will in the future be known as Belman Wayland and Elliot.’ Fletcher didn’t comment. ‘Are you still there?’ asked Jimmy.

‘Yes, I am,’ said Fletcher. ‘You do realize they’re the law firm that represents the council?’

‘As well as being our biggest rival.’

‘And I thought I’d seen the last of him.’

‘You could always move to Alaska,’ said Jimmy, ‘I read somewhere that they’re looking for a new senator.’

‘If I did, he’d only follow me.’

‘There’s no need for us to lose any sleep over it,’ said Jimmy. ‘He’ll assume we know about the missing five hundred thousand and realize he’ll have to lie low until the rumours have died down.’

‘Ralph Elliot doesn’t know the meaning of lying low. He’ll ride into town with both guns blazing, with us lined up in his sights.’

‘What else have you found out?’ asked Nat, looking up from behind his desk.

‘He and Rebecca already have a son and I’m told they’ve put him down for Taft.’

‘I hope to God he’s younger than Luke, otherwise I’d send the boy to Hotchkiss.’

Tom laughed. ‘I mean it,’ said Nat. ‘Luke’s a sensitive enough child without having to cope with that.’

‘Well, there are also consequences for the bank of his joining Belman and Wayland.’

‘And Elliot,’ added Nat.

‘Don’t forget that they were the lawyers overseeing the Cedar Wood project on behalf of the council, and if he ever found out...’

‘There’s no reason he should,’ said Nat. ‘However, you’d better warn Julia, even though it’s been a couple of years, and don’t forget Ray has also moved on. Only four people know the full story, and I’m married to one of them.’

‘And I’m going to marry the other,’ said Tom.

‘You’re what?’ said Nat in disbelief.

‘I’ve been proposing to Julia for the past eighteen months, and last night she finally gave in. So I’ll be bringing my fiancée for dinner tonight.’

‘That’s wonderful news,’ said Nat, sounding delighted.

‘And Nat, don’t leave it until the last moment to tell Su Ling.’

‘It’s just a shot across our bow,’ said Harry in reply to Fletcher’s question.

‘It’s a bloody cannon,’ responded Fletcher. ‘Ralph Elliot doesn’t deal in shots, so we’ll need to find out what the hell he’s up to.’

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Harry. ‘All I can tell you is that I had a call from George Turner to alert me that Elliot had asked for all the papers that the bank has ever been involved with, and yesterday morning he called again asking for more details on the Cedar Wood project, and in particular the original terms of agreement that I recommended to the Senate.’

‘Why the Cedar Wood project? That’s proving to be a huge success story, with a rush of applications to lease space. Just what is he up to?’

‘He’s also asked to see copies of all my speeches, and any notes I’d made at the time of the Gates Amendment. No one has ever asked me for copies of my old speeches before, let alone my notes,’ said Harry. ‘It’s very flattering.’

‘ “He only flatters to deceive,” ’ said Fletcher. ‘Remind me of the finer points of the Gates Amendment?’

‘I insisted that any purchaser of council land valued at over one million dollars be named and not be able to hide his or her identity behind the offices of a bank or a law firm so we’d know exactly who we were dealing with. They were also required to pay the full amount on the signing of any contract to prove they were a viable company. That way there would be no hold-ups.’

‘But everyone now accepts that as good practice. In fact, several other states have followed your lead.’

‘It could just be an innocent enquiry.’

‘You’ve obviously never dealt with Ralph Elliot before,’ said Fletcher. ‘Innocent is not part of his vocabulary. However, in the past he has always selected his enemies carefully. Once he’s driven past the Gates Library a few times, he may decide you’re not someone to cross. But be warned, he’s up to something.’

‘By the way,’ said Harry, ‘has anyone told you about Jimmy and Joanna?’

‘No,’ said Fletcher.

‘Then I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’m sure Jimmy will want to tell you in his own time.’

‘Congratulations, Tom,’ said Su Ling, as she opened the front door. ‘I’m so pleased for both of you.’

‘That’s kind of you,’ said Julia, as Tom handed his hostess a bunch of flowers.

‘So when are you going to get married?’

‘Sometime in August,’ said Tom, ‘we haven’t settled on a date, in case you and Luke were booked for another trip to Disneyland, or Nat was off for a spell of night ops with the reserve.’

‘No, Disneyland is a thing of the past,’ said Su Ling, ‘Can you believe Luke’s now talking about Rome, Venice and even Arles — and Nat’s not due down at Fort Benning until October.’

‘Why Arles?’ asked Tom.

‘It’s where Van Gogh painted at the end of his life,’ said Julia as Nat walked into the room.

‘Julia, I’m glad you’re here, because Luke needs to consult you on a moral dilemma.’

‘A moral dilemma? I didn’t think you started worrying about those until after puberty.’

‘No, this is far more serious than sex, and I don’t know the answer.’

‘So what’s the question?’

‘Is it possible to paint a masterpiece of Christ and the Virgin Mary if you are a murderer?’

‘It’s never seemed to worry the Catholic Church,’ said Julia. ‘Several of Caravaggio’s finest works are hanging in the Vatican, but I’ll go up and have a word with him.’

‘Caravaggio, of course. And don’t stay up there too long,’ added Su Ling, ‘there are so many questions I want to ask you.’

‘I’m sure Tom can answer most of them,’ said Julia.

‘No, I want to hear your version,’ said Su Ling as Julia disappeared upstairs.

‘Have you warned Julia what Ralph Elliot is up to?’ asked Nat.

‘Yes,’ Tom replied, ‘and she can’t foresee any problems. After all, why should it ever occur to Elliot that there were two Julia Kirkbridges. Don’t forget, the first one was only with us for a few days and has never been seen or heard of since, whereas Julia has been around for a couple of years now, and everybody knows her.’

‘But it’s not her signature on the original cheque.’

‘Why’s that a problem?’ asked Tom.

‘Because when the bank cleared the $3.6 million, the council asked for the cheque to be returned to them.’

‘Then it will be tucked away in a file somewhere, and even if Elliot did come across it, why should he be suspicious?’

‘Because he has the mind of a criminal. Neither of us thinks like him.’ Nat paused. ‘But to hell with that, let me ask you, before Julia and Su Ling return, am I looking for a new chairman, or has Julia agreed to settle in Hartford and wash dishes?’

‘Neither,’ said Tom, ‘she’s decided to accept a takeover bid from that fellow Trump, who’s been after her company for some time.’

‘Did she get a good price?’

‘I thought this was meant to be a relaxed evening to celebrate...?’

‘Did she get a good price?’ repeated Nat.

‘Fifteen million in cash, and a further fifteen million in Trump shares.’

‘That’s a PE ratio of about sixteen. Not bad,’ said Nat, ‘although Trump obviously believes in the potential of the Cedar Wood project. So does she plan to open a real estate company in Hartford?’

‘No, I think she ought to tell you what she has in mind,’ said Tom as Su Ling returned from the kitchen.

‘Why don’t we invite Julia to join the board?’ asked Nat. ‘And put her in charge of our property division. That would free me up to spend more time concentrating on the banking side.’

‘I think you’ll find she considered that scenario at least six months ago,’ said Tom.

‘Did you by any chance offer her a directorship if she agreed to marry you?’ asked Nat.

‘Yes, I did originally, and she turned both down. But now I’ve convinced her to marry me, I’ll leave it to you to persuade her to join the board because I have a feeling she has other plans.’

37

Fletcher was on the floor of the chamber listening to a speech on subsidized housing when the proceedings were interrupted. He’d been checking through his notes, as he was due to speak next. A uniformed officer entered the chamber and passed a slip of paper to the presiding member, who read it, and then read it again, banged his gavel and rose from his place. ‘I apologize to my colleague for interrupting proceedings, but a gunman is holding a group of children hostage at Hartford Elementary. I am sure Senator Davenport will need to leave, and, given the circumstances, I believe it would be appropriate to adjourn for the day.’

Fletcher was on his feet immediately and had reached the door of the chamber even before the presiding member had closed the proceedings. He ran all the way to his office, trying to think on the move. The school was in the middle of his district, Lucy was a pupil and Annie was head of the PTA. He prayed that Lucy wasn’t among the hostages. The whole of the State House seemed to be on the move. Fletcher was relieved to find Sally standing by the door to his office, notebook in hand. ‘Cancel all of today’s appointments, call my wife and ask her to join me at the school, and please stay by the phone.’

Fletcher grabbed his car keys and joined the flood of people hurrying out of the building. As he drove out of the members’ parking lot, a police car shot in front of him. Fletcher pressed his foot hard down on to the accelerator and swung into the police car’s slipstream as they headed towards the school. The line of cars became longer and longer, with parents making their way to pick up their offspring, some looking frantic after hearing the news on their car radios, others still blissfully unaware.

Fletcher kept his foot on the accelerator, staying only a few feet away from the rear bumper in front of him, as the police car shot down the wrong side of the road, lights blinking, sirens blaring. The policeman in the passenger seat used his loudspeaker to warn the pursuing vehicle to drop back, but Fletcher ignored the ultimatum, knowing they wouldn’t stop. Seven minutes later both came to a screeching halt at a police barrier outside the school, where a group of hysterical parents was trying to find out what was going on. The policeman in the passenger seat leapt out of his car and ran towards Fletcher as he slammed his door closed. The officer drew his pistol and shouted, Tut your hands on the roof The driver, who was only a yard behind his colleague said, ‘Sorry, senator, we didn’t realize it was you.’

Fletcher ran to the barrier. ‘Where will I find the chief?’

‘He’s set up headquarters in the principal’s office. I’ll get someone to take you there, senator.’

‘No need,’ said Fletcher, ‘I know my way.’

‘Senator...’ said the policeman, but it was too late.

Fletcher ran down the path towards the school, unaware that the building was surrounded by military guards, their rifles all aimed in one direction. It surprised him to see how quickly the public stood to one side the moment they saw him. A strange way to be reminded that he was their representative.

‘Who the hell’s that?’ asked the chief of police as a lone figure came running across the yard towards them.

‘I think you’ll find it’s Senator Davenport,’ said Alan Shepherd, the school’s principal, looking through the window.

‘That’s all I need,’ said Don Culver. A moment later Fletcher came charging into the room. The chief looked up from behind the desk, trying to hide his ‘that’s all I need’ look, as the senator came to a halt in front of him.

‘Good afternoon, senator.’

‘Good afternoon, chief,’ Fletcher replied, slightly out of breath. Despite the wary look, he rather admired the paunchy, cigar-smoking chief of police, who wasn’t known for running his force by the book.

Fletcher gave a nod to Alan Shepherd, and then turned his attention back to the chief. ‘Can you bring me up to speed?’ he asked as he caught his breath.

‘We’ve got a lone gunman out there. It looks as if he strolled up the main path in broad daylight a few minutes before school was due to come out.’ The chief turned to a makeshift ground-floor plan taped to the wall, and pointed to a little square with ART ROOM printed across it. ‘There appears to be no rhyme or reason why he chose Miss Hudson’s class, other than it was the first door he came to.’

‘How many children in there?’ Fletcher asked, turning his attention back to the principal.

‘Thirty-one,’ replied Alan Shepherd, ‘and Lucy isn’t one of them.’

Fletcher tried not to show his relief. ‘And the gunman, do we know anything about him?’

‘Not a lot,’ said the chief, ‘but we’re finding out more by the minute. His name is Billy Bates. We’re told his wife left him about a month ago, soon after he lost his job as the night watchman at Pearl’s. Seems he was caught drinking on duty once too often. He’s been thrown out of several bars during the past few weeks, and, according to our records, even ended up spending a night in one of our cells.’

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Davenport,’ said the principal, rising from his place.

Fletcher turned to see his wife, ‘Lucy wasn’t in Miss Hudson’s class,’ were his first words.

‘I know,’ said Annie, ‘she was with me. When I got your message, I dropped her off with Martha and came straight over.’

‘Do you know Miss Hudson?’ asked the chief.

‘I’m sure Alan has told you that everyone knows Mary, she’s an institution. I think she’s the longest-serving member of staff.’ The principal nodded. ‘I doubt if there’s a family in Hartford who doesn’t know someone who’s been taught by her.’

‘Can you give me a profile?’ asked the chief, turning to face Alan Shepherd.

‘In her fifties, single, calm, firm and well-respected.’

‘And something you left out,’ added Annie, ‘much loved.’

‘What do you think she’d be like under pressure?’

‘Who knows how anyone would react under this sort of pressure,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’ve no doubt she’d give up her life for those children.’

‘That’s what I feared you’d say,’ said the chief, ‘and it’s my job to make sure she doesn’t have to.’ His cigar was no longer glowing. ‘I’ve got over a hundred men surrounding the main block and a sniper on top of the adjacent building who says he occasionally gets a sighting of Bates.’

‘Presumably you’re trying to negotiate?’ said Fletcher.

‘Yes, there’s a phone in the room which we’ve been calling every few minutes, but Bates refuses to pick it up. We’ve set up a loudspeaker system, but he’s not responding to that either.’

‘Have you thought of sending someone in?’ asked Fletcher as the phone on the principal’s desk rang. The chief pressed the intercom button.

‘Who’s this?’ Culver barked.

‘It’s Senator Davenport’s secretary, I was hoping...’

‘Yes, Sally,’ said Fletcher, ‘what is it?’

‘I’ve just seen a report on the news that says the gunman is called Billy Bates. The name sounded familiar, and it turns out that we have a file on him — he’s been to see you twice.’

‘Anything helpful in his case notes?’

‘He came to lobby you on gun control. He feels very strongly on the subject. In your notes you’ve written “restrictions not tough enough, locks on triggers, sale of firearms to minors, proof of identification”.’

‘I remember him,’ said Fletcher, ‘intelligent, full of ideas but no formal education. Well done, Sally.’

‘Are you sure he isn’t just crazy?’ asked the chief.

‘Far from it,’ said Fletcher. ‘He’s thoughtful, shy, even timid, and his biggest complaint was that no one ever listened to him. Sometimes that sort of person feels they have to prove a point when every other approach has failed. And his wife leaving him and taking the children, just when he’s lost his job may have tipped the balance.’

‘Then I’ve got to take him out,’ said the chief, ‘just like they did with that guy in Tennessee who locked up all those officials in the revenue office.’

‘No, that’s not a parallel case,’ insisted Fletcher, ‘that man had a record as a psychopath. Billy Bates is a lonely man who’s seeking attention, the type that regularly comes to see me.’

‘Well, he’s sure grabbed my attention, senator,’ responded the chief.

‘Which could be precisely why he’s gone to such extremes,’ said Fletcher. ‘Why don’t you let me try and speak to him?’

The chief removed his cigar for the first time; junior officers would have warned Fletcher that meant he was thinking.

‘OK, but all I want you to do is to get him to pick up the phone, then I’ll take over any negotiations. Is that understood?’ Fletcher nodded his agreement. The chief turned to his number two and added, ‘Dale, tell them that the senator and I are going out there, so to hold their fire.’ The chief grabbed the megaphone and said, ‘Let’s do it, senator.’

As they started walking down the corridor, the chief added firmly, ‘You’re only to step a couple of paces outside the front door, and don’t forget your message needs to be simple, because all I want him to do is pick up the phone.’

Fletcher nodded as the chief opened the door for him. He took a few paces before he came to a halt and held up the megaphone. ‘Billy, this is Senator Davenport, you’ve been to see me a couple of times. We need to speak to you. Could you please pick up the phone on Miss Hudson’s desk?’

‘Keep repeating the message,’ barked the chief.

‘Billy, this is Senator Davenport, would you please pick up...’

A young officer came running towards the open door, ‘He’s picked up the phone, chief, but he says he’ll only speak to the senator.’

‘I’ll decide who he talks to,’ said Culver. ‘No one dictates to me.’ He disappeared through the door and almost ran back to the principal’s study.

‘This is Chief Culver. Now listen, Bates, if you imagine...’ The phone went dead. ‘Damn,’ said the chief as Fletcher walked back into the room. ‘He put the phone down on me, we’re going to have to try again.’

‘Perhaps he meant it when he said he would only speak to me.’

The chief removed his cigar again. ‘OK, but the moment you’ve calmed him down, you pass the phone over.’

Once they’d returned to the playground Fletcher spoke over the megaphone again. ‘Sorry, Billy, can you call again, and this time I’ll be on the other end of the line?’ Fletcher accompanied Don Culver back to the principal’s study to find Billy already on the speaker-phone.

‘The senator’s just walked back into the room,’ the principal assured him.

‘I’m right here, Billy, it’s Fletcher Davenport.’

‘Senator, before you say anything, I’m not budging while the chief has all those rifles trained on me. Tell them to back off if he doesn’t want a death on his hands.’

Fletcher looked at Culver, who removed his cigar once again before nodding.

‘The chief’s agreed to that,’ said Fletcher.

‘I’ll call you back when I can’t see one of them.’

‘Right,’ said the chief, ‘tell everyone to back off, except for the marksman on the north tower. There’s no way Bates could spot him.’

‘So what happens next?’ asked Fletcher.

‘We wait for the bastard to call back.’

Nat was answering a question on voluntary redundancies when his secretary came rushing into the boardroom. They all realized that it had to be urgent as Linda had never interrupted a board meeting before. Nat immediately stopped speaking when he saw the anxious look on her face.

‘There’s a gunman at Hartford Elementary...’ Nat went cold, ‘... and he’s holding Miss Hudson’s class hostage.’

‘Is Luke...’

‘Yes he is,’ she replied. ‘Luke’s last lesson on a Friday is always Miss Hudson’s art class.’

Nat rose unsteadily from his chair and walked towards the door. The rest of the board remained silent. ‘Mrs Cartwright is already on her way to the school,’ Linda added as Nat left the room. ‘She said to tell you she’ll meet you there.’

Nat nodded as he pushed open a door that led into the underground car park. ‘Stay by the phone,’ was the last thing he said to Linda as he climbed into his car. When he nosed up the ramp and out on to Main Street, he hesitated for a moment before turning left instead of his usual right.

The phone rang. The chief touched the speaker and pointed to Fletcher.

‘Are you there, senator?’

‘Sure am, Billy.’

‘Tell the chief to allow the TV crews and press inside the barrier; that way I’ll feel safer.’

‘Hey, wait a minute,’ began the chief.

‘No, you wait a minute,’ shouted Billy. ‘Or you’ll have your first body in the playground. Try explaining to the press that it only happened because you didn’t let them inside the barrier.’ The phone went dead.

‘You’d better go along with his request, chief,’ said Fletcher, ‘because it looks like he’s determined to be heard one way or the other.’

‘Let the press through,’ said Culver, nodding to one of his deputies. The sergeant quickly left the room, but it was several minutes before the phone rang again. Fletcher touched the console.

‘I’m listening, Billy.’

‘Thank you, Mr Davenport, you’re a man of your word.’

‘So what do you want now?’ barked the chief.

‘Nothing from you, chief, I prefer to go on dealing with the senator. Mr Davenport, I need you to come across and join me; that’s the only way I have a chance of getting my case heard.’

‘I can’t allow that to happen,’ said the chief.

‘I don’t believe it’s your call, chief. It’s up to the senator to decide, but I guess you’ll have to sort that out amongst yourselves. I’ll call back in two minutes.’ The phone went dead.

‘I’m happy to agree to his demand,’ said Fletcher. ‘Frankly there doesn’t seem to be a lot of choice.’

‘I don’t have the authority to stop you,’ said the chief, ‘but maybe Mrs Davenport can spell out the consequences.’

‘I don’t want you to go in there,’ said Annie. ‘You always think the best of everyone, and bullets aren’t that discriminating.’

‘I wonder how you’d feel if Lucy was one of the children trapped in there?’

Annie was about to reply when the phone rang again. ‘Are you on your way, senator, or do you need a body to help you make up your mind?’

‘No, no,’ said Fletcher, ‘I’m on my way.’ The phone went dead.

‘Now listen carefully,’ said the chief, ‘I can cover you while you’re in the open, but you’re on your own once you’re in that classroom.’ Fletcher nodded and then took Annie in his arms, holding her for several seconds.

The chief accompanied him along the corridor. ‘I’m going to phone the classroom every five minutes. If you get a chance to talk, I’ll tell you everything that’s happening our end. Whenever I ask a question, just answer yes or no. Don’t give Bates any clues as to what I’m trying to find out.’ Fletcher nodded. When they reached the door, the chief removed his cigar. ‘Let me take your jacket, senator.’ Fletcher looked surprised. ‘If you’re not concealing a gun, why give Bates any reason to believe you might be?’ Fletcher smiled as Culver held the door open for him. ‘I didn’t vote for you last time, senator, but if you get out alive, I just might consider it iae time. Sorry,’ he added, ‘just my warped sense of humour. Good luck.’

Fletcher stepped out on to the playground and began to walk slowly down the path towards the main classroom building. He could no longer spot any of the sharp-shooters, but he sensed that they weren’t far away. Although he couldn’t see the TV crews, he could hear their tense chatter as he stepped into the light of their massive arc lamps. The path that led to the classrooms couldn’t have been more than a hundred yards. To Fletcher it felt like walking a mile-long tightrope in the blazing sun.

Once he’d reached the other side of the playground he climbed the four steps to the entrance. He entered a dark, empty corridor and waited until his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. When he reached a door stencilled with the words Miss Hudson in ten different colours, he knocked quietly. The door was immediately yanked open. Fletcher stepped inside to hear the door slam behind him. When he heard the muffled sobbing, Fletcher glanced across to see a group of children huddled on the floor in one corner.

‘Sit there,’ commanded Bates, who looked as nervous as Fletcher felt. Fletcher squeezed into a desk built for a nine-year-old on the end of the front row. He looked up at the dishevelled man, whose ill-fitting jeans were torn and dirty. A paunch hung over his waistline, despite the fact that he couldn’t have been more than forty. He watched carefully as Bates crossed the room and stood behind Miss Hudson, who remained seated at her table in the front of the class. Bates held the gun in his right hand, while placing his left arm on her shoulder.

‘What’s happening out there?’ he shouted, ‘what’s the chief up to?’

‘He’s waiting to hear from me,’ said Fletcher in a quiet voice. ‘He’s going to phone in every five minutes. ‘He’s worried about the children. You’ve managed to convince everyone out there you’re a killer.’

‘I’m no killer,’ said Bates. ‘You know that.’

‘Perhaps I do,’ said Fletcher, ‘but they might be more convinced if you were to release the children.’

‘If I do that, then I won’t have anything to bargain with.’

‘You’ll have me,’ said Fletcher. ‘Kill a child, Billy, and everyone will remember you for the rest of their fives; kill a senator, and they’ll have forgotten by tomorrow.’

‘Whatever I do, I’m a dead man.’

‘Not if we were to face the cameras together.’

‘But what would we tell them?’

‘That you’ve already been to see me twice, and you’d put forward some sensible and imaginative ideas on gun control but no one took any notice. Well, now they’re going to have to sit up and listen, because you’re going to be given the chance to speak to Sandra Mitchell on prime time news.’

‘Sandra Mitchell? Is she out there?’

‘Sure is,’ replied Fletcher, ‘and she’s desperate to interview you.’

‘Do you think she’d be interested in me, Mr Davenport?’

‘She hasn’t come all this way to talk to anyone else,’ said Fletcher.

‘Will you stay with me?’ asked Bates.

‘You bet, Billy. You know exactly where I stand on gun control. When we last met you told me you had read all of my speeches on the subject.’

‘Yes I have, but what good did that do?’ asked Billy. He took his arm off Mary Hudson’s shoulder and began walking slowly towards Fletcher, the gun pointed directly at him. ‘The truth is, that you’re only repeating exactly what the chief has told you to say.’

Fletcher gripped the sides of the desk, never taking his eyes off Billy. If he was going to risk it, he knew he needed to draw Billy in as close as possible. He leant forward slightly while still holding firmly on to the lid of the desk. The phone by Miss Hudson began ringing. Billy was now only a pace away, but the ringing sound caused him to turn his head for a split second. This gave Fletcher the chance to jerk the lid of the desk up in a sudden movement, crashing it into Billy’s right hand. Billy momentarily lost his balance, and as he stumbled, he dropped the gun. They both watched it hurtle across the floor, coming to a halt just a few feet away from Miss Hudson. The children began to scream as she fell on her knees, grabbed the gun and pointed it straight at Billy.

Billy rose slowly and advanced towards her as she remained kneeling on the floor, the gun pointing at his chest. ‘You’re not going to pull the trigger, are you, Miss Hudson?’

With each step Billy took towards her, Miss Hudson trembled more and more violently. Billy was only a foot away from her when she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. There was a click. Billy looked up, smiled, and said, ‘No bullets, Miss Hudson. I never intended to kill anyone, I just wanted someone to listen for a change.’

Fletcher slid out from behind the desk, ran to the door and yanked it open. ‘Out, out,’ he yelled, his right hand gesturing in a sweeping movement at the terrified children. A tall girl with long pigtails stood up and ran towards the open door and out into the corridor. Two more followed closely behind her. Fletcher thought he heard a piping voice say ‘Go, go,’ as he held the door open. All but one of the children came rushing towards him, disappearing out of sight within moments. Fletcher stared towards the comer at the one remaining child. The boy slowly rose from his place and walked to the front of the class. He leant down, took Miss Hudson by the hand, and led her towards the door, never once looking at Billy. When he reached the open door, he said, ‘Thank you, senator,’ and accompanied his teacher out into the corridor.

A loud cheer went up as the tall girl with long black pigtails came charging through the front door. Search-lights beamed down on her and she quickly placed a hand over her eyes, unable to see the welcoming crowd. A mother broke through the cordon and ran across the playground to take the girl in her arms. Two boys followed closely behind, as Nat placed an arm around Su Ling’s shoulder, desperately searching for Luke. A few moments later, a larger group came running out of the door, but Su Ling couldn’t hold back the tears once she realized Luke was not among them.

‘There’s still one more to come,’ she heard a journalist reporting on the early evening news, ‘along with his teacher.’

Su Ling’s eyes never left the open door for what she later described as the longest two minutes of her life.

An even bigger cheer went up when Miss Hudson appeared in the doorway clutching on to Luke’s hand. Su Ling looked up at her husband, who was vainly attempting to hold back the tears.

‘What is it with your Cartwrights,’ she said, ‘that you always have to be the last out?’

Fletcher remained by the door until Miss Hudson was out of sight. He then closed it slowly, and walked across to pick up the insistent phone.

‘Is that you, senator?’ demanded the chief.

‘Yes.’

‘Are you OK? We thought we heard a crash, maybe even a shot.’

‘No, I’m just fine. Are all the children safe?’

‘Yes, we’ve got all thirty-one of them,’ said the chief.

‘Including the last one?’

‘Yes, he’s just joined his parents.’

‘And Miss Hudson?’

‘She’s talking to Sandra Mitchell on Eyewitness News. She’s telling everyone that you’re some kind of hero.’

‘I think she’s talking about someone else,’ said Fletcher.

‘Are you and Bates planning to join us sometime?’ asked the chief, assuming he was just being modest.

‘Give me a few more minutes, chief. By the way, I’ve agreed that Billy can also talk to Sandra Mitchell.’

‘Who’s got the gun?’

‘I have,’ said Fletcher. ‘Billy won’t be causing you any more trouble. The gun wasn’t even loaded,’ he added, before putting the phone down.

‘You know they’re going to kill me, don’t you, senator?’

‘No one’s going to kill you, Billy, not as long as I’m with you.’

‘Do I have your word on that, Mr Davenport?’

‘You have my word on it, Billy. So let’s go out and face them together.’

Fletcher opened the classroom door. He didn’t need to search for a light switch as there were so many megawatts beaming in from the playground that he could clearly see the door at the far end of the passage.

He and Billy walked down the corridor together without a word passing between them. When they reached the main door that led on to the playground, Fletcher opened it tentatively and stepped into a beam of light to be greeted by another huge cheer from the crowd. But he couldn’t see their faces.

‘It’s going to be all right, Billy,’ said Fletcher turning back towards him. Billy hesitated for a moment, but finally took a tentative pace forward and stood by Fletcher’s side. They walked slowly down the path together. He turned and saw Billy smile. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Fletcher repeated, just as the bullet ripped through Billy’s chest. The sheer impact threw Fletcher to one side.

Fletcher pushed himself up off his knees and leapt on top of Billy, but it was too late. He was already dead.

‘No, no, no,’ Fletcher screamed. ‘Didn’t they realize that I gave him my word?’

38

‘Someone is buying our shares,’ said Nat.

‘I do hope so,’ said Tom, ‘we are, after all, a public company.’

‘No, chairman, I mean that someone is aggressively buying them.’

‘For what purpose?’ asked Julia.

Nat put down his pen. ‘To try and take us over would be my bet.’ Several of the board began to speak at once, until Tom tapped the table. ‘Let’s hear Nat out.’

‘For some years now, our policy has been to buy up small ailing banks and add them to our portfolio, and overall that has proved a worthwhile enterprise. All of you know my long-term strategy is to make Russell’s the largest banking presence in the state. What I hadn’t planned for was that our success would, in turn, make us attractive to an even larger institution.’

‘And you’re convinced someone is now trying to take us over?’

‘I most certainly am, Julia,’ said Nat, ‘and you’re partly to blame. The most recent phase of the Cedar Wood project has been such a massive success that our overall profits nearly doubled last year.’

‘If Nat is right,’ said Tom, ‘and I suspect he is, there’s only one question that needs to be answered. Are we happy to be taken over or do we want to put up a fight?’

‘I can only speak for myself, chairman,’ said Nat, ‘but I’m not yet forty and I certainly wasn’t planning on early retirement. I suggest we have no choice but to fight.’

‘I agree,’ said Julia, ‘I’ve been taken over once already, and I’m not going to let it happen a second time. In any case, our shareholders will not expect us to roll over.’

‘Not to mention one or two of the past chairmen,’ said Tom, looking up at the paintings of his father, grandfather and great grandfather staring down at him from the surrounding walls. ‘I don’t think we need to vote on this,’ continued Tom, ‘so why don’t you take us through the options, Nat.’

The chief executive opened one of the three files on the table in front of him.

‘The law in these circumstances couldn’t be clearer. Once a company or individual owns six per cent of the target company, they must declare their position to the Securities and Exchange Commission in Washington DC, and state within twenty-eight calendar days if it is their intention to make a takeover bid for the rest of the shares. And if so, what price they are willing to offer.’

‘If someone is trying to take us over,’ said Tom, ‘they won’t wait the statutory month. Once they’ve hit six per cent they’ll make a bid the same day.’

‘I agree, Mr Chairman,’ said Nat, ‘but until then, there is nothing to stop us buying our own shares, although they are priced a little on the high side at the moment.’

‘But won’t that alert the opposition to the fact that we know what they’re up to?’ asked Julia.

‘Possibly, so we must instruct our brokers to buy soft, and that way we’ll quickly find out if there’s one big purchaser in the market.’

‘How much stock do we own between us?’ asked Julia.

‘Tom and I each hold ten per cent,’ said Nat, ‘and you are currently holding,’ he checked some figures in a second file, ‘just over three per cent.’

‘And how much cash do I still have on deposit?’

Nat turned the page, ‘Just over eight million dollars, not to mention your Trump shares, which you’ve been liquidating whenever there’s a strong demand.’

‘Then why don’t I pick up any soft shares, which wouldn’t be quite so easy for any predators to trace?’

‘Especially if you only dealt through Joe Stein in New York,’ said Tom, ‘and then ask him to let us know if his brokers can identify any particular individual or company who’s buying aggressively.’ Julia began taking notes.

‘The next thing we have to do is select the sharpest takeover lawyer in the business,’ said Nat. ‘I’ve talked to Jimmy Gates, who’s represented us in all our previous takeover bids, but he says this one is out of his league, and recommends a guy from New York called,’ he checked the third file, ‘Logan Fitzgerald, who specializes in corporate raids. I thought I’d travel up to New York before the weekend and find out if he’ll represent us.’

‘Good,’ said Tom, ‘anything else we ought to be doing in the meantime?’

‘Yes, keep your eyes and ears open, chairman. I need to find out as quickly as possible who it is we’re up against.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that,’ said Fletcher.

‘It’s nobody’s fault,’ said Jimmy, ‘and I can’t pretend it’s been going well for some time, so when UCLA invited Joanna to head up their history department, it just brought matters to a head.’

‘How are the children taking it?’

‘Elizabeth’s just fine, and now that Harry Junior’s at Hotchkiss, they both seem grown up enough to handle the situation. In fact, Harry rather likes the idea of spending his summer vacations in California.’

‘I am sorry,’ repeated Fletcher.

‘I think you’ll find it’s the norm nowadays,’ said Jimmy. ‘It won’t be long before you and Annie are in the minority. The principal told me that around thirty per cent of the children at Hotchkiss come from broken homes. Do you know when we were there, I can’t remember more than one perhaps two of our contemporaries whose parents were divorced.’ He paused. ‘And the good thing is, if the children are in California during the summer, I’ll have more time to spend on your re-election campaign.’

‘I’d rather you and Joanna were still together,’ said Fletcher.

‘Any idea who you’ll be up against?’ asked Jimmy, obviously wanting to change the subject.

‘No,’ said Fletcher, ‘I hear Barbara Hunter is desperate to run yet again, but the Republicans don’t seem to want her as their candidate if they can find a half-decent alternative.’

‘There was a rumour circulating,’ said Jimmy, ‘that Ralph Elliot was considering running, but frankly after your Billy Bates triumph, I don’t think the Archangel Gabriel could unseat you.’

‘Billy Bates was not a triumph, Jimmy. That man’s death haunts me even now. He could still be alive today if I’d only been firmer with Chief Culver.’

‘I know that’s how you see it, Fletcher, but the public feels otherwise. Your re-election last time proved that. All they remember is that you risked your life to save thirty-one children and their favourite teacher. Dad says if you had run for president that week you’d be living in the White House right now.’

‘How is the old buzzard?’ asked Fletcher. ‘I’m feeling a bit guilty because I haven’t had a chance to visit him recently.’

‘He’s fine, likes to believe he’s still running everything and everybody, even if he’s only planning your career.’

‘What year has he got me running for president?’ asked Fletcher with a grin.

‘That all depends on whether you’re first considering running for governor. By the time you’ve done four terms as senator, Jim Lewsam will just about have completed his second term.’

‘Perhaps I don’t want to be governor.’

‘Perhaps the pope isn’t a Catholic’

‘Good morning,’ said Logan Fitzgerald as he looked around the boardroom table. ‘Before you ask,’ he continued, ‘the answer is Fairchild’s.’

‘Of course,’ said Nat. ‘Damn it, I should have worked it out for myself. When you think about it, they are the obvious predator. Fairchild’s is the largest bank in the state; seventy-one branches with almost no serious rivals.’

‘Someone on their board obviously considers we are a serious rival,’ said Tom.

‘So they’ve decided to eliminate you before you think of doing the same thing to them,’ said Logan.

‘I can’t blame them,’ said Nat, ‘it’s exactly what I’d do if I were in their position.’

‘And I can also tell you that the original idea didn’t come from a member of their board,’ continued Logan. ‘The official notification to the SEC was signed on their behalf by Belman Wayland and Elliot, and there are no prizes for guessing which of the three partners’ signature appears on the dotted line.’

‘That means we’ve got one hell of a fight on our hands,’ said Tom.

‘True,’ said Logan, ‘so the first thing we have to do is start playing the counting game.’ He turned his attention to Julia. ‘How many shares have you picked up in the last few days?’

‘Less than one per cent,’ she replied, ‘because someone out there keeps pushing the price up. When I asked my broker yesterday evening, he told me at close of business the shares had touched $5.20.’

‘That’s way above their realistic value,’ said Nat, ‘but there’s no way back for either of us now. I’ve asked Logan to join us this morning so he can give us his assessment of our chances of survival, as well as take us through what’s likely to happen during the next few weeks.’

‘Let me bring you up to date as of nine o’clock this morning, Mr Chairman,’ continued Logan. ‘In order to avoid a takeover, Russell’s must have in their possession, or pledged to them in writing, fifty point one per cent of the bank’s shares. The board currently holds just over twenty-four per cent, and we know Fairchild’s already has at least six per cent. On the face of it, that looks satisfactory. However, as Fairchild’s are now offering $5.10 a share for a period of twenty-one days, I feel it’s my duty to point out that should you decide to sell your shares, the cash value alone would net you in the region of twenty million dollars.’

‘We’ve already made our decision on that,’ said Tom firmly.

‘Fine, then you’re left with only two choices. You can either make a higher offer than Fairchild’s $5.10 a share, remembering your chief executive’s judgement that they are already way above their realistic value, or you can contact all your shareholders, asking them to pledge their stock to you.’

‘The latter,’ said Nat, without hesitation.

‘As I anticipated that would be your response, Mr Cartwright, I’ve studied the list of stockholders carefully — as of this morning, there were 27,412 in all, mostly holding small amounts, a thousand or less shares. However, five per cent remains in the portfolios of three individuals, two widows residing in Florida who own two per cent each, and Senator Harry Gates, who is in possession of one per cent.’

‘How’s that possible?’ asked Tom. ‘Harry Gates is known to have spent his entire public life living on a senator’s salary.’

‘He has his father to thank for that,’ said Logan. ‘It seems that he was a friend of the founder of the bank, who offered him one per cent of the company in 1892. He purchased one hundred shares for one hundred dollars, and the Gates family has held on to them ever since.’

‘What are they worth now?’ asked Tom.

Nat tapped his calculator. ‘Close on half a million, and he probably doesn’t even realize it.’

‘Jimmy Gates, his son, is an old friend of mine,’ said Logan. ‘In fact I owe my present job to him. And I can tell you that once Jimmy finds out that Ralph Elliot is involved, those shares will immediately be pledged to us. If you can lay your hands on them, and reel in the two old ladies from Florida, you’ll be close to controlling thirty per cent, which still means you’ll need another twenty point one per cent before anyone can relax.’

‘But from my experience of past takeovers, at least five per cent won’t get back in touch with either of us,’ said Nat, ‘when you consider changes of address, trust funds, and even those like Harry Gates who don’t bother to check their portfolios from year to year.’

‘I agree,’ said Logan, ‘but I won’t rest easy until I know you control over fifty per cent.’

‘So how do we go about getting our hands on that extra twenty per cent?’ asked Tom.

‘Damned hard work, and hours of it,’ said Logan. ‘To start with, you will have to send out a personal letter to all your shareholders, just over twenty-seven thousand in all. This is the sort of thing I have in mind.’ Logan handed copies of a letter to each of the board members. ‘You’ll see that I’ve concentrated on the bank’s strengths, long history in the community, highest growth of any financial institution in the state. I’ve asked if they want one bank to end up with a monopoly.’

‘Yes,’ said Nat. ‘Ours.’

‘But not yet,’ said Logan. ‘Now, before we agree on this letter, I’d welcome your input, as it has to be signed by your chairman or chief executive.’

‘But that’s over twenty-seven thousand signatures?’

‘Yes, but you can split them between you,’ said Logan with a smile. ‘I wouldn’t suggest such a Herculean task if I wasn’t fairly sure our rivals will send out a circular headed “Dear Shareholder”, with a stylized signature above the name of their chairman. The personal touch might well make the difference between survival and extinction.’

‘Can I help in any way?’ asked Julia.

‘You certainly can, Mrs Russell,’ replied Logan. ‘I’ve designed a totally different letter for you to sign that should be sent to every female shareholder. Most of them are either divorced or widowed and probably don’t check their portfolios from one year to the next. There are nearly four thousand such investors, so that should take care of your weekend.’ He pushed a second letter across the table. ‘You’ll see I’ve referred to your particular expertise in having run your own company, as well as being a board member of Russell’s for the past seven years.’

‘Anything else?’ asked Julia.

‘Yes,’ said Logan, passing her two more sheets of paper. ‘I want you to visit the two widows from Florida.’

‘I could go early next week,’ said Julia, checking her diary.

‘No,’ said Logan firmly. ‘Phone them this morning and fly down to see them tomorrow. You can be sure that Ralph Elliot has already paid them a visit.’

Julia nodded, and began checking through the file to find how much was known of Mrs Bloom and Mrs Hargaten.

‘And finally, Nat,’ continued Logan, ‘you’re going to have to get yourself involved in a fairly aggressive media campaign; in other words, let it all hang out.’

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Nat.

‘Local boy made good, Vietnam hero, Harvard scholar who returned to Hartford to build up the bank with his closest friend. Even throw in your cross-country experience — the nation is going through a bout of jogging mania at the moment — and one or two of them might even be shareholders. And if anyone wants to interview you from Cycling News to Knitting Weekly, just say yes.’

‘And who will I be up against?’ asked Nat. ‘The chairman of Fairchild’s?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Logan, ‘Murray Goldblatz is an astute banker, but they won’t risk putting him on television.’

‘Why not?’ asked Tom. ‘He’s been the chairman of Fairchild’s for over twenty years, and he’s one of the most respected financiers in the business.’

‘I agree, chairman,’ said Logan. ‘But don’t forget that he had a heart attack a couple of years back, and worse, he stutters. It may not worry you because you’ve become used to it over the years, but the chances are that if he goes on television, the public will only see him once. He may be the most respected banker in the state, but stuttering spells dithering. Unfair, but you can be sure that they’ll have thought that through.’

‘So I guess it will be Wesley Jackson, my opposite number?’ mused Nat. ‘He’s about the most articulate banker I’ve come up against. I even offered him a place on our board.’

‘You may well have done,’ said Logan. ‘But he’s black.’

‘This is 1988,’ said Nat angrily.

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Logan, ‘but well over ninety per cent of your shareholders are white, and they will have taken that into consideration as well.’

‘So who do you think they’ll put up?’ asked Nat.

‘I don’t have any doubt that you’ll be up against Ralph Elliot.’

‘So the Republicans have ended up endorsing Barbara Hunter after all,’ said Fletcher.

‘Only because no one else wanted to run against you,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Once they realized you were nine points ahead in the polls.’

‘I hear they begged Ralph Elliot to throw his hat in the ring, but he said he couldn’t consider it while he was in the middle of a takeover bid for Russell’s Bank.’

‘A good excuse,’ said Jimmy, ‘but there was no way that man would have allowed his name to go forward unless he knew he had a reasonable chance of beating you. Did you see him on television last night?’

‘Yes,’ said Fletcher with a sigh, ‘and if I hadn’t known better, I might have fallen for that “be assured of your future by joining the largest, safest and most respected bank in the state”. He’s lost none of his old charisma. I only hope your father didn’t fall for it.’

‘No, Harry’s already pledged his one per cent to Tom Russell, and is telling everyone else to do the same thing, though he was shocked when I told him how much his shares were worth.’

Fletcher laughed. ‘I see the financial journalists are speculating that both sides now have around forty per cent, with only another week to go before the offer closes.’

‘Yes, it’s going to be close. I only hope Tom Russell realizes just how dirty it will become now that Ralph Elliot is involved,’ said Fletcher.

‘I couldn’t have made it clearer,’ said Jimmy quietly.

‘When was this sent out?’ Nat asked as the rest of the board studied the latest missive circulated to all shareholders by Fairchild’s.

‘It’s dated yesterday,’ said Logan, ‘which means we have three days left to respond, but by then I fear the damage will have been done.’

‘Even I wouldn’t have believed Elliot was capable of sinking this low,’ said Tom as he studied the letter signed by Murray Goldblatz:

‘This is the response that I propose we send out by express mail today,’ said Logan, ‘allowing Fairchild’s no time to respond to it.’ He slid a copy across to each board member.

‘Can I release it immediately?’ asked Logan.

‘No,’ said Nat, tearing it up. He didn’t speak for some time. ‘It takes a lot to get me angry, but I am about to kill off Ralph Elliot once and for all, so listen carefully.’

Twenty minutes later, Tom ventured the first comment, ‘That would be taking one hell of a risk.’

‘Why?’ asked Nat, ‘if the strategy fails, we’ll all end up multi-millionaires, but if it succeeds, we’ll take control of the biggest bank in the state.’

‘Dad’s livid with you,’ said Jimmy.

‘But why?’ asked Fletcher, ‘when I won.’

‘That’s the problem, you won by over twelve thousand votes, which was tactless of you,’ said Jimmy as he watched Harry Junior running down the wing, the ball at his feet. ‘Don’t forget that he only managed eleven thousand once in twenty-eight years, and that was when Barry Goldwater was running for president.’

‘Thanks for the warning,’ said Fletcher. ‘I guess I’d better avoid the next couple of Sunday lunches.’

‘You’d better not, it’s your turn to be told how he made a million overnight.’

‘Yes, Annie warned me that he’d sold his shares in Russell’s Bank. I thought he’d made a pledge not to release them to Fairchild’s at any cost?’

‘He did, and he would have kept to it, but the day before the offer was due to close, and the shares had peaked at $7.10, he had a call from Tom Russell, advising him to sell. He even suggested that he got in touch with Ralph Elliot direct so the deal would go through quickly.’

‘They’re up to something,’ said Fletcher. ‘There’s no way Tom Russell would have told your father to deal with Ralph Elliot unless there’s another chapter still to be written in this particular saga.’ Jimmy said nothing. ‘So can we therefore assume that Fairchild’s has secured over fifty per cent?’

‘I asked Logan the same question, but he explained that because of client confidentiality, he couldn’t say anything until Monday, when the official figures would be released by the SEC

‘Ouch,’ said Jimmy, ‘did you see what that Taft kid just did to Harry Junior? He’s lucky Joanna’s not here, otherwise she would have run on to the field and whacked him.’

‘Those in favour?’ asked the chairman.

Every hand round the table rose, though Julia seemed to hesitate for a moment. ‘Then it’s unanimous,’ declared Tom and, turning to Nat, added, ‘perhaps you should take us through what’s likely to happen next.’

‘Certainly, chairman,’ said Nat. ‘At ten o’clock this morning, the SEC will announce that Fairchild’s has failed to secure control of Russell’s Bank.’

‘What percentage do we think they’ll end up with?’ asked Julia.

‘They had 47.89 per cent at midnight on Saturday, and may have picked up a few more shares on Sunday, but I doubt it.’

‘And the price?’

‘At close of business on Friday they were $7.32,’ said Logan, ‘but after this morning’s announcement, all pledges are automatically released and Fairchild’s cannot make another bid for at least twenty-eight days.’

‘That’s when I plan to put a million of Russell’s shares on the market,’ said Nat.

‘Why would you do that?’ asked Julia, ‘when our shares would be certain to fall sharply.’

‘So will Fairchild’s because they own nearly fifty per cent of us,’ said Nat, ‘and they can do nothing about it for twenty-eight days.’

‘Nothing?’ repeated Julia.

‘Nothing,’ confirmed Logan.

‘And if we then use the extra cash to buy Fairchild’s shares as they begin dropping...’

‘You would have to inform the SEC the moment you reached six per cent,’ said Logan, ‘and at the same time let them know that it’s your intention to make a full takeover bid for Fairchild’s.’

‘Good,’ said Nat, as he pulled the phone towards him and dialled ten digits. No one spoke as the chief executive waited for the phone to be answered. ‘Hi, Joe, it’s Nat, we’re going ahead as planned. At one minute past ten, I want you to place a million of the bank’s shares on the market.’

‘You realize they’ll drop like a stone,’ said Joe, ‘because you’re about to turn everyone into a seller.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right, Joe, because that’s when I want you to start mopping up Fairchild’s shares, but not until you think they’ve bottomed out. And don’t stop until you’ve got hold of five point nine per cent.’

‘Understood,’ said Joe.

‘And, Joe, just be sure you keep an open line night and day, because you’re not going to get much sleep during the next four weeks,’ added Nat before replacing the receiver.

‘Are you sure we’re not breaking the law?’ asked Julia.

‘Certain,’ said Logan, ‘but if we pull it off, my bet is that Congress will have to rewrite the legislation on takeovers in the very near future.’

‘And do you consider what we’re doing is ethical?’ asked Julia.

‘No,’ said Nat, ‘and it wouldn’t have even crossed my mind to behave this way if we hadn’t been dealing with Ralph Elliot.’ He paused. ‘I did warn you that I was going to kill him. I just didn’t tell you how.’

39

‘You’ve got the chairman of Fairchild’s on line one, Joe Stein on line two, and your wife on line three.’

‘I’ll take the chairman of Fairchild’s. Ask Joe Stein to hold and tell Su Ling I’ll call back.’

‘Your wife said it was urgent.’

‘I’ll call her back in a few minutes.’

‘I’m putting Mr Goldblatz through.’

Nat would have liked a few moments to compose himself before he spoke to the chairman of Fairchild’s, perhaps he should have told his secretary that he would call him back. For a start, how should he address him; Mr Goldblatz, Mr Chairman or sir? After all, he had been chairman of Fairchild’s when Nat was still at Harvard Business School doing case studies on banking.

‘Good morning, Mr Cartwright.’

‘Good morning, Mr Goldblatz, how can I help you?’

‘I wondered if perhaps we could meet.’ Nat hesitated because he wasn’t quite sure what to say. ‘And I think it would be wise if it were just the two us,’ he added. ‘Jus... jus... just the two of us.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that would be all right,’ said Nat, ‘but it will have to be somewhere no one would recognize us.’

‘Might I suggest St Joseph’s Cathedral?’ said Mr Goldblatz, ‘I don’t think anyone will recognize me there.’

Nat laughed. ‘When did you have in mind?’ he asked.

‘I would have thought sooner rather than later.’

‘I agree,’ said Nat.

‘Shall we say three o’clock this afternoon? I can’t imagine there will be that many people in church on a Monday afternoon.’

‘St Joseph’s, three o’clock, I’ll see you there, Mr Goldblatz.’ No sooner had Nat put the phone down than it rang again.

‘Joe Stein,’ said Linda.

‘Joe, what’s the latest?’

‘I’ve just picked up another hundred thousand of Fairchild’s stock, which takes you up to twenty-nine per cent. They’re currently around $2.90, which is less than half their high point. But you do have a problem,’ said Joe.

‘And what’s that?’

‘If you don’t get hold of fifty per cent by Friday week, you’ll be facing exactly the same problem Fairchild’s had a fortnight ago, so I hope you know what your next move is.’

‘It may become clearer after a meeting I’m having at three o’clock this afternoon,’ said Nat.

‘That sounds interesting,’ said Joe.

‘It could well be,’ said Nat, ‘but I can’t say anything at the moment because even I’m not sure what it’s all about.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll look forward to hearing more. But what do you expect me to do in the meantime?’

‘I want you to go on buying every Fairchild’s share you can lay your hands on until close of business tonight. Then let’s talk again just before the market opens tomorrow morning.’

‘Understood,’ said Joe, ‘then I’d better leave you and get back on the floor.’

Nat let out a long sigh, and tried to think what Murray Goldblatz could possibly want to see him about. He picked up the phone again, ‘Linda, get me Logan Fitzgerald — he’ll be on his New York number.’

‘Your wife did stress that it was urgent and she called back again while you were speaking to Mr Stein.’

‘Right, I’ll phone her while you try and find Logan.’

Nat dialled his home number and then began strumming his fingers on the desk as he continued to think about Murray Goldblatz and what he could possibly want. Su Ling’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

‘Sorry I didn’t call you straight back,’ said Nat, ‘but Murray...’

‘Luke’s run away from school,’ said Su Ling. ‘No one’s seen him since lights out last night.’

‘You’ve got the chairman of the Democratic National Committee on line one, Mr Gates on line two, and your wife on line three.’

‘I’ll take the party chairman first. Would you ask Jimmy to hold and tell Annie I’ll call her right back.’

‘She said it was urgent.’

‘Tell her I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’

Fletcher would have liked a little more time to compose himself. He’d only met the party chairman a couple of times, in a corridor at the national convention, and at a cocktail party in Washington DC. He doubted if Mr Brubaker would remember either occasion. And then there was the problem of how to address him, Mr Brubaker, Alan, or even sir. After all, he’d been appointed chairman before Fletcher had even run for the Senate.

‘Good morning, Fletcher, Al Brubaker.’

‘Good morning, Mr Chairman, how nice to hear from you. How can I help?’

‘I need to have a word with you in private, Fletcher, and wondered if you and your wife could possibly fly down to Washington and join Jenny and me for dinner one evening.’

‘We’d be delighted to,’ said Fletcher, ‘when did you have in mind?’

‘How’s the evening of the eighteenth looking? That’s next Friday.’

Fletcher quickly flicked through the pages of his appointment book. He had a caucus meeting at noon, which he shouldn’t miss now that he was deputy leader, but nothing was pencilled in for that evening. ‘What time would you like us to be there?’

‘Eight suit you?’ asked Brubaker.

‘Yes, that will be fine, Mr Chairman.’

‘Good, then eight o’clock it is, on the eighteenth. My home is in Georgetown, 3038 N Street.’

Fletcher wrote it down in the space below the caucus meeting. ‘I look forward to seeing you then, Mr Chairman.’

‘Me too,’ said Brubaker. ‘And Fletcher, I would prefer if you didn’t mention this to anyone.’

Fletcher put the phone down. It would be tight, and he might even have to leave the caucus meeting early. The intercom buzzed again.

‘Mr Gates,’ said Sally.

‘Hi, Jimmy, what can I do for you?’ asked Fletcher cheerily, wanting to tell him about his invitation to have dinner with the chairman of the party.

‘It’s not good, I’m afraid,’ said Jimmy. ‘Dad’s had another heart attack and they’ve rushed him into St Patrick’s. I’m just about to leave, but I thought I’d give you a call first.’

‘How bad is he?’ asked Fletcher quietly.

‘Hard to tell until we hear what the doctor has to say. Mom wasn’t exactly coherent when she got in touch with me, so I won’t know a lot more until I’ve been to the hospital.’

‘Annie and I will be with you as soon as we can,’ said Fletcher. He touched the bridge of his telephone and then dialled his home number. It was busy. He replaced the phone and began tapping his fingers. If it was still busy when he tried again he decided he would drive straight home and pick Annie up so they could go over to the hospital together. For a moment, Al Brubaker flashed back into his mind. Why would he want a private meeting that he would prefer not to be mentioned to anyone else? But then his thoughts returned to Harry and he dialled his home number a second time. He heard Annie’s voice on the end of the line.

‘Have you heard?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Fletcher, ‘I’ve just spoken to Jimmy. I thought I’d go directly to the hospital so we could meet there.’

‘No, it’s not just Dad,’ said Annie. ‘It’s Lucy, she had a terrible fall when she was out riding this morning. She’s concussed and has broken her leg. They’ve put her in the infirmary. I don’t know what to do next.’

‘I blame myself,’ said Nat. ‘Because of the takeover battle with Fairchild’s I haven’t been to see Luke once this term.’

‘Me neither,’ admitted Su Ling. ‘But we were going to the school play next week.’

‘I know,’ said Nat. ‘As he’s playing Romeo, do you think the problem might be Juliet?’

‘Possibly. After all, you met your first love at the school play, didn’t you?’ asked Su Ling.

‘Yes, and that ended in tears.’

‘Don’t blame yourself, Nat. I’ve been just as preoccupied with my graduate students these last few weeks, and perhaps I should have questioned Luke more closely about why he was so silent and withdrawn during term break.’

‘He’s always been a bit of a loner,’ said Nat, ‘and studious children rarely gather a lot of friends around them.’

‘How would you know?’ asked Su Ling, glad to see her husband smile. ‘And both our mothers have always been quiet and thoughtful,’ she added as she drove on to the highway.

‘How long do you think it will take us to get there?’ asked Nat as he glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

‘At this time of day about an hour, so I expect we should arrive around three o’clock,’ said Su Ling, as she took her foot off the accelerator, once she’d touched fifty-five.

‘Three, oh hell,’ said Nat, suddenly remembering, ‘I’ll have to let Murray Goldblatz know that I won’t be able to make his meeting.’

‘The chairman of Fairchild’s?’

‘No less, he requested a private meeting,’ said Nat as he picked up the car-phone. He quickly checked Fairchild’s number in his phone book.

‘To discuss what?’ asked Su Ling.

‘It has to be something to do with the takeover, but beyond that I haven’t a clue.’ Nat pressed the eleven digits. ‘Mr Goldblatz, please.’

‘Who shall I say is calling?’ asked the switchboard operator,

Nat hesitated, ‘It’s a personal call.’

‘I will still need to know who it is,’ the voice insisted.

‘I have an appointment with him at three o’clock.’

‘I’ll put you though to his secretary.’ Nat waited.

‘Mr Goldblatz’s office,’ said a female voice.

‘I have a three o’clock appointment with Mr Goldblatz, but I fear I am going...’

‘I’ll put you through, Mr Cartwright.’

‘Mr Cartwright.’

‘Mr Goldblatz, I must apologize, a family problem has arisen and I won’t be able to make our meeting this afternoon.’

‘I see,’ said Goldblatz, not sounding as though he did.

‘Mr Goldblatz,’ said Nat, ‘I’m not in the habit of playing games, I have neither the time nor the inclination.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you did, Mr Cartwright,’ said Goldblatz curtly.

Nat hesitated. ‘My son has run away from Taft and I’m on my way to see the principal.’

‘I’m so... so... sorry to hear that,’ Mr Goldblatz said, his tone immediately changing. ‘If it’s any consolation, I also ran away from Taft, but once I’d spent all my pocket money I decided to go back the following day.’

Nat laughed. ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’

‘Not at all, perhaps you’d give me a call and let me know when it’s convenient for us to meet.’

‘Yes of course, Mr Goldblatz, and I wonder if I might ask a favour.’

‘Certainly.’

‘That none of this conversation is reported to Ralph Elliot.’

‘You have my word on that, but then, Mr Cartwright, he has no idea that I planned to meet you in the first place.’

When Nat put the phone down, Su Ling said, ‘Wasn’t that a bit of a risk?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Nat. ‘I have a feeling that Mr Goldblatz and I have discovered something we have in common.’

As Su Ling drove through the Taft gates, memories came flooding back to Nat: his mother being late, having to walk down the centre aisle of a packed hall when his knees were knocking, sitting next to Tom, and twenty-five years later, accompanying his son back on his first day. Now he only hoped his boy was safe and well.

Su Ling parked the car outside the principal’s house, and before she had turned the engine off, Nat spotted Mrs Henderson coming down the steps. He felt his stomach churn until he saw the smile on her lips. Su Ling jumped out of the car.

‘They’ve found him,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘He was with his grandmother, helping her with the laundry.’

‘Let’s both go straight to the hospital and see your father. Then we can decide if one of us should go on to Lakeville and check up on Lucy.’

‘Lucy would be so sad if she knew,’ said Annie. ‘She has always adored Grandpa.’

‘I know, and he’s already begun planning her life,’ said Fletcher. ‘Perhaps it would be better not to tell her what has happened, especially as she obviously won’t be able to visit him.’

‘You may be right. In any case, he did go and see her last week.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Fletcher.

‘Oh yes, those two are plotting something,’ said Annie as she drove into the hospital parking lot, ‘but neither of them is letting me in on the secret.’

When the elevator doors opened, the two of them walked quickly down the corridor to Harry’s room. Martha stood up the moment they walked in, her face ashen. Annie took her mother in her arms as Fletcher touched Jimmy’s shoulder. He looked down at a man whose flesh was drawn and sallow, his nose and mouth covered with a mask. A monitor beeped beside him, the only indication that he was still alive. This was the most energetic man Fletcher had ever known.

The four of them sat around the bed in silence, Martha holding her husband’s hand. After a few moments she said, ‘Don’t you think one of you should go and see how Lucy is getting on? There’s not a lot you can do here.’

‘I’m not moving,’ said Annie, ‘but I think Fletcher ought to go.’

Fletcher nodded his agreement. He kissed Martha on the cheek, and looking at Annie said, ‘I’ll drive straight back just as soon as I’ve made sure that Lucy is OK.’

Fletcher couldn’t recall much of the journey to Lakeville as his mind wondered from Harry to Lucy, and for a moment to Al Brubaker, although he found that he was no longer preoccupied with what the chairman of the party wanted.

When he reached the road sign announcing the intersection for Hotchkiss, Fletcher’s thoughts returned to Harry and how they had first met at that football game. ‘Please God let him live,’ he said out loud as he drove into his old school and brought the car to a halt outside the entrance to the sanatorium. A nurse accompanied the senator to his daughter’s bedside. As he walked down the corridor of empty beds, he could see in the distance a plastered leg, hooked high into the air. It reminded him of when he had run for the school presidency and his rival had allowed the voters to sign his cast on the day of the election. Fletcher tried to remember his name.

‘You’re a fraud,’ said Fletcher even before he saw the huge smile on Lucy’s face and the bottles of soda and bags of cookies scattered all around her.

‘I know, Dad, and I even managed to miss a calculus exam, but I must be back on campus by Monday if I’m to have any chance of becoming class president.’

‘So that’s why Grandpa came down to see you, the sly old buzzard,’ said Fletcher. He kissed his daughter’s cheek and was eyeing the cookies when a young man walked in and stood nervously on the other side of the bed.

‘This is George,’ said Lucy. ‘He’s in love with me.’

‘Nice to meet you, George,’ said Fletcher smiling.

‘You too, senator,’ the young man said as he extended his right hand across the bed.

‘George is running my campaign for class president,’ said Lucy, just like my godfather ran yours. George thinks that the broken leg will help bring in the sympathy vote. ‘I’ll have to ask Grandpa for his opinion when he next comes up to visit me — Grandpa’s our secret weapon,’ she whispered, ‘he’s already terrified the opposition.’

‘I don’t know why I bothered to come down to see you at all,’ said Fletcher, ‘you so obviously don’t need me.’

‘Yes I do, Dad. Could I get an advance on next month’s allowance?’

Fletcher smiled and took out his wallet. ‘How much did your grandfather give you?’

‘Five dollars,’ said Lucy sheepishly. Fletcher extracted another five dollar bill. ‘Thanks, Dad. By the way, why isn’t Mom with you?’

Nat agreed to drive Luke back to school the following morning. The boy had been very uncommunicative the previous evening, almost as if he wanted to say something, but not while both of them were in the room.

‘Perhaps he’ll open up on the way back to school, when it’s only the two of you,’ suggested Su Ling.

Father and son set out on the journey back to Taft soon after breakfast, but Luke still said very little. Despite Nat’s trying to raise the subjects of work, the school play and even how Luke’s running was going, he received only monosyllabic replies. So Nat changed tactics and also remained silent, hoping that Luke would, in time, initiate a conversation.

His father was in the passing lane, driving just above the speed limit, when Luke asked, ‘When did you first fall in love, Dad?’ Nat nearly hit the car in front of him, but slowed down in time before drifting back into the middle lane.

‘I think the first girl I really took any serious interest in was called Rebecca. She was playing Oliva to my Sebastian in the school play.’ He paused. ‘Is it Juliet you’re having the problem with?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Luke, ‘she’s dumb — pretty, but dumb.’ This was followed by another long silence. ‘And how far did you and Rebecca go?’ he finally asked.

‘We kissed a little, if I remember,’ said Nat, ‘and there was a little of what we used to call in those days petting.’

‘Did you want to touch her breasts?’

‘Sure did, but she wouldn’t let me. I didn’t get that far until our freshman year at college.’

‘But did you love her, Dad?’

‘I thought I did, but that bombshell didn’t truly hit me until I ran into your mother.’

‘So was Mom the first person you made love to?’

‘No, there had been a couple of other girls before her, one in Vietnam, and another while I was at college.’

‘Did you get either of them pregnant?’

Nat moved across to the inside lane and fell well below the speed limit. He paused. ‘Have you got someone pregnant?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Luke, ‘and neither does Kathy, but when we were kissing behind the gym, I made a terrible mess all over her skirt.’

Fletcher spent another hour with his daughter before he drove back to Hartford. He enjoyed George’s company. Lucy had described him as the brightest kid in the class. ‘That’s why I chose him as my campaign manager,’ she explained.

Fletcher was back in Hartford an hour later, and when he walked into Harry’s hospital room the tableau hadn’t changed. He sat down next to Annie and took her hand.

‘Any improvement?’ he asked.

‘No, nothing,’ said Annie, ‘he hasn’t stirred since you left. How about Lucy?’

‘A complete fraud, as I told her. She’ll be in a plaster cast for around six weeks, which doesn’t seem to have cramped her style; in fact she seems convinced it will help her chances of becoming class president.’

‘Did you tell her about Grandpa?’

‘No, and I had to bluff a little when she asked where you were.’

‘Where was I?’

‘Chairing a meeting of the school board.’

Annie nodded. ‘True, just the wrong day.’

‘By the way, did you know she had a boyfriend?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Do you mean George?’

‘You’ve met George?’

‘Yes, but I wouldn’t have described him as a boyfriend,’ said Annie, ‘more a devoted slave.’

‘I thought Lincoln abolished slavery in 1863?’ said Fletcher.

Annie turned to face her husband, ‘Did it worry you?’ she asked.

‘Certainly not, Lucy’s got to have a boyfriend sooner or later.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’

‘Annie, she’s only sixteen.’

‘I was younger when I first met you.’

‘Annie, have you forgotten that when we were at college we marched for civil rights, and I’m proud that we’ve passed that conviction on to our daughter.’

40

When Nat dropped his son off at Taft and returned to Hartford, he felt guilty about not having enough time to visit his parents. But he knew he couldn’t miss the meeting with Murray Goldblatz two days in a row. When he said goodbye to Luke, at least the boy no longer appeared shrouded in the world’s woes. Nat promised his son that he and his mother would be back on Friday evening for the school play. He was still thinking about Luke when the car phone rang — an innovation that had changed his life.

‘You were going to call before the market opened,’ said Joe. He paused. ‘With some possible news?’

‘I’m sorry not to have called, Joe; a domestic crisis came up and I simply forgot.’

‘Well, are you able to tell me more?’

‘Tell you more?’

‘Your last words were, “I’ll know more in twenty-four hours”.’

‘Before you burst out laughing, Joe, I’ll know more in twenty-four hours.’

‘I’ll wear that, but what are today’s instructions?’

‘The same as yesterday, I want you to go on buying Fairchild’s aggressively until the close of business.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, Nat, because the bills are going to start coming in next week. Everyone knows Fairchild’s can ride out this sort of storm, but are you absolutely certain you can?’

‘I can’t afford not to,’ said Nat, ‘so just keep on buying.’

‘Whatever you say, boss, I just hope you’ve got a parachute, because if you haven’t secured fifty per cent of Fairchild’s by Monday morning at ten o’clock it’s going to be a very bumpy landing.’

As Nat continued his journey back to Hartford, he realized that Joe was doing no more than stating the obvious. By this time next week he knew he could well be out of a job, and more important, have allowed Russell’s to be taken over by their biggest rival. Was Goldblatz already aware of this? Of course he was.

As Nat drove into the city, he decided not to return to his office, but to park a few blocks from St Joseph’s, grab a snack and consider all the alternatives Goldblatz might come up with. He ordered a bacon sandwich in the hope that it would put him in a fighting mood. He then began to write out a list of the pros and cons on the back of the menu.

At ten to three, he left the deli and started to make his way slowly towards the cathedral. Several people nodded or said ‘Good afternoon, Mr Cartwright’, as they passed, reminding him how well known he’d become recently. Their expressions were of admiration and respect, and he only wished he could advance the reel by one week to see how the faces would react then. He checked his watch — four minutes to three. He decided to circle the block and walk into the cathedral from the quieter south entrance. He climbed the steps in twos and entered the south transept a couple of minutes before the cathedral clock chimed the hour. Nothing would be gained by being late.

It took Nat a few moments to accustom himself to the darkness of the candle-lit cathedral after the strong light of the mid-afternoon sun. He looked down the centre aisle that led to the altar, dominated by a massive gilded cross studded with semi-precious stones. He transferred his attention to the rows and rows of dark oak pews that stretched out in front of him down the nave. They were indeed almost empty as Mr Goldblatz had predicted, save for four or five old ladies shrouded in black, one of them holding a rosary and chanting, ‘Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with you, blessed art thou...?’

Nat continued down the centre aisle, but could see no sign of Goldblatz. When he reached the great, carved wooden pulpit, he stopped for a moment to admire the craftsmanship, which reminded him of his trips to Italy. He felt guilty that he’d been unaware of such beauty in his own city. He looked back down the aisle, but the only occupants remained the cluster of old ladies, heads bowed, still mumbling. He decided to make his way to the far side of the cathedral and take a seat near the back. He checked his watch again. It was one minute past three. As he walked, he became aware of the echoing sound his feet made on the marble floor. It was then that he heard a voice say, ‘Do you wish to confess, my son?’

Nat swung to his left to see a confessional box with the curtain drawn. A Catholic priest with a Jewish accent? He smiled, took a seat on the small wooden bench and drew the curtain closed.

‘You’re looking very smart,’ said the majority leader as Fletcher took his place on Ken’s right. ‘Anyone else and I’d have said you had a mistress.’

‘I do have a mistress,’ said Fletcher, ‘and her name is Annie. By the way, I may have to leave around two.’

Ken Stratton glanced down the agenda. ‘That’s fine by me; other than the education bill there doesn’t seem to be a lot that involves you except perhaps candidates for the next election. We’ve all assumed you will be running again for Hartford, unless Harry plans to make a comeback. By the way, how is the old buzzard?’

‘He’s a little better,’ said Fletcher. ‘Restless, interfering, irascible and opinionated.’

‘Not much change then,’ said Ken.

Fletcher considered the agenda. Fund-raising was all he would be missing, and that item had been on every agenda since the day he was elected, and would still be there long after he’d retired.

As twelve struck, the majority leader called for order and asked Fletcher to present his timetable for the education bill. For the next thirty minutes Fletcher outlined his proposals, going into considerable detail about those clauses he anticipated the Republicans would oppose. After five or six questions from his colleagues, Fletcher realized that it would require all his legal and debating skills if he was to get this piece of legislation through the Senate. The last question predictably came from Jack Swales, the longest-serving member of the Senate. He always asked the last question, which was a sign that it was time to move on to the next item on the agenda.

‘How much is this all going to cost the taxpayer, senator?’

Other members smiled as Fletcher performed the ritual: ‘It’s covered in the budget, Jack, and was part of our platform at the last election.’

Jack smiled and the majority leader said, ‘Item number two, candidates for the next election.’

Fletcher had intended to slip out as soon as the discussion got under way, but like everyone else in the room, was taken by surprise when Ken went on to say, ‘I have to inform my fellow members, with some regret, that I shall not be running at the next election.’

A half-sleepy group meeting suddenly became a powder-keg, with ‘whys?’ and ‘surely nots’ and ‘who?’ until Ken raised a hand. ‘I don’t have to explain to you why I feel the time has come to retire.’

Fletcher realized the immediate consequence of Ken’s decision was that he was now the favourite to become majority leader. When his name was called, Fletcher made it clear that he would be running for re-election. He slipped out when Jack Swales began a speech on why he felt it was nothing less than his duty to seek re-election at the age of eighty-two.

Fletcher drove the half-mile to the hospital, and ran up the stairs to the second floor rather than wait for the elevator. He walked in to find Harry laying down the law on impeachment to an attentive audience of two. Martha and Annie turned to face him as he entered the room.

‘Anything happen at the party caucus that I ought to know about?’ Harry asked.

‘Ken Stratton won’t be running at the next election.’

‘That’s no surprise. Ellie’s been ill for some time, and she’s the only thing he loves more than the party. But what it does mean, is that, if we can hold on to the Senate, you could well be the next majority leader.’

‘What about Jack Swales? Won’t he consider it his by right?’

‘In politics, nothing is yours by right,’ said Harry. ‘In any case, my bet is that the other members wouldn’t back him. Now don’t waste any more time talking to me, I know you’ve got to be in Washington for your meeting with Al Brubaker. All I want to know is when you think you’ll be back.’

‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ said Fletcher. ‘We’re only staying overnight.’

‘Then drop in on your way from the airport; I want a blow by blow account of why Al wanted to see you, and make sure you give him my regards, because he’s the best chairman the party’s had in years. And ask him if he got my letter.’

‘Your letter?’ said Fletcher.

‘Just ask him,’ said Harry.

‘I thought he looked a lot better,’ said Fletcher as he and Annie drove to the airport.

‘I agree,’ said Annie, ‘and they’ve told Martha that they may even let him go home next week if, and only if, he promises to take things easy.’

‘He’ll promise,’ said Fletcher, ‘but just be thankful the election’s not for another ten months.’

The shuttle to the capital took off fifteen minutes late, but Fletcher had allowed for that, so when they touched down, he felt confident they would still have enough time to check into the Willard Hotel, shower, and be in Georgetown by eight.

Their cab pulled up outside the hotel at seven ten. The first thing Fletcher asked the porter was how long it would take to get to Georgetown.

‘Ten, maybe fifteen minutes,’ he replied.

‘Then I’d like to book a cab for seven forty-five.’

Annie somehow managed to shower and change into a cocktail dress, while Fletcher paced around the room looking at his watch every few moments. He opened the cab door for his wife at 7.51.

‘I need to get to 3038 N Street in,’ he checked his watch, ‘nine minutes.’

‘No, you don’t,’ said Annie, ‘if Jenny Brubaker is anything like me, she’ll be grateful if we’re a few minutes late.’

The cabbie wove his way in and out of the evening traffic and managed to pull up outside the chairman’s house at two minutes past the hour. After all, he knew who would be paying the fare.

‘It’s nice to see you again, Fletcher,’ Al Brubaker said as he opened the front door. ‘And it’s Annie, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve met, but of course I know about your work for the party.’

‘The party?’ said Annie.

‘Don’t you sit on the Hartford school board as well as the hospital committee?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Annie, ‘but I’ve always looked on that as working for the community.’

‘Just like your father,’ said Al. ‘By the way, how is the old bruiser?’

‘We’ve just left him,’ said Fletcher. ‘He was looking a lot better, and sends his best wishes. By the way, he wanted to know if you received his letter.’

‘Yes I did. He never gives up, does he?’ added Brubaker with a smile. ‘Why don’t we go through to the library and I’ll fix you both a drink. Jenny should be down shortly.’

‘How’s your boy?’

‘He’s fine, thank you, Mr Goldblatz. His absence turned out to be caused by an affair of the heart.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘A proper age to fall in love. Now, my son, do you have anything to confess?’

‘Yes, father, by this time next week I will be the chairman of the largest bank in the state.’

‘By this time next week, you might not even be the chief executive of one of the smaller banks in the state.’

‘What makes you think that?’ asked Nat.

‘Because what might have turned out to be a brilliant coup could have backfired, leaving you over-extended. Your brokers must have warned you that there is no chance of you laying your hands on fifty per cent of Fairchild’s by Monday morning.’

‘It’s going to be a close-run thing,’ said Nat, ‘and I still believe we can make it.’

‘Thank heavens neither of us is a Catholic, Mr Cartwright, otherwise you would be blushing, and I would be recommending a penance of three Hail Marys. But fear not, I see redemption for both of us.’

‘Do I need redemption, father?’

‘We both do, which is wh... wh... why I asked to see you. This battle has done neither of us any favours and if it continues beyond Sunday, it will harm both the institutions we serve, and possibly even close yours.’

Nat wanted to protest, but he knew that Goldblatz was right. ‘So what form does this redemption take?’ he asked.

‘Well I think I’ve come up with a better solution than three Hail Marys, which may cleanse us both of our sins and might even show us a little profit.’

‘I await your instructions, father.’

‘I’ve watched your career with interest over the years, my son. You’re very bright, extremely diligent and ferociously determined, but what I admire most about you is that you’re straight — however much one of my legal advisors would have me believe otherwise.’

‘I’m flattered, sir, but not overwhelmed.’

‘And neither should you be. I am a realist, and I think that if you don’t succeed this time, you might well try again in a couple of years, and go on trying until you do succeed. Am I right?’

‘You may well be, sir.’

‘You have been frank with me, so I shall respond in kind. In eighteen months’ time I will be sixty-five, when I wish to retire to the golf course. I would like to hand over to my successor a thriving institution, not an ailing patient continually returning to hospital for more treatment. I believe you may be the solution to my problem.’

‘I thought I was the cause.’

‘All the more reason for us to try and pull off a coup that is both bold and imaginative.’

‘I thought that’s exactly what I was doing.’

‘And you still may, my son, but for political reasons I need the whole thing to be your idea, which means, Mr Cartwright, that you’re going to have to trust me.’

‘It’s taken you forty years to build your reputation, Mr Goldblatz. I can’t believe you’d be willing to trade it in just months before you’re due to retire.’

‘I too am flattered, young man, but, like you, not overwhelmed. Therefore might I suggest that it was you who requested this meeting to put forward your proposal that, rather than continue to fight each other, we should in fact work together.’

‘A partnership?’ said Nat.

‘Call it what you will, Mr Cartwright, but if our two banks were to merge, no one will have lost out, and more important, all our shareholders will benefit.’

‘And what terms are you suggesting that I should recommend to you, not to mention to my board?’

‘That the bank be called Fairchild Russell, and that I remain chairman for the next eighteen months, while you are appointed my deputy.’

‘But what will happen to Tom and Julia Russell?’

‘Obviously they would both be offered a place on the board. If you become chairman in eighteen months’ time, it would be up to you to appoint your own deputy, although I think you might be wise to keep Wesley Jackson on as your chief executive. But as you invited him to join your board some years ago, I can’t believe you’d find that a setback.’

‘No, I wouldn’t, but that doesn’t solve the problem of stock allocation.’

‘You currently hold ten per cent of Russell’s, as does your chairman. His wife, who incidentally I think should manage our combined property portfolios, did at one point possess as much as four per cent of the stock. But I suspect that it has been her shares that you have been releasing on to the open market for the past few days.’

‘You could be right, Mr Goldblatz.’

‘In turnover and profits Fairchild’s is rou... rou... roughly five times the size of Russell’s, so I would suggest that when you put forward your proposal, you and Mr Russell ask for four per cent and settle for three. In the case of Mrs Russell, I would have thought one per cent would be appropriate. All three of you will of course retain your present salaries and benefits.’

‘And my staff?’

‘The status quo should remain for the first eighteen months. After that, the decision will be yours.’

‘And you want me to approach you with this offer, Mr Goldblatz?’

‘Yes I do.’

‘Forgive me for asking, why don’t you simply make the proposal yourself, and let my board consider it?’

‘Because our legal advisors would recommend against it. It seems that Mr Elliot has only one purpose in this takeover, and that is to destroy you. I also have only one purpose, and that is to maintain the integrity of the bank I have served for over thirty years.’

‘Then why not just sack Elliot?’

‘I wanted to, the day after he sent out that infamous letter in my name, but I couldn’t afford to admit we might have an internal disagreement only days before we were facing a takeover. I can just imagine what the press would make of that, not to men... men... mention the shareholders, Mr Cartwright.’

‘But once Elliot hears the proposal has come from me,’ said Nat, ‘he’ll immediately advise your board against it.’

‘I agree,’ said Goldblatz, ‘which is why I sent him to Washington yesterday so that he can report directly back to me once the Securities and Exchange Commission announces the outcome of your takeover bid on Monday.’

‘He’ll smell a rat. He knows only too well that he doesn’t need to sit around in Washington for four days. He could fly down on Sunday night, and still brief you on the Commission’s decision on Monday morning.’

‘Funny you should mention that, Mr Cartwright, because it was my secretary who sp... sp... spotted that the Republicans are having their mid-term get together in Washington ending with a dinner at the White House,’ he paused, ‘I had to call in more than one favour to ensure that Ralph Elliot received an invitation to that august gathering. So I think you’ll find he’s fairly preoccupied at the moment. I keep reading in the local press about his political ambitions. He denies them, of course, so I assume it has to be true.’

‘So why did you employ him in the first place?’

‘We’ve always used Belman and Wayland in the past, Mr Cartwright, and until this takeover, I hadn’t come across Mr Elliot. I blame myself, but I am at least attempting to rectify the mistake. You see, I didn’t have your advantage of losing to him twice in the past.’

‘Touche,’ said Nat, ‘so what happens next?’

‘I have enjoyed meeting with you, Mr Cartwright, and I shall put your proposal to my board later this afternoon. Sadly one of our members is in Washington, but I would still hope to be able to phone you back with our reaction later this evening.’

‘I’ll look forward to that call,’ said Nat.

‘Good, and then we can meet face to face, and I suggest as quickly as possible, as I would like an agreement signed by Friday evening subject to due diligence.’ Murray Goldblatz paused. ‘Nat,’ he said, ‘yesterday you asked me to do you a favour; I should now like one in return.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Nat.

‘The monsignor, a shrewd man, asked for a two-hundred-dollar donation for the use of this box, and I feel now that we are partners you should pay your share. I only mention this because it will amuse my board, and allow me to keep a reputation among my Jewish friends of being ruthless.’

‘I shall make sure I’m not the reason you lose that reputation, father,’ Nat assured him.

Nat slipped out of the box and quickly made his way to the south entrance, where he saw a priest standing by the door dressed in a long black robe and biretta. Nat removed two fifty-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them over.

‘God bless you, my son,’ the monsignor said, ‘but I have a feeling I could double your contribution if only I knew which of the two banks the church should be investing in.’

By the time coffee had been served, Al Brubaker still hadn’t given any clue as to why he’d wanted to see Fletcher.

‘Jenny, why don’t you take Annie through to the drawing room, as there’s something I need to discuss with Fletcher. We’ll join you in a few minutes.’ Once Annie and Jenny had left them Al said, ‘Care for a brandy or a cigar, Fletcher?’

‘No thank you, Al. I’ll stick with the wine.’

‘You chose a good weekend to be in Washington. The Republicans are in town preparing for the mid-terms. Bush is throwing a party for them at the White House tonight, so we Democrats have to go into hiding for a few days. But tell me,’ said Al, ‘how’s the party shaping up in Connecticut?’

‘The caucus met today to discuss picking our candidates, and inevitably finance.’

‘Will you be running again?’

‘Yes, I’ve already made that clear.’

‘And I’m told you could be the next majority leader?’

‘Unless Jack Swales wants the job; he is, after all, the longest serving member.’

‘Jack? Is he still alive? I could have sworn I’d attended his funeral. No, I can’t believe the party will get behind him, unless...’

‘Unless?’ said Fletcher.

‘You decide to run for governor.’ Fletcher put his glass of wine back on the table, so that Al couldn’t see that his hand was shaking. ‘You must have considered the possibility.’

‘Yes, I have,’ said Fletcher, ‘but I assumed the party would get behind Larry Connick.’

‘Our esteemed lieutenant governor,’ said Al as he lit his cigar. ‘No, Larry’s a good man, but he’s aware of his limitations, thank God, because not many politicians are. I had a word with him last week at the governor’s conference in Pittsburgh. He told me that he would be happy to remain on the ticket but only if we felt it would assist the party.’ Al took a puff of his cigar and enjoyed the moment, before adding, ‘No, Fletcher, you’re our first choice, and if you agree to throw your hat into the ring, you have my word that the party will get behind you. The last thing we need is a bruising election for our candidate. Let’s leave the real scrap for when we have to fight the Republicans, because their candidate will be trying to ride on Bush’s coat-tails, so we can expect a tough battle if we hope to hold on to the governor’s mansion.’

‘Do you have any view on who the Republicans might put up?’ asked Fletcher.

‘I was rather hoping you’d tell me,’ said Al.

‘There seem to be two serious contenders who come from different wings of the party. Barbara Hunter, who sits in the House, but her age and record are against her.’

‘Record?’ said Al.

‘She hasn’t made a habit of winning,’ said Fletcher, ‘although she has over the years built up a strong base in the party, and as Nixon showed us after losing in California, you can never count anyone out.’

‘Who else?’ said Al.

‘Does the name Ralph Elliot mean anything to you?’

‘No,’ said the chairman, ‘but I did notice that he’s a member of the Connecticut delegation that’s having dinner at the White House tonight.’

‘Yes, he’s on their state central committee, and if he becomes their candidate, it could turn out to be a very dirty campaign. Elliot’s a bare-knuckle boxer who scores most of his points between rounds.’

‘In which case he may turn out to be as much of a liability as an asset.’

‘Well, I can tell you one thing, he’s a hell of a street-fighter and doesn’t like losing.’

‘That’s exactly what they say about you,’ said Al with a smile. ‘Anyone else?’

‘Two or three other names are being bandied about, but so far nobody’s come forward. Let’s face it, few people had even heard of Carter until New Hampshire.’

‘And what about this man,’ said Al, holding up the cover of the Banker’s Weekly.

Fletcher stared at the headline Next Governor of Connecticut? ‘But if you read the article, Al, you’ll see he’s strongly tipped to become the next chairman of Fairchild’s if the two banks can agree terms. I glanced through the piece on the plane.’

Al flicked through the pages. ‘You obviously didn’t get as far as the last paragraph,’ he said, and read aloud, ‘Although it’s assumed when Murray Goldblatz retires he would be succeeded by Cartwright, this position could just as easily be filled by his close friend Tom Russell, should the CEO of Russell’s decide to allow his name to be put forward as the Republican candidate for governor.’

Once he and Annie had returned to their hotel and gone to bed, Fletcher couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t just because the bed was more comfortable and the pillows softer than he was used to. Al needed to know his decision by the end of the month, as he was keen to get the party up and running behind their candidate.

Annie woke just after seven. ‘Did you have a good night’s sleep, darling?’ she asked.

‘I hardly slept a wink.’

‘I slept like a log, but then I didn’t have to worry about whether you should run for governor.’

‘Why not?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Because I think you should go for it, and can’t imagine why you would have any reservations.’

‘First, I need a long session with Harry, because one thing’s for sure, he’ll already have given the idea a lot of thought.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Annie. ‘I think you’ll find he’s more preoccupied with Lucy for class president.’

‘Well, perhaps I’ll be able to grab a moment of his undivided attention to discuss the governorship of Connecticut.’ Fletcher leapt out of bed. ‘Would you mind if we skipped breakfast and caught an early flight? I want to have a word with Harry before going on to the Senate.’

Fletcher barely spoke on the journey back to Hartford, as he read and re-read the article in the Banker’s Weekly on Nat Cartwright, the possible new deputy-chairman of Fairchild’s or the next governor of Connecticut. Once again, he was struck by how much they had in common.

‘What are you going to ask Dad?’ said Annie as their plane circled Bradley Field.

‘For a start, am I too young?’

‘But as Al pointed out, there is already one governor younger than you, and two about the same age.’

‘Second, how does he rate my chances?’

‘He wouldn’t be willing to answer that until he knows who your opponent is.’

‘And third, am I capable of doing the job?’

‘I know what his answer will be to that question, because I’ve already discussed it with him.’

‘Thank God we didn’t take this long to land when we flew in to Washington last night,’ said Fletcher as they circled the airport for a third time.

‘Will you still stop by and see Dad before you go to the Capitol?’ asked Annie. ‘He’s bound to be sitting up in bed waiting to hear your news.’

‘I always intended to make Harry my first stop,’ said Fletcher as he drove his car out of the airport and on to the highway.

It was a bright autumnal morning when Senator Davenport arrived back in town. He decided to drive up the hill and past the Capitol before cutting across to the hospital.

As they came over the brow of the hill, Annie stared out of the car window, and began weeping uncontrollably. Fletcher pulled over to the hard shoulder. He took his wife in his arms, as he looked over her shoulder at the Capitol building.

The United States flag was flying at half mast.

41

Mr Goldblatz Rose from his place at the centre of the table and glanced down at his prepared statement. On his right sat Nat Cartwright, and on his left, Tom Russell. The rest of the board was seated in the row behind him,

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the press, it is my great pleasure to announce the merger of Fairchild’s and Russell’s, creating a new bank which will be known as Fairchild Russell. I shall remain as chairman, Mr Nat Cartwright will be my deputy chairman, and Tom and Julia Russell will join the board. Mr Wesley Jackson will continue as the new bank’s chief executive. I am able to confirm that Russell’s Bank has withdrawn its takeover bid, and a new ownership structure for the company will be announced in the near future. Both Mr Cartwright and I will be happy to answer your questions.’

Hands shot up all over the room. ‘Yes,’ said the chairman pointing to a woman in the second row, with whom he had prearranged the first question.

‘Is it still your intention to resign as chairman in the near future?’

‘Yes, it is, and there are no prizes for guessing who I expect to succeed me.’

He turned and looked at Nat as another journalist shouted, ‘How does Mr Russell feel about that?’

Mr Goldblatz smiled, as it was a question they had all anticipated. He turned to his left and said, ‘Perhaps Mr Russell should answer that question.’

Tom smiled benevolently at the journalist. ‘I’m delighted by the coming together of the two leading banks in the state, and honoured to have been invited to join the board of Fairchild Russell as a non-executive director.’ He smiled. ‘I’m rather hoping Mr Cartwright will consider reappointing me when he takes over.’

‘Word perfect,’ whispered the chairman as Tom resumed his place.

Nat quickly rose from the other side to deliver an equally well-scripted response, ‘I most certainly will be reappointing Mr Russell, but not as a non-executive director.’

Goldblatz smiled and added, ‘I am sure that will not come as a total surprise to anyone who follows these matters closely. Yes?’ he said, pointing to another journalist.

‘Will there be any lay-offs caused by this merger?’

‘No,’ said Goldblatz. ‘It is our intention to retain all of Russell’s staff, but one of Mr Cartwright’s immediate responsibilities will be to prepare for a complete restructuring of the bank during the next twelve months. Though I would like to add that Mrs Julia Russell has already been appointed to head up our new combined property division. We at Fairchild’s have watched with admiration her handling of the Cedar Wood project.’

‘Can I ask why your legal counsel, Ralph Elliot, is not present today?’ said a voice from the back of the room.

Another question Goldblatz had anticipated, even though he couldn’t quite see where it had come from. ‘Mr Elliot has been in Washington DC. Last night he dined with President Bush at the White House, otherwise he would have been with us this morning. Next question?’ Goldblatz made no reference to the ‘frank exchange of views’ he’d had with Elliot on the phone in the early hours of the morning.

‘I spoke to Mr Elliot earlier today,’ said the same journalist, ‘and I wonder if you would care to comment on the press statement he has just released?’

Nat froze as Goldblatz rose more slowly. ‘I’d be happy to comment if I knew what he’d said.’

The journalist looked down at a single sheet of paper and read from it: ‘I am delighted that Mr Goldblatz felt able to take my advice and bring the two banks together rather than continue a bruising and damaging battle from which no one would have profited.’ Goldblatz smiled and nodded. ‘There will be three members of the board available to replace the current chairman in the near future, but as I consider one of them quite unsuitable to hold a post that requires financial probity, I have been left with no choice but to resign from the board and withdraw as the bank’s legal advisor. With that one reservation, I wish the company every success in the future.’

Mr Goldblatz’s smile quickly disappeared, and he was unable to contain his rage. ‘I have no comment to make at the present t... t... time, and that ends this press con... con... conference.’ He rose from his place and marched out of the room with Nat following a pace behind him. ‘The bastard broke his agreement,’ said Goldblatz furiously, as he strode down the corridor towards the boardroom.

‘Which was what precisely?’ asked Nat, trying to remain calm.

‘I agreed to say that he was a party to the successful negotiations, if in turn he would resign and withdraw as the legal representative of the new company, and make no further comment.’

‘Do we have that in writing?’

‘No, I agreed to it over the phone last night. He said he would confirm it in writing today.’

‘So once again Elliot comes out smelling of roses,’ said Nat.

Goldblatz came to a halt outside the boardroom door and turned to face Nat. ‘No, he does not. I think the smell is more akin to manure,’ he added, ‘and this time, he’s chosen the wrong man to cro... cro... cross.’

The popularity of an individual in life often only manifests itself in death.

The funeral service for Harry Gates, held at St Joseph’s Cathedral, was filled to overflowing, long before the choir had left the vestry. Don Culver, the chief of police, decided to cordon off the block in front of the cathedral, so that mourners could sit on the steps or stand in the street, while they listened to the service being relayed over loudspeakers.

When the cortège came to a halt, an honour guard carried the coffin up the steps and into the cathedral. Martha Gates was accompanied by her son, while her daughter and son-in-law walked a pace behind them. The throng of people on the steps made a passage to allow the family to join the other mourners inside. The congregation rose as an usher accompanied Mrs Gates to the front pew. As they walked down the aisle, Fletcher noted the coming together of Baptists, Jews, Episcopalians, Muslims, Methodists and Mormons, all unified in their respect for this Roman Catholic.

The bishop opened the service with a prayer chosen by Martha, which was followed by hymns and readings that Harry would have enjoyed. Jimmy and Fletcher both read lessons, but it was Al Brubaker, as chairman of the party, who climbed the steps of the wooden pulpit to deliver the address.

He looked down at the packed congregation and remained silent for a moment. ‘Few politicians,’ he began, ‘inspire respect and affection, but if Harry could be with us today, he would see for himself that he was among that select group. I see many in this congregation I have never come across before,’ he paused, ‘so I have to assume they’re Republicans.’ Laughter broke out inside the cathedral and a ripple of applause outside in the street. ‘Here was a man who, when asked by the president to run for governor of this state, replied simply, “I have not completed my work as the senator for Hartford,” and he never did. As chairman of my party, I have attended the funerals of presidents, governors, senators, congressmen and congresswomen, along with the powerful and mighty, but this funeral has a difference, for it is also filled with ordinary members of the public, who have simply come to say thank you.

‘Harry Gates was opinionated, verbose, irascible and maddening. He was also passionate in the pursuit of causes he believed in. Loyal to his friends, fair with his opponents, he was a man whose company you sought out simply because it enriched your life. Harry Gates was no saint, but there will be saints standing at the Gates of Heaven waiting to greet him.

‘To Martha, we say thank you for indulging Harry and all his dreams, so many achieved; one still to be fulfilled. To Jimmy and Annie, his son and daughter, of whom he was inordinately proud. To Fletcher, his beloved son-in-law, who has been given the unenviable burden of carrying the torch. And to Lucy his grand-daughter, who became class president a few days after he died. America has lost a man who served his country at home and abroad, in war and in peace. Hartford has lost a public servant who will not easily be replaced.

‘He wrote to me a few weeks ago,’ Brubaker paused, ‘begging for money — what a nerve — for his beloved hospital. He said he’d never speak to me again if I didn’t send a cheque. I considered the pros and cons of that particular threat.’ It was a long time before the laughter and applause died down. ‘In the end, my wife sent a cheque. The truth is, that it never crossed Harry’s mind that if he asked, you wouldn’t give, and why? Because he spent his whole life giving, and now we must make that dream a reality and build a hospital in his memory of which he would have been proud.’

‘I read in the Washington Post last week that Senator Harry Gates had died, and then I travelled to Hartford this morning and drove past the senior citizens’ centre, the library and the hospital foundation stone that bears his name. I shall write to the Washington Post when I return tomorrow and tell them, “you were wrong. Harry Gates is alive and still kicking”.’ Mr Brubaker paused as he looked down into the congregation, his eyes settling on Fletcher. ‘Here was a man, when comes such another?’

On the cathedral steps, Martha and Fletcher thanked Al Brubaker for his words.

‘Anything less,’ said Al, ‘and he would have appeared in the pulpit next to me, demanding a recount.’ The chairman shook hands with Fletcher. ‘I didn’t read out the whole of Harry’s last letter to me,’ he said, ‘but I knew you would want to see the final paragraph.’ He slipped a hand into an inside pocket, removed the letter, unfolded it and passed it across to Fletcher.

When Fletcher had read Harry’s last words, he looked at the chairman and nodded.

Tom and Nat walked down the cathedral steps together and joined the crowds as they quietly dispersed.

‘I wish I’d known him better,’ said Nat. ‘You realize that I asked him to join the board when he retired from the Senate?’ Tom nodded. ‘He wrote — hand wrote — such a charming letter explaining the only board he would ever sit on was the hospital’s.’

‘I only met him a couple of times,’ said Tom, ‘he was mad, of course, but you have to be if you choose to spend your life pushing boulders up a hill. Don’t ever tell anyone, but he’s the only Democrat I’ve ever voted for.’

Nat laughed. ‘You as well?’ he admitted.

‘How would you feel if I recommended that the board should make a donation of fifty thousand to the hospital fund?’ asked Tom.

‘I would oppose it,’ said Nat. Tom looked surprised. ‘Because when the senator sold his Russell’s shares, he immediately donated a hundred thousand to the hospital. The least we can do is respond in kind.’

Tom nodded his agreement and turned back to see Mrs Gates standing on the top of the cathedral steps. He would write to her that afternoon enclosing the cheque. He sighed. ‘Look who’s shaking hands with the widow.’

Nat swung round to see Ralph Elliot holding Martha Gates’s hand. ‘Are you surprised?’ he said. ‘I can just hear him telling her how pleased he was that Harry took his advice and sold those shares in Russell’s Bank, and made himself a million.’

‘Oh, my God,’ said Tom, ‘you’re beginning to think like him.’

‘I’m going to have to if I’m to survive during the coming months.’

‘That’s no longer an issue,’ said Tom. ‘Everyone at the bank accepts that you’ll be the next chairman.’

‘It’s not the chairmanship I’m talking about,’ said Nat. Tom came to a halt in front of the steps of the bank and turned to face his oldest friend.

‘If Ralph Elliot puts his name forward as the Republican candidate for governor, then I shall run against him.’ He looked back towards the cathedral. ‘And this time I will beat him.’

42

‘Ladies and gentlemen, Fletcher Davenport, the next governor of Connecticut.’

It amused Fletcher that within moments of being selected as the Democratic candidate, he was immediately introduced as the next governor; no suggestion of an opponent, no hint that he might lose. But he recalled only too well Walter Mondale continually being introduced as the next president of the United States, and ending up as ambassador to Tokyo while it was Ronald Reagan who moved into the White House.

Once Fletcher had called Al Brubaker to confirm that he was willing to run, the party machine immediately swung behind him. One or two other Democratic heads appeared above the parapet, but like ducks at a shooting range they were quickly flattened.

In the end, Fletcher’s only opposition turned out to be a congresswoman who had never done any harm — or enough good — for anyone else to notice. Once Fletcher had defeated her in the September primary, his party machine suddenly turned her into a formidable opponent who had been soundly beaten by the most impressive candidate the party had produced in years. But Fletcher privately acknowledged that she hadn’t been much more than a paper opponent, and the real battle would begin once the Republicans had selected their standard bearer.

Although Barbara Hunter was as active and determined as ever, no one really believed she was going to head up the Republican ticket. Ralph Elliot already had the backing of several key party members, and whenever he spoke in public or private, the name of his friend, and even occasionally his close friend, Ronnie, fell easily from his lips. Rut Fletcher repeatedly heard rumours of just as large a group of Republicans who were searching for a credible alternative; otherwise they were threatening to abstain, even vote Democrat. Fletcher found it nerve-racking waiting to discover who that opponent would be. By late August, he realized that if there was to be a surprise candidate, they were leaving it tantalizingly late to come forward.

Fletcher looked down at the crowd in front of him. It was his fourth speech that day, and it wasn’t yet twelve o’clock. He missed Harry’s presence at those Sunday lunches, where ideas could be tested and found wanting. Lucy and George were happy to add their contributions, which only reminded him how indulgent Harry had been when he had come up with suggestions the senator must have heard a hundred times before, but never once hinted as much. But the next generation certainly left Fletcher in no doubt what the Hotchkiss student body expected of their governor.

Fletcher’s fourth speech that morning didn’t differ greatly from the other three: to the Pepperidge Farm plant in Norwalk, the Wiffle Rail headquarters in Shelton and the Stanley tool-workers in New Britain. He just altered the occasional paragraph to acknowledge that the state’s economy would not be in such good shape without their particular contribution. On to lunch with the Daughters of the American Revolution, where he failed to mention his Scottish ancestry, followed by three more speeches in the afternoon, before attending a fund-raising dinner, which wouldn’t produce much more than ten thousand dollars.

Around midnight he would crawl into bed and put his arms round his sleeping wife and occasionally she would sigh. He’d read somewhere that once, when Reagan was out on the stump, he had been found cuddling a lamppost. Fletcher had laughed at the time, but no longer.

‘Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?’

Nat had to agree with his son’s assessment. Juliet was beautiful, but not the sort of girl Luke was likely to fall for. With five other females in the cast, he tried to work out which one it could possibly be. When the curtain came down for the interval, he thought that Luke had given a moving performance, and felt a glow of pride as he sat there in the audience listening to the applause. His parents had seen the play the night before, and told him that they’d felt the same pride as when he had performed Sebastian in the same hall.

Whenever Luke left the stage, Nat found his mind wandering back to the phone call he’d taken from Washington that morning. His secretary assumed it was Tom playing one of his practical jokes when he was asked if he was available to speak to the president of the United States.

Nat had found himself standing when George Bush came on the fine.

The president congratulated him on Fairchild and Russell’s being voted Bank of the Year — his excuse for the call — and then added the simple message, ‘Many people in our party hope you will allow your name to go forward as governor. You have a lot of friends and supporters in Connecticut, Nat. Let’s hope we can meet soon.’

The whole of Hartford knew within the hour that the president had called, but then switchboard operators also have a network of their own. Nat only told Su Ling and Tom, and they didn’t seem all that surprised.

‘The exchange of thy love’s faithful vow for mine.’

The father’s mind switched back to the play.

Nat found that people began to stop him in the street and say, ‘I hope you’ll run for governor, Nat’ — Mr Cartwright — even sir. When he and Su Ling had entered the hall that evening, heads had turned and he sensed a buzz all around him. In the car on the way to Taft he didn’t ask Su Ling if he should run, simply, ‘Do you think I can do the job?’

‘The president seemed to think so,’ she replied.

When the curtain came down following the death scene, Su Ling remarked, ‘Have you noticed that people are staring at us?’ She paused. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to get used to our son being a star.’

How quickly she could bring Nat back down to earth, and what a governor’s wife she would make.

The cast and the parents were invited to join the principal for supper, so Nat and Su Ling made their way over to his house.

‘It’s the nurse.’

‘Yes, she gave a very sensitive performance,’ said Nat.

‘No, you fool, the nurse must have been the one Luke’s fallen for,’ said Su Ling.

‘What makes you so sure of that?’ asked Nat.

‘Just as the curtain came down, they held hands, and I’m fairly sure that wasn’t in Shakespeare’s original stage directions,’ said Su Ling.

‘Well, we’re about to find out if you’re right,’ said Nat as they entered the principal’s house.

They found Luke sipping a Coke in the hallway. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said turning to face them. ‘This is Kathy Marshall; she played the nurse.’ Su Ling tried not to smirk. ‘And this is my mother. Wasn’t Kathy fantastic? But then she plans to major in drama at Sarah Lawrence.’

‘Yes she was, but you weren’t bad yourself,’ said Nat. ‘We were both very proud of you.’

‘Have you seen the play before, Mr Cartwright?’ asked Kathy.

‘Yes, when Su Ling and I visited Stratford. The nurse was played by Celia Johnson, but I don’t suppose you’ve even heard of her.’

‘Brief Encounter,’ Kathy responded immediately.

‘Noel Coward,’ Luke said.

‘And Trevor Howard played opposite her,’ said Kathy. Nat nodded at his son, who was still dressed as Romeo.

‘You must be the first Romeo to have fallen for the nurse,’ said Su Ling.

Kathy grinned. ‘It’s his Oedipus complex,’ she said. ‘And how did Miss Johnson translate the part? When my drama teacher saw it as an undergraduate with Dame Edith Evans, she said she played the nurse like a school matron — strict and firm, but loving.’

‘No,’ said Su Ling, ‘Celia Johnson portrayed her as slightly dotty, erratic but also loving.’

‘What an interesting idea. I must look up the director. Of course I would like to have played Juliet, but I’m just not good looking enough,’ she added matter-of-factly.

‘But you’re beautiful,’ said Luke.

‘You’re hardly a reliable judge on that subject, Luke,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘After all, you’ve been wearing glasses since the age of four.’

Nat smiled, and thought how lucky Luke was to have Kathy as a friend.

‘Kathy, would you like to come and spend a few days with us during the summer vacation?’ asked Nat.

‘Yes, if it’s not going to cause you too much trouble, Mr Cartwright,’ Kathy replied. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to be in your way.’

‘Be in my way?’ queried Nat.

‘Yes, Luke tells me that you’ll be running for governor.’

‘Local banker runs for governor’ ran the banner headline in the Hartford Courant. An inside page was given over to a profile of the brilliant young financier who, twenty-five years earlier had been awarded the Medal of Honour, bringing his career up to date with the role he’d played in the merger between the small family bank of Russell’s, with its eleven local branches, and Fairchild’s with its one hundred and two establishments spread right across the state. Nat smiled when he recalled the confessional at St Joseph’s, and the graceful way Murray Goldblatz continued to convey the impression that the original idea had been Nat’s. Nat had continued to learn valuable lessons from Murray, who never lowered his guard or his standards.

The Courant’s editorial suggested that Nat’s decision to run against Ralph Elliot for the Republican nomination had opened up the contest, as both were outstanding candidates at the top of their professions. The editorial did not come out in favour of either man, but promised to report fairly on the duel between the banker and the lawyer, who were known not to like each other. ‘Mrs Hunter will also run’, they added in the final paragraph almost as an after-thought, which summed up the Courant’s view on her chances now that Nat had allowed his name to go forward.

Nat felt well satisfied with the press and television coverage that followed his announcement, and even more pleased by the favourable public reaction on the street, Tom had taken a two-month leave of absence from the bank to run Nat’s campaign, and Murray Goldblatz sent a substantial cheque for the campaign fund.

The first meeting was held at Tom’s home that evening, when Nat’s chief of staff explained to his carefully selected team what they would be up against during the next six weeks.

Rising before the sun each morning, and collapsing in bed after midnight had few compensations, but an unexpected one for Nat was Luke’s fascination with the electoral process. He spent his vacation accompanying his father everywhere, often with Kathy by his side. Nat grew to like her more and more as each day passed.

Nat took a little time getting used to the new routine, and being reminded by Tom that you can’t bark out instructions to volunteers, and you must always thank them, however little they’ve done and however badly they’ve done it. But even with six speeches and a dozen meetings a day, the learning curve proved steep.

It quickly became clear that Elliot had been out on the stump for several weeks, hoping his early groundwork would give him an unassailable advantage. Nat soon realized that although the first caucus in Ipswich would only yield seventeen electoral votes, its importance was disproportionate to the numbers involved, as in New Hampshire at a presidential election. He visited every one of the caucus voters and never left in any doubt that Elliot had been there before him. Although his rival had already locked up several delegates, there remained a few waverers who were undecided or simply didn’t trust the man.

As the days slipped by, Nat discovered that he was always expected to be in two places at once because the primary in Chelsea was only two days after the caucus in Ipswich. Elliot was now spending most of his time in Chelsea, as he considered he’d already wrapped up the Ipswich caucus.

Nat returned to Ipswich on the night of the caucus vote, to hear the local chairman announce that Elliot had captured ten of the votes while he had secured seven. Elliot’s team, while claiming it as a clear-cut victory, were unable to hide their disappointment. As soon as he’d heard the result, Nat ran to his car and Tom had him back in Chelsea by midnight.

To his surprise, the local papers discounted the result in Ipswich, saying that Chelsea, with an electorate of over eleven thousand, would be much more of an indicator as to how the public felt about the two men rather than reading anything into the views of a handful of party apparatchiks. And Nat certainly felt more relaxed out on the streets, in the shopping malls, at the factory gates, and in the schools and clubs than he had been in smoke-filled rooms listening to people who believed it was their ‘God-given right’ to select the candidate.

After a couple of weeks of pressing the flesh, Nat told Tom that he was very encouraged by how many voters were saying they would support him. But was Elliot receiving the same response, he wondered.

‘I’ve no idea,’ said Tom as they drove off to yet another meeting, ‘but I can tell you that we are fast running out of money. If we’re soundly beaten tomorrow, we may have to withdraw from the race, having taken part in one of the shortest campaigns in history. We could of course let the world know that Bush is backing you, because that would be sure to swing a few votes.’

‘No,’ said Nat firmly. ‘That was a private call, not an endorsement.’

‘But Elliot never stops talking about his trip to the White House with his old friend, George, as if it was a dinner for two.’

‘And how do you feel the rest of the Republican delegation feel about that?’

‘That’s far too subtle for the average voter,’ suggested Tom.

‘Never underestimate them,’ said Nat.

Nat couldn’t recall much about the day of the Chelsea primary, except that he never stopped moving. When it was announced just after midnight that Elliot had won by 6,109 votes to 5,302 for Cartwright, Nat’s only question was, ‘Can we afford to go on now that Elliot has gained a twenty-seven to ten lead among the delegates?’

‘The patient is still breathing,’ Tom replied, ‘but only just, so it’s on to Hartford, and if Elliot wins that one as well, we won’t be able to stop his bandwagon rolling all over us. Just be thankful you have a day job to go back to,’ he added with a smile.

Mrs Hunter, who had only picked up two electoral college votes, conceded defeat and said she was withdrawing from the race and would be announcing in the near future which candidate she would be supporting.

Nat enjoyed returning to his home town, where the people in the streets treated him as a friend. Tom knew how much effort had to be put into Hartford, not only because it was their last chance, but as the state capital it carried the most electoral votes, nineteen in all, with the prehistoric rule of winner takes all, so if Nat topped the poll, he would go into the lead, 29:27. If he lost, he could unpack his bags and stay at home.

During the campaign, the candidates were invited to attend several functions together, but whenever they did, they rarely acknowledged each other’s presence, and certainly never stopped for a chat.

With three days to go to the primary, a poll in the Hartford Courant put Nat two points ahead of his rival, and they reported that Mrs Barbara Hunter was throwing her support behind Cartwright. This was exactly the boost Nat’s campaign needed. The following morning, he noticed that far more workers were not with him on the street, and many more passers-by came up to shake him by the hand.

He was in Robinson’s Mall when the message came through from Murray Goldblatz, ‘I need to see you urgently.’ Murray was not a man to use the word urgent unless that was exactly what he meant. Nat left his team to go on canvassing, assuring them that he would return shortly. They didn’t see him again that day.

When Nat arrived at the bank, the receptionist told him that the chairman was in the boardroom with Mr and Mrs Russell. Nat walked in and took his usual place opposite Murray, but the expressions on the faces of his three colleagues didn’t harbour glad tidings. Murray came quickly to the point. ‘I understand that you have a town meeting tonight which both you and Elliot will be addressing?’

‘Yes,’ said Nat, ‘it’s the last major event before the vote tomorrow.’

‘I have a spy in the Elliot camp,’ said Murray, ‘and she tells me that they have a question planned for tonight that will derail your campaign, but she can’t find out what it is, and daren’t be too inquisitive, in case they become suspicious. Do you have any idea what it might be?’

‘No I don’t,’ said Nat.

‘Perhaps he’s found out about Julia,’ said Tom quietly.

‘Julia?’ said Murray sounding puzzled.

‘No, not my wife,’ said Tom. ‘The first Mrs Kirkbridge.’

‘I had no idea there was a first Mrs Kirkbridge,’ said Murray.

‘No reason you should,’ said Tom. ‘But I’ve always dreaded the thought that the truth might come out.’ Murray listened attentively as Tom recalled how he’d met the woman who passed herself off as Julia Kirkbridge, and how she had signed the bank’s cheque and then removed all the money from her account.

‘Where is that cheque now?’ asked Murray.

‘Somewhere in the bowels of City Hall, would be my guess.’

‘Then we must assume that Elliot’s got his hands on it, but were you technically breaking the law?’

‘No, but we didn’t keep to our written agreement with the council,’ said Tom.

‘And the Cedar Wood project went on to be a huge success, making everyone involved a handsome return,’ added Nat.

‘So,’ said Murray, ‘we are left with a choice. You either make a clean breast of it and prepare a statement this afternoon, or wait until the bomb drops tonight and hope you have an answer to every question that’s thrown at you.’

‘What do you recommend?’ said Nat.

‘I would do nothing. First, my informant could be wrong, and second, the Cedar Wood project may not be the curved ball, in which case you will have opened that can of worms unnecessarily.’

‘But what else could it be?’ asked Nat.

‘Rebecca?’ said Tom.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.

‘That you made her pregnant and forced her to have an abortion.’

‘That’s hardly a crime,’ said Murray.

‘Unless she tries to claim you raped her.’

Nat laughed. ‘Elliot’s never going to raise that particular subject, because he might well have been the father himself, and abortion is not part of his holier-than-thou image.’

‘Have you considered going on the attack yourself?’ asked Murray.

‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Nat.

‘Didn’t Elliot have to resign from Alexander Dupont and Bell on the same day as the senior partner because half a million went missing from a client account?’

‘No, I will not stoop to his level,’ said Nat. ‘In any case, Elliot’s involvement was never proved.’

‘Oh yes it was,’ said Murray. Tom and Nat stared across at the chairman. ‘A friend of mine was the client in question, and phoned to warn me the moment he heard that Elliot was representing us in the takeover.’

Nat sighed. ‘That may well be the case, but the answer is still no.’

‘Good,’ said Murray, ‘then we’ll beat him on your terms, which means that we’ll have to spend the rest of the afternoon preparing answers to whatever you imagine might be the questions.’

At six o’clock, Nat left the bank feeling wrung out. He phoned Su Ling and told her what had happened. ‘Do you want me to come along tonight?’ she asked.

‘No, little flower, but can you keep Luke well occupied? If it’s going to be unpleasant, I’d rather he wasn’t around. You know how sensitive he can be, and he always takes it all so personally.’

‘I’ll take him to a movie — there’s a French film playing at the Arcadia that he and Kathy have been pressing me to see all week.’

Nat tried not to appear nervous when he arrived at Goodwin House that night. He walked into the hotel’s main dining room to find it was packed with several hundred local businessmen chatting to each other. But who were they supporting, he wondered? He suspected many of them still hadn’t made up their minds, as the polls kept reminding them that 10 per cent were still undecided. The head waiter directed him to the top table, where he found Elliot chatting to the local party chairman. Manny Friedman swung round to welcome Nat. Elliot leant across and made a public show of shaking hands. Nat sat down quickly and began to make notes on the back of a menu.

When the chairman called for order he introduced ‘the two heavyweights both well qualified to be our next governor’, and then invited Elliot to make his opening remarks. Nat had never heard him speak so poorly. The chairman then asked Nat to reply and when he resumed his place, he would have been the first to admit he hadn’t done much better. The first round, he thought, had ended in a no-points draw.

When the chairman called for questions, Nat wondered when the missile would be launched and from which direction. His eyes swept the hall as he waited for the first question.

‘How do the candidates feel about the education bill that is currently being debated in the Senate?’ came from someone sitting at the top table. Nat concentrated on the provisions in the bill that he felt should be amended, while Elliot kept reminding them that he had completed his undergraduate degree at the University of Connecticut.

The second questioner wanted to know about the new state income tax, and whether both candidates would guarantee not to raise it. Yes and yes.

The third questioner was interested in their policy on crime, and with a particular reference to young offenders. Elliot said they should all be locked up and taught a lesson. Nat was less sure that prison was the answer to every problem, and that they should perhaps consider some of the innovations which Utah had recently introduced into their penal system.

When Nat resumed his seat, the chairman rose and looked around the room for another question. As soon as the man stood up without actually looking at him, Nat knew this had to be the plant. He glanced at Elliot, who was scribbling notes, pretending to be oblivious of his presence. ‘Yes, sir,’ said the chairman, pointing at him.

‘Mr Chairman, may I ask if either of the candidates has ever broken the law?’

Elliot was on his feet immediately. ‘Several times,’ he said. ‘I’ve had three parking tickets in the past week, which is why I’ll be easing parking restrictions in town centres the moment I’m elected.’ Word perfect, thought Nat; even the timing had been rehearsed. A spattering of applause broke out.

Nat rose slowly and turned to face Elliot. ‘I shall not be changing the law to accommodate Mr Elliot, because I believe there should be fewer vehicles in our city centres, not more. It may not be popular, but someone has to stand up and warn people that their future will be bleak if we build bigger and bigger cars that consume more and more gas and then spit out more and more toxic fumes. We owe our children a better heritage than that, and I have no interest in being elected on glib remarks that will be quickly forgotten once I’m in power.’ He sat down to loud applause and hoped that the chairman would move on to another questioner, but the man remained standing.

‘But, Mr Cartwright, you didn’t answer my question as to whether you’d ever broken the law.’

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ replied Nat.

‘But isn’t it true that you once cleared a cheque for three million six hundred thousand dollars from Russell’s Bank, when you knew that the funds had already been misappropriated and that the signature on the cheque was fraudulent?’

Several of the audience began chattering at once, and Nat had to wait for some time before he could reply.

‘Yes, Russell’s was swindled out of that money by a very clever fraudster, but as that exact sum was owed to the local council, I felt that the bank had no choice but to honour the debt and pay the council the amount in full.’

‘Did you inform the police at the time that the money had been stolen? After all, it belonged to the customers of Russell’s Bank and not to you,’ continued the questioner.

‘No, because we had every reason to believe that the cash had been transferred abroad, so we knew that there would be no possibility of retrieving it.’ Nat realized as soon as he had finished speaking that his answer would not placate the questioner or several others in the audience.

‘If you were to become governor, Mr Cartwright, would you treat the tax payers’ money in the same cavalier fashion?’

Elliot was immediately on his feet. ‘Mr Chairman, that was a disgraceful suggestion and nothing more than innuendo and slur; why don’t we move on?’ He sat down to loud applause while Nat remained standing. He had to admire the sheer nerve of Elliot setting up the question and then being seen to come to his opponent’s defence. He waited for complete silence.

‘The incident you refer to occurred over ten years ago. It was a mistake on my part that I regret, although it is ironic that it turned out to be a massive financial success for all those involved, because the three point six million the bank invested in the Cedar Wood project has been a boon to the people of Hartford, not to mention the city’s economy.’

The questioner still wouldn’t sit down. ‘Despite Mr Elliot’s magnanimous comments, may I ask him if he would have reported such a misappropriation of funds to the police?’

Elliot rose slowly. ‘I would prefer not to comment without knowing all the details of this particular case, but I am happy to take Mr Cartwright’s word when he says that he did not commit any offence, and bitterly regrets not reporting the matter to the appropriate authorities at the time.’ He paused for some time. ‘However, if I am elected governor, you can be assured of open government. If I make a mistake, I will admit it at the time and not ten years later.’ The questioner sat down, his job completed.

The chairman found it difficult to bring the meeting back to order. There were several more questions, but they were not listened to in silence, as those seated in the body of the hall continued to discuss Nat’s revelation.

When the chairman finally brought the meeting to a close, Elliot left the room quickly while Nat remained in his place. He was touched by how many people came up and shook him by the hand, many agreeing that the Cedar Wood project had proved beneficial for the city.

‘Well, at least they didn’t lynch you,’ Tom said as they left the room.

‘No they didn’t, but there will only be one subject on the voters’ minds tomorrow. Am I a suitable person to occupy the governor’s mansion?’

43

‘The Cedar Wood scandal’ was the headline in the Hartford Courant the following morning. A photograph of the cheque and Julia’s real signature had been placed side by side. It didn’t read well, but luckily for Nat half the voters had gone to the polls long before the paper hit the streets. Nat had earlier prepared a short withdrawal statement should he lose, which congratulated his opponent, but fell short of endorsing him for governor. Nat was in his office when the result was announced from Republican headquarters.

Tom took the call and rushed in without knocking. ‘You won, you won, 11,792 to 11,673 — it’s only by a hundred and nineteen votes, but it still puts you in the lead in the electoral college, 29–27.’

The next day, the leader in the Hartford Courant did point out that no one had lost any money by investing in the Cedar Wood project, and perhaps the voters had made their intentions clear.

Nat still had to face three more caucuses and two more primaries before the candidate was finally selected. He was therefore relieved to find that Cedar Wood quickly became yesterday’s news. Elliot won the next caucus 19–18, and Nat the primary four days later, 9,702-6,379, which put him even further ahead as they approached the final primary. In the electoral college, Nat now led 116-91 and the polls were showing him seven points ahead in the town of his birth.

On the streets of Cromwell, Nat was joined by his parents, Susan and Michael, who concentrated on the older voters, while Luke and Kathy tried to persuade the young to turn out. As each day passed, Nat became more and more confident that he was going to win. The Courant began to suggest that the real battle lay ahead for Nat when he would have to face Fletcher Davenport, the popular senator for Hartford. However, Tom had still insisted that they take the eve-of-poll television debate with Elliot seriously,

‘We don’t need to trip up at the final hurdle,’ he said. ‘Clear that, and you’ll be the candidate. But I still want you to spend Sunday going over the questions again and again, as well as preparing for anything and everything that might come up during the debate. You can be sure that Fletcher Davenport will be sitting at home watching you on TV and analysing everything you say. If you stumble, he will have issued a press statement within minutes.’

Nat now regretted that some weeks before he’d agreed to appear on a local television programme and debate with Elliot the night before the final primary. He and Elliot had settled on David Anscott to conduct the proceedings. Anscott was an interviewer who was more interested in coming over as popular than incisive. Tom didn’t object to him as he felt the occasion would act as a dry run for the inevitably more serious debate with Fletcher Davenport scheduled for some time in the future.

Reports were coming back to Tom each day that volunteers were deserting Ralph Elliot in droves and some were even switching over and joining their team, so by the time he and Nat arrived at the television studio they both felt quietly confident. Su Ling accompanied her husband, but Luke said he wanted to stay at home and watch the debate on television so he could brief his father on how he came over to the larger audience.

‘On the sofa with Kathy, no doubt,’ suggested Nat.

‘No, Kathy went back home this afternoon for her sister’s birthday,’ said Su Ling, ‘and Luke could have joined her, but to be fair he’s taking his role as your youth advisor very seriously.’

Tom came rushing into the green room and showed Nat the latest opinion poll figures. They gave him a six per cent lead. ‘I think only Fletcher Davenport can now stop you becoming governor.’

‘I won’t be convinced until the final result has been announced,’ said Su Ling. ‘Never forget the stunt Elliot pulled with the ballot boxes after we’d all assumed the count was over.’

‘He’s already tried every stunt he can think of and failed,’ said Tom.

‘I wish I could be so confident of that,’ said Nat quietly.

Both candidates were applauded by the small television audience as they walked out on to the stage for a programme billed as ‘The Final Encounter’. The two men met in the centre of the stage and shook hands, but their eyes remained fixed on the camera.

‘This will be a five programme,’ David Anscott explained to the audience, ‘and we’ll be going on air in around five minutes. I will open with a few questions, and then turn it over to you. If you have something you want to ask either candidate, make it short and to the point — no speeches, please.’

Nat smiled as he scanned the audience, until his eyes came to rest on the man who had asked the Cedar Wood question. He was sitting in the second row. Nat could feel the sweat on the palm of his hands, but even if he was called, Nat was confident he could handle him. This time he was well prepared.

The television arc lights were switched on, the titles began to roll, and David Anscott, smile in place, opened the show. Once he’d introduced the participants, both candidates made a one-minute opening statement — sixty seconds can be a long time on television. After so many sound-bites, they could have delivered such homilies in their sleep.

Anscott began with a couple of warm-up questions which had been scripted for him. Once the candidates had given their replies, he made no attempt to follow up anything they had said, but simply moved on to the next question as it appeared on the autocue in front of him. Once the interviewer had come to the end of his set piece, he quickly turned it over to the audience.

The first question turned into a speech on choice, which pleased Nat as he watched the seconds ticking away. He knew Elliot would be indecisive on this subject, as he was willing to offend neither the women’s movement nor his friends in the Roman Catholic church. Nat made it clear that he supported unequivocally a woman’s right to choose. Elliot, as he suspected, was evasive. Anscott called for a second question.

Watching from home, Fletcher made notes on everything Nat Cartwright said. He clearly understood the underlying principle of the education bill and, more important, he obviously thought the changes Fletcher wanted to bring about were quite reasonable.

‘He’s very bright, isn’t he,’ said Annie.

‘And cute too,’ said Lucy.

‘Anyone on my side?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Yes, I don’t think he’s cute,’ said Jimmy. ‘But he has thought a great deal about your bill and he obviously considers it an election issue.’

‘I don’t know about cute,’ said Annie, ‘but have you noticed that at certain angles he looks a little like you, Fletcher?’

‘Oh no,’ said Lucy, ‘he’s much better looking than Dad.’

The third question was on gun control. Ralph Elliot stated that he backed the gun lobby and the right of every American to defend himself. Nat explained why he would like to see more control of guns, so that incidents like the one his son had experienced while at elementary school could never occur again.

Annie and Lucy started clapping, along with the studio audience.

‘Isn’t someone going to remind him who it was in that classroom with his son?’ asked Jimmy.

‘He doesn’t need reminding,’ said Fletcher.

‘One more question,’ said Anscott, ‘and it will have to be quick, because we’re running out of time.’

The plant in the second row rose from his place bang on cue. Elliot pointed at him in case Anscott was considering anyone else.

‘How would the two candidates deal with the problem of illegal immigrants?’

‘What the hell’s that got to do with the governor of Connecticut?’ asked Fletcher.

Ralph Elliot looked straight at the questioner and said, ‘I’m sure I speak for both of us when I say that America should always welcome anyone who is oppressed and in need of help, as we have always done throughout our history. However, those who wish to enter our country must, of course, abide by the correct procedure and meet all the necessary legal requirements.’

‘That sounded to me,’ said Fletcher, turning to face Annie, ‘over-prepared and over-rehearsed. So what’s he up to?’

‘Is that also your view on illegal immigrants, Mr Cartwright?’ asked David Anscott, a little puzzled as to what the questioner was getting at.

‘I confess, David, that I haven’t given the matter a great deal of thought, as it has not been high on my priorities when I consider the problems currently facing the state of Connecticut.’

‘Wrap it up,’ Anscott heard the producer say in his earpiece, just as the questioner added, ‘But you must have given it some thought, Mr Cartwright. After all, isn’t your wife an illegal immigrant?’

‘Hold on, let him answer that,’ said the producer. ‘If we go off the air now we’ll have a quarter million people phoning in to find out his response. Close up on Cartwright.’

Fletcher was among those quarter of a million who waited for Nat’s reply as the camera panned across to Elliot, who had a puzzled look on his face.

‘You bastard,’ said Fletcher, ‘you knew that question was coming.’

The camera returned to Nat, but his lips remained pursed.

‘Wouldn’t I be right in suggesting,’ continued the questioner, ‘that your wife entered this country illegally?’

‘My wife is the Professor of Statistics at the University of Connecticut,’ said Nat, trying to disguise a tremble in his voice.

Anscott listened on his earpiece to find out how the producer wanted to play it, as they had already overrun their time slot.

‘Say nothing,’ said the producer, ‘just hang in there. I can always run the credits over them if it gets boring.’ Anscott gave a slight nod in the direction of the head-on camera.

‘That may well be the case, Mr Cartwright,’ continued the questioner, ‘but didn’t her mother, Su Kai Peng, enter this country with false papers, claiming to be married to an American serviceman, who had in fact died fighting for his country some months before the date on the marriage licence?’

Nat didn’t reply.

Fletcher was equally silent as he watched Cartwright being stretched on the rack.

‘As you seem unwilling to answer my question, Mr Cartwright, perhaps you can confirm that on the marriage licence your mother-in-law described herself as a seamstress. However, the fact is that before she landed in America, she was a prostitute plying her trade on the streets of Seoul, so heaven knows who your wife’s father is.’

‘Credits,’ said the producer. ‘We’ve run out of time and I daren’t break into Baywatch, but keep the cameras running. We may pick up some extra footage for the late night news.’

Once the monitor on the stage showed credits rolling, the questioner quickly left the studio. Nat stared down at his wife sitting in the third row. She was pale and shaking.

‘It’s a wrap,’ said the producer.

Elliot turned to the moderator and said, ‘That was disgraceful, you should have stopped him a lot earlier,’ and looking across at Nat added, ‘believe me, I had no idea that...’

‘You’re a liar,’ said Nat.

‘Stay on him,’ said the director to the first cameraman. ‘Keep all four cameras rolling, I want every angle on this.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ asked Elliot.

‘That you set the whole thing up. You weren’t even subtle about it — you even used the same man that questioned me on the Cedar Wood project a couple of weeks ago. But I’ll tell you one thing, Elliot,’ he said, jabbing a finger at him, ‘I will still kill you.’

Nat stormed off the stage and found Su Ling waiting for him in the wings. ‘Come on, little flower, I’m taking you home.’ Tom quickly joined them as Nat put an arm around his wife.

‘I’m sorry, Nat, but I have to ask,’ said Tom. ‘Was any of that garbage true?’

‘All of it,’ said Nat, ‘and before you ask another question, I’ve known since we were first married.’

‘Take Su Ling home,’ said Tom, ‘and whatever you do, don’t talk to the press.’

‘Don’t bother,’ said Nat. ‘You can issue a statement on my behalf saying that I’m withdrawing from the race. I’m not having my family dragged through any more of this.’

‘Don’t make a hasty decision that you may well later regret. Let’s talk about what needs to be done in the morning,’ said Tom.

Nat took Su Ling by the hand, walked out of the studio and through a door leading into the parking lot.

‘Good luck,’ shouted one supporter as Nat opened the car door for his wife. He didn’t acknowledge any of the cheers as they drove quickly away. He looked across at Su Ling, who was thumping the dashboard in anger. Nat took a hand off the steering wheel and placed it gently on Su Ling’s leg. ‘I love you,’ he said, ‘and I always will. Nothing and no one will ever change that.’

‘How did Elliot find out?’

‘He’s probably had a team of private detectives delving into my past.’

‘And when he couldn’t come up with anything about you, he switched his sights on to me and my mother,’ whispered Su Ling. There was a long silence before she added, ‘I don’t want you to withdraw; you must stay in the race. It’s the only way we can beat the bastard.’ Nat didn’t reply as he joined the evening traffic. ‘I just feel so sorry for Luke,’ Su Ling eventually said. ‘He will have taken it so very personally. I only wish Kathy had stayed on for another day.’

‘I’ll take care of Luke,’ said Nat. ‘You’d better go and collect your mother and bring her back to our place for the night.’

‘I’ll call her just as soon as we get in,’ said Su Ling. ‘I suppose it’s just possible that she didn’t watch the programme.’

‘Not a hope,’ said Nat as he pulled into the driveway, ‘she’s my most loyal fan and never misses any of my TV appearances.’

Nat put his arm around Su Ling as they walked towards the front door. All the lights in the house were off except for one in Luke’s bedroom. Nat turned the key in the lock and as he opened the door, said, ‘You phone your mother, and I’ll pop up and see Luke.’

Su Ling picked up the phone in the hallway as Nat walked slowly up the stairs, trying to compose his thoughts. He knew Luke would expect every question to be answered truthfully. He walked down the corridor and knocked gently on his son’s door. There was no reply, so he tried again, saying, ‘Luke, can I come in?’ Still no reply. He opened the door a little and glanced inside, but Luke wasn’t in bed and none of his clothes were laid out neatly over the usual chair. Nat’s first reaction was that he must have gone across to the shop to be with his grandmother. He turned out the light and listened to Su Ling talking to her mother. He was about to go down and join her when he noticed that Luke had left a light on in the bathroom. He decided to switch it off.

Nat walked across the room and pushed open the bathroom door. For a moment he remained transfixed as he stared up at his son. He then collapsed on to his knees, unable to get himself to look up a second time, although he knew he would have to remove Luke’s hanging body so that it wouldn’t be the last memory Su Ling would have of their only child.

Annie picked up the phone and listened. ‘It’s Charlie from the Courant for you,’ she said, handing the phone across.

‘Did you watch the programme?’ the political editor asked, the moment Fletcher came on the line.

‘No, I didn’t,’ said Fletcher, ‘Annie and I never miss Seinfeld.’

‘Touché, so do you want to make any statement about your rival’s wife being an illegal immigrant and her mother a prostitute?’

‘Yes, I think that David Anscott should have cut off the questioner. It was obviously a cheap set-up from the start.’

‘Can I quote you?’ said Charlie. Jimmy was shaking his head vigorously.

‘Yes, you most certainly can, because that made anything Nixon’s got up to look like The Muppet Show.’

‘You’ll be glad to hear, senator, that your instincts are in line with public opinion. The station’s switchboard has been jammed with calls of sympathy for Nat Cartwright and his wife, and my bet is that Elliot will lose by a landslide tomorrow.’

‘Which will make it that much tougher for me,’ said Fletcher, ‘but at least one good thing comes out of it.’

‘And what’s that, senator?’

‘Everybody has finally found out the truth about that bastard Elliot.’

‘I wonder if that was wise?’ said Jimmy.

‘I’m sure it wasn’t,’ said Fletcher, ‘but it’s no more than your father would have said.’

When the ambulance arrived Nat decided to accompany his son’s body to the hospital, while his mother tried helplessly to comfort Su Ling.

‘I’ll come straight back,’ he promised, before kissing her gently.

When he saw the two paramedics sitting silently on either side of the body, he explained that he would follow in his own car. They just nodded.

The hospital staff tried to be as sympathetic as possible, but there were forms to be filled in, and procedures to be carried out. Once that had been completed, they left him alone. He kissed Luke on the forehead and turned away at the sight of the red and black bruises around his neck, aware that the memory would remain with him for the rest of his life.

Once they had covered Luke’s face with a sheet, Nat left his beloved son, passing bowed heads murmuring their sympathy. He must get back to Su Ling, but before that, he knew there was someone else he had to visit first.

Nat drove away from the hospital on automatic pilot, his anger not diminishing as each mile clocked up. Although he had never been to the house before, he knew exactly where it was, and when he eventually turned into the driveway, Nat could see some lights coming from the ground floor. He parked the car and began to walk slowly towards the house. He needed to be calm if he was to see it through. As he approached the front door he could hear raised voices coming from inside. A man and a woman were arguing, unaware of the visitor outside. Nat banged on the knocker and the voices suddenly went silent, as if a television had been switched off. A moment later, the door swung open and Nat came face to face with the man he held responsible for his son’s death.

Ralph Elliot looked shocked, but recovered quickly. He tried to slam the door in his face, but Nat had already placed a shoulder firmly against it. The first punch Nat threw landed on Elliot’s nose and sent him reeling backwards. Elliot stumbled, but regained his balance quickly, turned and ran down the corridor. Nat strode after him, following Elliot into his study. He looked round for the other raised voice, but there was no sign of Rebecca. He turned his attention back to Elliot, who was pulling open a drawer in his desk. He grabbed a gun and pointed it at Nat.

‘Get out of my house,’ he shouted, ‘or I’ll kill you.’ Blood was streaming from his nose.

Nat advanced towards him. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘After that stunt you pulled tonight, no one will ever take your word again.’

‘Yes, they will, because I have a witness. Don’t forget that Rebecca saw you barge into our home making threats and then assaulting me.’

Nat advanced ready to take a second punch, causing Elliot to step back and momentarily lose his balance as he stumbled across the arm of the chair. The gun went off, and Nat leapt on Elliot, knocking him to the ground. As they fell to the floor, Nat jerked his knee into Elliot’s groin with such force that his rival bent double, letting go of the gun. Nat grabbed it and pointed the barrel at Elliot, whose face was contorted with fear.

‘You planted that bastard in the audience, didn’t you?’ said Nat.

‘Yes, yes, but I didn’t know he would go that far, surely you wouldn’t kill a man because...’

‘Because he was responsible for the death of my son?’

All the colour drained from Elliot’s face.

‘Yes, I would,’ Nat said, pressing the barrel of the gun against Elliot’s forehead. Nat stared down at a man who was now on his knees whimpering and begging for his life. ‘I’m not going to kill you,’ said Nat, lowering the gun, ‘because that would be the easy way out for a coward. No, I want you to suffer a much slower death — year upon year of humiliation. Tomorrow you’re going to discover what the people of Hartford really think of you, and then you’ll have to live with the final ignominy of watching me take up residence in the governor’s mansion.’

Nat rose to his feet, calmly placed the gun on the corner of the desk, turned and left the room to find Rebecca cowering in the hallway. As soon as he had passed her she ran into the study. Nat strode on through the open door and climbed into his car.

He was driving out of the gates when he heard the shot.

Fletcher’s phone was ringing every few minutes. Annie took all the calls, explaining that her husband had no further comment to make, other than that he had sent his condolences to Mr and Mrs Cartwright.

Just after midnight, Annie unplugged the phone and made her way upstairs. Although the light was on in their bedroom, she was surprised to find that Fletcher wasn’t there. She went back downstairs to check the study. The usual papers were piled up on his desk, but he wasn’t sitting in his chair. She climbed slowly back up the stairs and noticed a light shining under Lucy’s door. Annie turned the handle slowly and quietly pushed the door open in case Lucy had fallen asleep, leaving her light on. She looked inside to see her husband sitting on the bed, clinging on to their sleepy daughter. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He turned and faced his wife. ‘Nothing’s worth that,’ he said.

Nat arrived back home to find his mother sitting on the sofa with Su Ling. Su Ling’s face was ashen, her eyes sunken; she had aged ten years in a few hours. ‘I’ll leave you with her now,’ said his mother, ‘but I’ll come back first thing in the morning. I’ll see myself out.’

Nat bent down, kissed his mother goodbye and then sat next to his wife. He held her slight body in his arms, but said nothing. There was nothing to say.

He couldn’t remember how long they had been sitting there when he heard the police siren. He assumed that the grating noise would quickly disappear into the distance, but it became louder and louder, and didn’t stop until a car came to a screeching halt on the gravel outside their front door. He then heard a door slam, heavy footsteps, followed by a loud banging on the front door.

He removed his arm from around his wife’s shoulder and made his way wearily to the front door. He opened it to find Chief Culver with a police officer standing on either side of him.

‘What’s the problem, chief?’

‘I’m sorry about this, remembering what you’ve already been through,’ said Don Culver, ‘but I have no choice but to place you under arrest.’

‘What for?’ asked Nat in disbelief.

‘For the murder of Ralph Elliot.’