Sons of Fortune

49

Fletcher sat in his Senate office reading the morning papers the day after the trial.

‘What an ungrateful lot,’ he said, passing the Hartford Courant across to his daughter.

‘You should have left him to fry,’ said Lucy as she glanced at the latest opinion poll figures.

‘Expressed with your usual elegance and charm,’ said Fletcher. ‘It does make me wonder if all the money I’ve spent sending you to Hotchkiss has been worthwhile, not to mention what Vassar is going to cost me.’

‘I may not be going to Vassar, Dad,’ said Lucy in a quieter voice.

‘Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?’ asked Fletcher, picking up on his daughter’s change of tone.

‘Yes, Dad, because even though Vassar has offered me a place, I may not be able to take it up.’

Fletcher couldn’t always be certain when Lucy was kidding and when she was serious, but as she had asked to see him in his office and not to mention the meeting to Annie, he had to assume she was in earnest. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked quietly, looking across the desk at her.

Lucy didn’t meet his stare. She bowed her head and said, ‘I’m pregnant.’

Fletcher didn’t reply immediately as he tried to take in his daughter’s confession. ‘Is George the father?’ he eventually asked,

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘And are you going to marry him?’

Lucy thought about the question for some time before replying. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I adore George, but I don’t love him.’

‘But you were willing to let him make love to you.’

‘That’s not fair,’ said Lucy. ‘It was the Saturday night after the election for president, and I’m afraid we both had a little too much to drink. To be honest, I was sick of being described by everyone in my class as the virgin president. And if I had to lose my virginity, I couldn’t think of anyone nicer than George, especially after he admitted that he was also a virgin. In the end I’m not sure who seduced who.’

‘How does George feel about all this? After all, it’s his child as well as yours and he struck me as rather a serious young man, especially when it came to his feelings for you.’

‘He doesn’t know yet.’

‘You haven’t told him?’ said Fletcher in disbelief.

‘No.’

‘How about your mother?’

‘No,’ she repeated. ‘The only person I’ve shared this with is you.’ This time she did look her father in the eye, before adding, ‘Let’s face it, Dad, Mom was probably still a virgin on the day you married her.’

‘And so was I,’ said Fletcher, ‘but you’re going to have to let her know before it becomes obvious to everyone.’

‘Not if I were to have an abortion.’

Again Fletcher remained silent for some time, before saying, ‘Is that what you really want?’

‘Yes, Dad, but please don’t tell Mom, because she wouldn’t understand.’

‘I’m not sure I do myself,’ said Fletcher.

‘Are you pro-women’s choice for everyone except your daughter?’ asked Lucy.

‘It won’t last,’ said Nat, staring at the headline in the Hartford Courant.

‘What won’t?’ said Su Ling as she poured him another coffee.

‘My seven-point lead in the polls. In a few weeks’ time the electorate won’t even remember which one of us was on trial.’

‘I guess she’ll still remember,’ said Su Ling quietly as she glanced over her husband’s shoulder at a photograph of Rebecca Elliot walking down the courtroom steps, every hair no longer in place. ‘Why did she ever marry him?’ she said almost to herself.

‘I’m just thankful it wasn’t me who married Rebecca,’ said Nat. ‘Let’s face it, if Elliot hadn’t copied my thesis and prevented me going to Yale we would never have met, to start with,’ said Nat, taking his wife’s hand.

‘I just wish I’d been able to have more children,’ said Su Ling, her voice still subdued. ‘I miss Luke so much.’

‘I know,’ said Nat, ‘but I’ll never regret running up that particular hill, at that particular time, on that particular day.’

‘And I’m glad I took the wrong path,’ said Su Ling, ‘because I couldn’t love you any more. But I’d have willingly given up my life if it would have meant saving Luke’s.’

‘I suspect that would be true of most parents,’ said Nat, looking at his wife, ‘and you could certainly include your mother, who sacrificed everything for you, and doesn’t deserve to have been treated so cruelly.’

‘Don’t worry about my mother,’ said Su Ling, snapping out of her maudlin mood. ‘I went round to see her yesterday only to find the shop packed with dirty old men bringing in their even dirtier laundry, secretly hoping that she’s running a massage parlour upstairs.’

Nat burst out laughing. ‘And to think we kept it secret for all those years. I would certainly never have believed that the day would come when I would be able to laugh about it.’

‘She says if you become governor, she’s going to open a string of shops right across the state. Her advertising slogan will be “we wash your dirty linen in public”.’

‘I always knew that there was some overriding reason I still needed to be governor,’ said Nat as he rose from the table.

‘And who has the privilege of your company today?’ asked Su Ling.

‘The good folk of New Canaan,’ said Nat.

‘So when will you be home?’

‘Just after midnight would be my guess.’

‘Wake me,’ she said.

‘Hi, Lucy,’ said Jimmy as he strolled into her father’s office. ‘Is the great man free?’

‘Yes, he is,’ said Lucy as she rose from her chair.

Jimmy glanced back as she slipped out of the room. Was it his imagination or had she been crying? Fletcher didn’t speak until she’d closed the door. ‘Good morning, Jimmy,’ he said as he pushed the paper to one side, leaving the photograph of Rebecca staring up at him.

‘Do you think they’ll arrest her?’ asked Jimmy.

Fletcher glanced back down at the photograph of Rebecca. ‘I don’t think they’ve been left with much choice, but if I were sitting on a jury I would acquit, because I found her story totally credible.’

‘Yes, but then you know what Elliot was capable of. A jury doesn’t.’

‘But I can hear him saying, If you won’t do it, then I’ll have to kill you, and don’t think I wouldn’t.’

‘I wonder if you would have remained at Alexander Dupont and Bell if Elliot hadn’t joined the firm.’

‘One of those twists of fate,’ said Fletcher, as if his mind was on something else. ‘So what have you got lined up for me?’

‘We’re going to spend the day in Madison.’

‘Is Madison worth a whole day?’ asked Fletcher, ‘when it’s such a solid Republican district?’

‘Which is precisely why I’m getting it out of the way while there’s still a few weeks to go,’ said Jimmy, ‘though ironically their votes have never influenced the outcome of the election.’

‘A vote’s a vote,’ said Fletcher.

‘Not in this particular case,’ said Jimmy, ‘because while the rest of the state now votes electronically, Madison remains the single exception. They are among the last districts in the country who still prefer to mark their ballots with a pencil.’

‘But that doesn’t stop their votes being valid,’ insisted Fletcher.

‘True, but in the past those votes have proved irrelevant, because they don’t begin the count until the morning after the election, when the overall result has already been declared. It’s a bit of a farce, but one of those traditions that the good burghers of Madison are unwilling to sacrifice on the altar of modern technology.’

‘And you still want me to spend a whole day there?’

‘Yes, because if the majority were less than five thousand, suddenly Madison would become the most important town in the state.’

‘Do you think it could be that close while Bush still has a record lead in the polls?’

‘Still is the operative word, because Clinton’s chipping away at that lead every day, so who knows who’ll end up in the White House, or in the governor’s mansion for that matter?’

Fletcher didn’t comment.

‘You seem a little preoccupied this morning,’ said Jimmy. ‘Anything else on your mind that you want to discuss with me?’

‘It looks as if Nat’s going to win by a mile,’ said Julia from behind the morning paper.

‘A British prime minister once said that “a week’s a long time in politics”, and we’ve still got several more of them left before the first vote is cast,’ Tom reminded his wife.

‘If Nat becomes governor, you’ll miss all the excitement. After all you two have been through, returning to Fairchild’s may turn out to be something of an anti-climax.’

‘The truth is that I lost any interest in banking the day Russell’s was taken over.’

‘But you’re about to become chairman of the biggest bank in the state.’

‘Not if Nat wins the election, I won’t,’ said Tom.

Julia pushed the paper aside. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘Nat has asked me to be his chief of staff if he becomes governor.’

‘Then who will take over as chairman of the bank?’

‘You, of course,’ said Tom. ‘Everyone knows you’d be the best person for the job.’

‘But Fairchild’s would never appoint a woman as chairman, they’re far too traditional.’

‘We’re living in the last decade of the twentieth century Julia, and thanks to you, nearly half our customers are women. And as for the board, not to mention the staff, in my absence most of them think you already are the chairman.’

‘But if Nat were to lose, he’ll quite rightly expect to return to Fairchild’s as chairman, with you as his deputy, in which case the question becomes somewhat academic’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Tom, ‘don’t forget that Jimmy Overman, Connecticut’s senior senator, has already announced that he’ll not be running for reelection next year, in which case Nat would be the obvious choice to replace him. Whichever one of them becomes governor, I feel sure the other will be going to Washington as the state’s senator.’ He paused. ‘I suspect it will only be a matter of time before Nat and Fletcher run against each other for president.’

‘Do you believe I can do the job?’ asked Julia quietly.

‘No,’ said Tom, ‘you have to be born in America before you can stand for president.’

I didn’t mean president, you idiot, but chairman of Fairchild’s.’

I knew that the day we met,’ said Tom. ‘My only fear was that you wouldn’t consider I was good enough to be your husband.’

‘Oh, men are so slow on the uptake,’ said Julia. I made up my mind that I was going to marry you the night we met at Su Ling and Nat’s dinner party.’ Tom’s mouth opened and then closed.

‘How different my life would have been if the other Julia Kirkbridge had come to the same conclusion,’ she added.

‘Not to mention mine,’ said Tom.

50

Fletcher stared down at the cheering crowd and waved enthusiastically back at them. He had made seven speeches in Madison that day — on street corners, in market places, outside a library — but even he had been surprised by his reception at the final meeting in the town hall that night.

Come and hear the winner was printed in bold red and blue letters on a massive banner that stretched from one side of the stage to the other. Fletcher had smiled when the local chairman told him that Paul Holbourn, the independent mayor of Madison, had left the banner in place after Nat had spoken at the town hall earlier that week. Holbourn had been the mayor for fourteen years, and didn’t keep getting re-elected because he squandered the tax payers’ money.

When Fletcher sat down at the end of his speech, he could feel the adrenalin pumping through his body, and the standing ovation that followed was not the usual stage-managed affair, where a bunch of well-placed party hacks leap up the moment the candidate has delivered his last line. On this occasion, the public were on their feet at the same time as the hacks. He only wished Annie could have been there to witness it.

When the chairman held up Fletcher’s hand and shouted into the microphone, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next governor of Connecticut,’ Fletcher believed it for the first time. Clinton was neck and neck with Bush in the national polls and Perot’s independent candidacy was further chipping away at the Republican’s support. It was creating a knock-on effect for Fletcher. He only hoped that four weeks was enough time to make up the four-point deficit in the polls.

It was another half hour before the hall was cleared, and by then Fletcher had shaken every proffered hand. A satisfied chairman accompanied him back to the parking lot.

‘You don’t have a driver?’ he said, sounding a little surprised.

‘Lucy took the night off to see My Cousin Vinny, Annie’s attending some charity meeting, Jimmy’s chairing a fund raiser, and as it was less than fifty miles, I felt I could just about manage that by myself,’ explained Fletcher as he jumped behind the wheel.

He drove away from the town hall on a high, and began to relax for the first time that day. But he’d only driven a few hundred yards before his thoughts returned to Lucy, as they had done whenever he was alone. He faced a considerable dilemma. Should he should tell Annie that their daughter was pregnant?

Nat was having a private dinner with four local industrialists that night. Between them they were in a position to make a significant contribution to the campaign coffers, so he didn’t hurry them. During the evening they had left him in no doubt what they expected from a Republican governor, and although they didn’t always go along with some of Nat’s more liberal ideas, a Democrat wasn’t moving into the governor’s mansion if they had anything to do with it.

It was well past midnight when Ed Chambers of Chambers Foods suggested that perhaps the candidate should be allowed to go home and get a good night’s sleep. Nat couldn’t remember when he’d last had one of those.

This was the usual cue for Tom to stand up, agree with whoever had made the suggestion, and then go off in search of Nat’s coat. Nat would then look as if he was being dragged away, shaking hands with his hosts before telling them that he couldn’t hope to win the election without their support. Flattering though the sentiment might sound, on this occasion it also had the merit of being true,

All four men accompanied Nat back to his car, and as Tom drove down the long winding drive from Ed Chambers’s home, Nat tuned into the late news. Fletcher’s speech to the citizens of Madison was the fourth item, and the local reporter was highlighting some of the points he’d made about neighbourhood watch schemes, an idea Nat had been promoting for months. Nat began to grumble about such blatant plagiarism until Tom reminded him that he’d also stolen some of Fletcher’s innovations on education reform.

Nat switched off the news when the weather forecaster returned to warn them about patchy ice on the roads. Within minutes Nat had fallen asleep, a trick Tom had often wished he could emulate, because the moment Nat woke, he was always back firing on all cylinders. Tom was also looking forward to a decent night’s sleep. They didn’t have any official function before ten the following morning, when they would attend the first of seven religious services, ending the day with evensong at St Joseph’s Cathedral.

He knew that Fletcher Davenport would be covering roughly the same circuit in another part of the state. By the end of the campaign, there wouldn’t be a religious gathering where they hadn’t knelt down, taken off their shoes, or covered their heads in order to prove that they were both God-fearing citizens. Even if it wasn’t necessarily their own particular God being revered, they had at least demonstrated willingness to stand, sit and kneel in His presence.

Tom decided not to switch on the one o’clock news, as he could see no purpose in waking Nat only to hear a regurgitation of what they had listened to thirty minutes before.

They both missed the newsflash,

An ambulance was on the scene within minutes, and the first thing the paramedics did was to call in the fire department. The driver was pinned against the steering wheel, they reported, and there was no way of prying open his door without the use of an acetylene torch. They would have to work quickly if they hoped to get the injured man out of the wreck alive.

It wasn’t until the police had checked the licence plate on their computer back at headquarters that they realized who it was trapped behind the wheel. As they felt it was unlikely that the senator had been drinking, they assumed he must have fallen asleep. There were no skid marks on the road and no other vehicles involved.

The paramedics radioed ahead to the hospital, and when they learnt the identity of the victim the duty physician decided to page Ben Renwick. Remembering his seniority, Renwick didn’t expect to be woken if there was another surgeon available to do the job.

‘How many other people in the car?’ was Dr Renwick’s first question.

‘Only the senator,’ came back the immediate reply.

What the hell was he doing driving himself at that time of night?’ muttered Renwick rhetorically. ‘What’s the extent of his injuries?’

‘Several broken bones, including at least three ribs and the left ankle,’ said the duty physician, ‘but I’m more worried about the loss of blood. It took the fire boys nearly an hour to cut him out of the wreck.’

‘OK, make sure my team is scrubbed up and ready by the time I arrive. I’ll call Mrs Davenport.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘Come to think of it,’ he said, ‘I’ll call both Mrs Davenports.’

Annie was standing in the biting wind by the hospital emergency entrance when she saw the ambulance speeding towards her. It was the accompanying police outriders that made her think that it had to be her husband. Although Fletcher was still unconscious, they allowed her to clutch on to his limp hand as they wheeled him through to the operating room. When Annie first saw the condition Fletcher was in, she didn’t believe anyone could save him.

Why had she attended that charity meeting when she should have been in Madison with her husband? Whenever she was with Fletcher, she always drove him home. Why had she ignored his protestations when he’d insisted that he’d enjoy the drive — it would give him some time to think, and in any case, it was such a short distance, he’d added. He’d only been five miles from home when he’d driven off the road.

Ruth Davenport arrived at the hospital a few moments later, and immediately set about finding out as much as she could. Once she had spoken to the duty administrator, Ruth was able to reassure Annie of one thing. ‘Fletcher couldn’t be in better hands than Ben Renwick’s. He’s quite simply the best in the state.’ What she didn’t tell her daughter-in-law was that they only got him out of bed when the odds of pulling a patient through were low. Ben Renwick wasn’t a betting man.

Martha Gates was the next to arrive, and Ruth repeated everything that she’d picked up. She confirmed that Fletcher had three broken ribs, a broken ankle, and a ruptured spleen, but it was the loss of blood that was causing the professionals to be anxious.

‘But surely a hospital as large as St Patrick’s has a big enough blood bank to cope with that sort of problem?’

‘Yes would be the usual answer,’ replied Ruth, ‘but Fletcher is AB negative, the rarest of all the blood groups, and although we’ve always maintained a small reserve stock, when that school bus careered off Route 95 in New London last month and the driver and his son turned out to be AB negative, Fletcher was the first to insist that the entire batch should be shipped out to the New London hospital immediately, and we just haven’t had enough time to replace it.’

An arc lamp was switched on and lit up the hospital entrance. ‘The vultures have arrived,’ said Ruth, looking out of the window. She turned and faced her daughter-in-law. ‘Annie, I think you should talk to them, it just might be our only chance of locating a blood donor in time.’

When she rose on Sunday morning, Su Ling decided not to wake Nat until the last possible moment; after all, she had no idea what time it was when he’d crept into bed.

She sat in the kitchen, made herself some fresh coffee, and began to scan the morning papers. Fletcher’s speech seemed to have been well received by the citizens of Madison, and the latest opinion poll showed the gap between them had narrowed by another point bringing Nat’s lead down to three per cent.

Su Ling sipped her coffee and pushed the paper to one side. She always switched on the television just before the hour to catch the weather forecast. The first person to appear on the screen even before the sound came on was Annie Davenport. Why was she standing outside St Patrick’s, Su Ling wondered? Was Fletcher announcing some new health care initiative? Sixty seconds later she knew exactly why. She dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to wake Nat and tell him the news. A remarkable coincidence. Or was it? As a scientist, Su Ling gave scant credence to coincidence. But she had no time to consider that now.

A sleepy Nat listened as his wife repeated what Annie Davenport had just said. Suddenly he was wide awake, leapt out of bed and quickly threw on yesterday’s clothes, not bothering to shave or shower. Once dressed, he ran downstairs, pulling on his shoes only when he was in the car. Su Ling was already behind the wheel with the engine running. She took off the moment Nat slammed the car door.

The radio was still tuned into the 24-hour news station, and Nat listened to the latest bulletin while trying to tie up his laces. The on-the-spot reporter couldn’t have been more explicit: Senator Davenport was on a ventilator, and if someone didn’t donate four pints of AB negative blood within hours, the hospital feared for his survival.

It took Su Ling twelve minutes to reach St Patrick’s by simply ignoring the speed limit — not that there was a lot of traffic on the road at that time on a Sunday morning. Nat ran into the hospital while Su Ling went in search of a parking space.

Nat spotted Annie at the end of the corridor and immediately called out her name. She turned and looked startled when she saw him charging towards her. Why was he running? was her first reaction.

‘I came just as soon as I heard,’ shouted Nat, still on the move, but all three women just continued to stare at him, like rabbits caught in a headlight. ‘I’m the same blood group as Fletcher,’ Nat blurted out as he came to a halt by Annie’s side.

‘You’re AB negative?’ said Annie in disbelief.

‘Sure am,’ said Nat.

‘Thank God,’ said Martha. Ruth quickly disappeared into the intensive care unit, and returned a moment later with Ben Renwick by her side.

‘Mr Cartwright,’ he said thrusting out his hand, ‘My name is Dr Renwick, and I’m...’

‘The hospital’s senior consultant, yes, I know you by reputation,’ said Nat, shaking his hand.

The surgeon gave a slight bow. ‘We have a technician ready to take your blood...’

‘Then let’s get on with it,’ said Nat, pulling off his jacket.

‘To begin with we’ll need to run some tests and check if your blood is an exact match, and then screen it for HIV and hepatitis B.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Nat.

‘But I’m afraid, Mr Cartwright, I’ll also need at least three pints of your blood if Senator Davenport is to have any chance of survival, and that will require several indemnity forms signed in the presence of a lawyer.’

‘Why a lawyer?’ asked Nat,

‘Because there’s an outside chance you might suffer severe side effects, and in any case, you’ll end up feeling pretty weak yourself, and it may prove necessary to keep you in the hospital for several days just to administer extra fluids.’

‘Are there no extremes that Fletcher will not go to to keep me off the campaign trail?’

All three women smiled for the first time that day as Renwick quickly led Nat off to his office. Nat turned round to speak to Annie, to find her being comforted by Su Ling.

‘Now I have another problem to consider,’ admitted Renwick as he took a seat behind his desk and began sorting through some forms.

‘I’ll sign anything,’ repeated Nat.

‘You can’t sign the form I have in mind,’ said the consultant.

Why not?’ asked Nat.

‘Because it’s an absentee ballot, and I’m no longer certain which one of you to vote for.’

51

‘Losing three pints of blood doesn’t seem to have slowed down Mr Cartwright,’ said the duty nurse as she placed his latest chart in front of Dr Renwick.

‘Maybe not,’ said Renwick, flicking through the pages, ‘but it sure made one hell of a difference to Senator Davenport. It saved his life.’

‘True,’ said the nurse, ‘but I’ve warned the senator that despite the election, he’ll have to stay put for at least another two weeks.’

‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ said Renwick, ‘I anticipate that Fletcher will have discharged himself by the end of the week.’

‘You could be right,’ said the nurse with a sigh, ‘but what can I do to prevent it?’

‘Nothing,’ said Renwick, turning over the file on his desk so that she couldn’t read the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright printed in the top right corner. ‘But I do need you to make an appointment for me to see both men as soon as possible.’

‘Yes, doctor,’ replied the nurse making a note on her clipboard before leaving the room.

Once the door was closed, Ben Renwick turned the file back over and read through its contents once again. He’d thought about little else for the past three days.

When he left later that evening, he locked the file away in his private safe. After all, a few more days wouldn’t make a great deal of difference, after all what he needed to discuss with the two men had remained a secret for the past forty-three years.

Nat was discharged from St Patrick’s on Thursday evening, and no one on the hospital staff imagined for a moment that Fletcher would still be around by the weekend, despite his mother trying to convince him that he should take it easy. He reminded her there were now only two weeks to go before election day.

During the longest week in his life, Ben Renwick continued to wrestle with his conscience, just as Dr Greenwood must have done forty-three years before him, but Renwick had come to a different conclusion; he felt he’d been left with no choice but to tell both men the truth.

The two combatants agreed to meet at six a.m. on Tuesday morning in Dr Renwick’s office. It was the only time before election day that both candidates had a clear hour in their diaries.

Nat was the first to arrive, as he had hoped to be in Waterbury for a nine o’clock meeting, and perhaps even squeeze in a visit to a couple of commuter stations on the way.

Fletcher hobbled into Dr Renwick’s office at five fifty-eight, annoyed that Nat had made it before him.

‘Just as soon as I get this cast off,’ he said, ‘I’m going to kick your ass.’

‘You shouldn’t speak to Dr Renwick like that, after all he’s done for you,’ said Nat, with a grin.

‘Why not?’ asked Fletcher. ‘He filled me up with your blood, so now I’m half the man I was.’

‘Wrong again,’ said Nat. ‘You’re twice the man you were, but still half the man I am.’

‘Children, children,’ said the doctor, suddenly realizing the significance of his words, ‘there is something a little more serious that I need to discuss with you.’

Both men fell silent after hearing the tone in which they had been admonished.

Dr Renwick came from behind his desk to unlock his safe. He removed a file and placed it on the desk. ‘I have spent several days trying to work out just how I should go about imparting such confidential information to you both.’ He tapped the file with his right index finger. ‘Information that would never have come to my attention had it not been for the senator’s near-fatal accident and the necessity to check both your files.’ Nat and Fletcher glanced at each other, but said nothing. ‘Even whether to tell you separately or together became an ethical issue, and at least on that, it will now be obvious what decision I came to.’ The two candidates still said nothing. ‘I have only one request, that the information I am about to divulge should remain a secret, unless both of you, I repeat, both of you, are willing, even determined, to make it public’

‘I have no problem with that,’ said Fletcher, turning to face Nat.

‘Neither do I,’ said Nat, ‘I am after all, in the presence of my lawyer.’

‘Even if it were to influence the outcome of the election?’ the doctor added, ignoring Nat’s levity. Both men hesitated for a moment, but once again nodded. ‘Let me make it clear that what I am about to reveal is not a possibility or even a probability; it is quite simply beyond dispute.’ The doctor opened the file and glanced down at a birth certificate and a death certificate.

‘Senator Davenport and Mr Cartwright,’ he said, as if addressing two people he’d never met before, ‘I have to inform you that, having checked and double-checked both your DNA samples, there can be no questioning the scientific evidence that you are not only brothers,’ he paused, his eyes returning to the birth certificate, ‘but dizygotic twins.’ Dr Renwick remained silent as he allowed the significance of his statement to sink in.

Nat recalled those days when he still needed to rush to a dictionary to check the meaning of a word. Fletcher was the first to break the silence. Which means we’re not identical.’

‘Correct,’ said Dr Renwick, ‘the assumption that twins must look alike has always been a myth, mainly perpetrated by romantic novelists.’

‘But, that doesn’t explain...’ began Nat.

‘Should you wish to know the answer to any other questions you might have,’ said Dr Renwick, ‘including who are your natural parents, and how you became separated, I am only too happy that you should study this file at your leisure.’ Dr Renwick tapped the open file in front of him once again.

Neither man responded immediately. It was some time before Fletcher said. ‘I don’t need to see the contents of the file.’

It was Dr Renwick’s turn to register surprise.

‘There’s nothing I don’t know about Nat Cartwright,’ Fletcher explained, ‘including the details of the tragic death of his brother.’

Nat nodded. ‘My mother still keeps a picture of both of us by her bedside, and often talks of my brother Peter and what he might have grown up to be.’ He paused and looked at Fletcher. ‘She would have been proud of the man who saved his brother’s life. But I do have one question,’ he added, turning back to face Dr Renwick, ‘I need to ask if Mrs Davenport is aware that Fletcher isn’t her son?’

‘Not that I know of,’ replied Renwick.

‘What makes you so sure?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Because among the many items I came across in this file was a letter from the doctor who delivered you both. He left instructions that it was only to be opened if a dispute should arise concerning your birth that might harm the hospital’s reputation. And that letter states that there was only one other person who knew the truth, other than Dr Greenwood.’

‘Who was that?’ asked Nat and Fletcher simultaneously.

Dr Renwick paused while he turned another page in his file. ‘A Miss Heather Nichol, but as she and Dr Greenwood have since died, there’s no way of confirming it.’

‘She was my nanny,’ said Fletcher, ‘and from what I can remember of her, she would have done anything to please my mother.’ He turned to look at Nat. ‘However, I would still prefer that my parents never find out the truth.’

‘I have no problem with that,’ said Nat. What purpose can be served by putting our parents through such an unnecessary ordeal? If Mrs Davenport became aware that Fletcher was not her son, and my mother were to discover that Peter had never died, and she had been deprived of the chance of bringing up both of her children, the distress and turmoil that would quite obviously follow doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘I agree,’ said Fletcher. ‘My parents are now both nearly eighty, so why resurrect such ghosts of the past?’ He paused for some time. ‘Though I confess I can only wonder how different our lives might have been, had I ended up in your crib, and you in mine,’ he said, looking at Nat.

‘We’ll never know,’ Nat replied. ‘However, one thing remains certain.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Fletcher.

‘I would still be the next governor of Connecticut.’

‘What makes you so confident of that?’ asked Fletcher.

‘I had a head start on you and have remained in the lead ever since. After all, I’ve been on earth six minutes longer than you.’

‘A tiny disadvantage from which I had fully recovered within the hour.’

‘Children, children,’ admonished Ben Renwick a second time. Both men laughed as the doctor closed the file in front of him. ‘Then we are in agreement that any evidence proving your relationship should be destroyed and never referred to again.’

‘Agreed,’ said Fletcher without hesitation.

‘Never referred to again,’ repeated Nat.

Both men watched as Dr Renwick opened the file and first extracted a birth certificate which he placed firmly into the shredder. Neither spoke as they watched each piece of evidence disappear. The birth certificate was followed by a three-page letter dated 11 May 1949, signed by Dr Greenwood. After that came several internal hospital documents and memos, all stamped 1949. Dr Renwick continued to place them one by one through the shredder until all he was left with was an empty file. On top were printed the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright. He tore the file into four pieces before offering the final vestige of proof to the waiting teeth of the shredder.

Fletcher rose unsteadily from his place, and turned to shake hands with his brother. ‘See you in the governor’s mansion.’

‘You sure will,’ said Nat, taking him in his arms. ‘The first thing I’ll do is put in a wheelchair ramp so you can visit me regularly.’

‘Well, I have to go,’ said Fletcher, turning to shake hands with Ben Renwick. ‘I’ve got an election to win.’ He hobbled towards the door, trying to reach it before Nat, but his brother jumped in front and held it open for him.

‘I was brought up to open doors for women, senior citizens and invalids,’ explained Nat.

‘And you can now add future governors to that list,’ said Fletcher, hobbling through.

‘Have you read my paper on disability benefits?’ asked Nat, as he caught up with him.

‘No,’ Fletcher replied, ‘I’ve never bothered with impractical ideas that could never reach the statute books.’

‘You know, I will regret only one thing,’ said Nat, once they were alone in the corridor and could no longer be overheard by Dr Renwick.

‘Let me guess,’ said Fletcher as he waited for the next quip.

‘I think you would have been one hell of a brother to grow up with.’

52

Dr Renwick’s prediction turned out to be accurate. Senator Davenport had discharged himself from St Patrick’s by the weekend, and a fortnight later no one would have believed he had been within hours of dying only a month before.

With only a few days left before the election, Clinton went further ahead in the national polls as Perot continued to eat into Bush’s support. Both Nat and Fletcher went on travelling round the state at a pace that would have impressed an Olympic athlete. Neither waited for the other to challenge them to a debate, and when one of the local television companies suggested they should face each other in three encounters, both accepted without needing any persuasion.

It was universally agreed that Fletcher came off better in the first duel, and the polls confirmed that impression when he went into the lead for the first time. Nat immediately cut down on his travel commitments, and spent several hours in a mocked-up television studio being coached by his staff. It paid off, because even the local Democrats conceded that he had won the second round, when the polls put him back into the lead.

So much rested on the final debate that both men became over anxious not to make a mistake, and it ended up being judged as stalemate or, as Lucy described it, ‘dullmate’. Neither candidate was distressed to learn that a rival station had aired a football game that had been watched by ten times as many viewers. The polls the following day put both candidates on forty-six per cent, with eight per cent undecided.

‘Where have they been for the past six months?’ demanded Fletcher as he stared at the figure of eight per cent.

‘Not everyone is as fascinated by politics as you are,’ suggested Annie over breakfast that morning. Lucy nodded her agreement.

Fletcher hired a helicopter and Nat chartered the bank’s small jet to take them round the state during the final seven days, by which time the don’t-knows had fallen to six per cent, shedding one point to each rival. By the end of the week, both men wondered if there was a shopping mall, factory, railway station, town hall, hospital or even street that they hadn’t visited, and both accepted that in the end, it was going to be the organization on the ground that mattered. And the winner would be the one who had the best-oiled machine on election day. No one was more aware of this than Tom and Jimmy, but they couldn’t think of anything they hadn’t already done or prepared for, and could only speculate as to what might go wrong at the last minute.

For Nat, election day was a blur of airports and main streets, as he tried to visit every city that had a runway before the polling booths closed at eight p.m. As soon as his plane touched down, he would run to the second car in the motorcade, and take off at seventy miles an hour, until he reached the city limits, where he would slow down to ten miles an hour, and start waving at anyone who showed the slightest interest. He ended up in the main street at a walking pace, and then reversed the process with a frantic dash back to the airport before taking off for the next city.

Fletcher spent his final morning in Hartford, trying to get out his core vote before taking the helicopter to visit the most densely populated Democratic areas. Later that night, commentators even discussed who had made the better use of the last few hours. Both men landed back at Hartford’s Brainard airport a few minutes after the polls had closed.

Normally in these situations, candidates will go to almost any lengths to avoid one another, but when the two teams crossed on the tarmac, like jousters at a fair, they headed straight towards each other.

‘Senator,’ said Nat, ‘I will need to see you first thing in the morning as there are several changes I will require before I feel able to sign your education bill.’

‘The bill will be law by this time tomorrow,’ replied Fletcher. ‘I intend it to be my first executive action as governor.’

Both men became aware that their closest aides had fallen back so that they could have a private conversation, and they realized that the banter served little purpose if there was no audience to play to.

‘How’s Lucy?’ asked Nat. ‘I hope her problem’s been sorted out.’

‘How did you know about that?’ asked Fletcher.

‘One of my staff was leaked the details a couple of weeks ago. I made it clear that if the subject was raised again he would no longer be part of my team.’

‘I’m grateful,’ said Fletcher, ‘because I still haven’t told Annie.’ He paused. ‘Lucy spent a few days in New York with Logan Fitzgerald, and then returned home to join me on the campaign trail.’

‘I wish I’d been able to watch her grow up, like any other uncle. I would have loved to have a daughter.’

‘Most days of the week she’d happily swap me for you,’ said Fletcher. ‘I’ve even had to raise her allowance in exchange for not continually reminding me how wonderful you are.’

‘I’ve never told you,’ said Nat, ‘that after your intervention with that gunman who took over Miss Hudson’s class at Hartford School, Luke stuck a photograph of you up on his bedroom wall, and never took it down, so please pass on my best wishes to my niece.’

‘I will, but be warned that if you win, she’s going to postpone college for a year and apply for a job in your office as an intern, and she’s already made it clear that she won’t be available if her father is the governor.’

‘Then I look forward to her joining my team,’ said Nat, as one or two aides reappeared and suggested that perhaps it was time for both of them to be moving on.

Fletcher smiled. ‘How do you want to play tonight?’

‘If either of us gets a clear lead by midnight, the other will call and concede?’

‘Suits me,’ said Fletcher, ‘I think you know my home number.’

‘I’ll be waiting for your call, senator,’ said Nat.

The two candidates shook hands on the concourse outside the airport, and their motorcades whisked off in different directions.

A designated team of state troopers followed both candidates home. Their orders were clear. If your man wins, you are protecting the new governor. If he loses, you take the weekend off.

Neither team took the weekend off.

53

Nat switched on the radio the moment he got into the car. The early exit polls were making it clear that Bill Clinton would be taking up residence in the White House next January, and that President Bush would probably have to concede before midnight. A lifetime of public service, a year of campaigning, a day of voting, and your political career becomes a footnote in history. ‘That’s democracy for you,’ President Bush was later heard to remark ruefully.

Other pollsters across the country were suggesting that not only the White House, but both the Senate and Congress, would be controlled by the Democrats. CBS’s anchor man, Dan Rather, was reporting a close result in several seats. Tn Connecticut, for example, the gubernatorial race is too close to call, and the exit polls are unable to predict the outcome. But for now it’s over to our correspondent in Little Rock, who is outside Governor Clinton’s home.’

Nat flicked off the radio, as the little motorcade of three SUVs came to a halt outside his home. He was greeted by two television cameras, a radio reporter and a couple of journalists — how different from Arkansas, where over a hundred television cameras and countless radio and newspaper journalists waited for the first words of the president-elect. Tom was standing by the front door.

‘Don’t tell me,’ said Nat as he walked past the press and into the house. ‘It’s too close to call. So when can we hope to hear a result involving some real voters?’

‘We’re expecting the first indicators to come through within the hour,’ said Tom, ‘and if it’s Bristol, they usually vote Democrat.’

‘Yes, but by how much?’ asked Nat as they headed towards the kitchen, to find Su Ling glued to the television, a burning smell coming from the stove.

Fletcher stood in front of the television, watching Clinton as he waved to the crowds from the balcony of his home in Arkansas. At the same time he tried to listen to a briefing from Jimmy. When he’d first met the Arkansas governor at the Democratic convention in New York City, Fletcher hadn’t given him a prayer. To think that only last year, following America’s victory in the Gulf War, Bush had enjoyed the highest opinion poll ratings in history.

‘Clinton may be declared the winner,’ said Fletcher, ‘but Bush as sure as hell lost it.’ He stared at Bill and Hillary hugging each other, as their bemused twelve-year-old daughter stood by their side. He thought about Lucy and her recent abortion, realizing it would have been front-page news if he had been running for president. He wondered how Chelsea would cope with that sort of pressure.

Lucy came dashing into the room. ‘Mom and I have prepared all your favourite dishes, as it will be nothing but public functions for the next four years.’ He smiled at her youthful exuberance. ‘Corn on the cob, spaghetti bolognese, and if you’ve won before midnight, crème brulée.’

‘But not all together,’ begged Fletcher, and, turning to Jimmy, who had rarely been off the phone since the moment he’d entered the house, he asked, ‘When are you expecting the first result in?’

‘Any minute now,’ Jimmy replied. ‘Bristol prides itself on always announcing first, and we have to capture that by three to four per cent if we hope to win overall.’

‘And below three per cent?’

We’re in trouble,’ Jimmy replied.

Nat checked his watch. It was just after nine in Hartford, but the image on the screen showed voters still going to the polls in California, BREAKING NEWS was plastered across the screen. NBC was the first to declare that Clinton would be the new president of the United States. George Bush was already being labelled by the networks with the cruel epitaph, ‘one-termer’.

The phones rang constantly in the background, as Tom tried to field all the calls. If he thought Nat ought to speak to the caller personally, the phone was passed across to him, if not, he heard Tom repeating, ‘He’s tied up at the moment, but thank you for calling, I’ll pass your message on.’

I hope there’s a TV wherever I’m “tied up”,’ said Nat, ‘otherwise I’ll never know whether to accept or concede,’ he added as he tried valiantly to cut into a burnt steak.

‘At last a real piece of news,’ said Tom, ‘but I can’t work out who it helps, because the turnout in Connecticut was fifty-one per cent, a couple of points above the national average.’ Nat nodded, turning his attention back to the screen. The words ‘too close to call’ were still being relayed from every corner of the state.

When Nat heard the name Bristol, he pushed aside his steak. ‘And now we go over to our eyewitness correspondent for the latest update,’ said the newsreader.

‘Dan, we’re expecting a result here at any moment, and it should be the first real sign of just how close this gubernatorial race really is. If the Democrats win by... hold on, the result is coming over on my earpiece... the Democrats have taken Bristol.’ Lucy leapt out of her chair, but Fletcher didn’t move as he waited for the details to be flashed across the bottom of the screen. ‘Fletcher Davenport 8,604 votes, Nat Cartwright 8,379,’ said the reporter.

‘Three per cent. Who’s due up next?’

‘Probably Waterbury,’ said Tom, ‘where we should do well because...’

‘And Waterbury has gone to the Republicans, by just over five thousand votes, putting Nat Cartwright into the lead.’

Both candidates spent the rest of the evening leaping up, sitting down and then leaping back up again as the lead changed hands sixteen times during the next two hours, by which time even the commentators had run out of hyperboles. But somewhere in between the results flooding in, the local anchor man found time to announce that President Bush had phoned Governor Clinton in Arkansas to concede. He had offered his congratulations and best wishes to the president-elect. Does this herald a new Kennedy era? the politicos were asking... ‘But now back to the race for governor of Connecticut, and here’s one for the statistics buffs, the position at the moment is that the Democrats lead the Republicans by 1,170,141 to 1,168,872, an overall lead for Senator Davenport of 1,269. As that is less than one per cent, an automatic recount would have to take place. And if that isn’t enough,’ continued the commentator, ‘we face an added complication because the district of Madison maintains its age-old tradition of not counting its votes until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

Paul Holbourn, the mayor of Madison, was next up on the screen. The septuagenarian politician invited everyone to visit this picturesque seaside town, which would decide who would be the next governor of the state.

‘How do you read it?’ asked Nat, as Tom continued to enter numbers into his calculator. ‘Fletcher leads at the moment by 1,269 and at the last election, the Republicans took Madison by 1,312.’

‘Then we must be favourites?’ ventured Nat.

‘I wish it was that easy,’ said Tom, ‘because there’s a further complication we have to consider.’

‘And what’s that?’

‘The present governor of the state was born and raised in Madison, so there could be a considerable personal vote somewhere in there.’

‘I should have gone to Madison one more time,’ said Nat.

‘You visited the place twice, which was once more than Fletcher managed.’

‘I ought to call him,’ said Nat, ‘and make it clear that I’m not conceding.’

Tom nodded his agreement as Nat walked over to the phone. He didn’t have to look up the senator’s private number because he had dialled it every evening during the trial.

‘Hi,’ said a voice, ‘this is the governor’s residence.’

‘Not yet it isn’t,’ said Nat firmly.

‘Hello, Mr Cartwright,’ said Lucy, ‘were you hoping to speak to the governor?’

‘No, I wanted to speak to your father.’

‘Why, are you conceding?’

‘No, I’ll leave him to do that in person tomorrow, when, if you behave yourself, I’ll be offering you a job.’

Fletcher grabbed the telephone, ‘I’m sorry about that, Nat,’ he said, ‘I presume you’re calling to say all bets are off until tomorrow when we meet at high noon?’

‘Yes, and now you mention it, I’m planning to play Gary Cooper,’ said Nat.

‘Then I’ll see you on Main Street, sheriff.’

‘Just be thankful it’s not Ralph Elliot you’re up against.’

‘Why?’ asked Fletcher.

‘Because right now he would be in Madison filling up ballot boxes with extra votes.’

‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ said Fletcher.

‘Why not?’ asked Nat.

‘Because if Elliot had been my opponent, I would have already won by a landslide.’