Джеффри Арчер - This Was a Man

‘That may take me a little time to get used to.’

‘You’ve got twenty-four hours to get up to speed. And never forget, your brother is the best, and Griff Haskins is the worst, which makes them a formidable combination.’

‘So where do I start?’

Lacy got up from behind his desk and walked across to a large chart pinned to the wall.

‘These are the sixty-two marginal seats we have to win if we hope to form the next government,’ he said, even before Emma had joined him. ‘Each of them needs only a four per cent swing or less to change colour. If both the major parties end up with thirty-one of these seats’ — he tapped the chart — ‘it will be a hung parliament. If either can gain ten seats, they will have a majority of twenty in the House. That’s how important our job is.’

‘What about the other six hundred seats?’

‘Most of them have already been decided long before a ballot box is opened. We’re only interested in seats where they count the votes, not weigh them. Of course there will be one or two surprises, there always are, but we haven’t the time to try to work out which ones they’re going to be. Our job is to concentrate on the sixty-two marginals and try to make sure every one of them returns a Conservative Member of Parliament.’

Emma looked more carefully at the long list of seats, starting with the most marginal, Basildon, Labour majority of 22, swing needed 0.1 per cent.

‘If we can’t win that one,’ said Lacy, ‘we’ll have to suffer another five years of Labour government.’ His finger shot down to the bottom of the chart. ‘Gravesend, which needs a 4.1 per cent swing. If that turned out to be the uniform swing across the country, it would guarantee the Conservatives a majority of thirty.’

‘What are the seven little boxes alongside each constituency?’

‘We need every one of them ticked off before election day.’

Emma studied the headings: Candidate, Swing Required, Agent, Chairman, Drivers, Adopted Constituency, AOP.

‘There are three seats that still don’t even have a candidate,’ said Emma, staring at the list in disbelief.

‘They will have by the end of the week, otherwise they could return a Labour member unopposed, and we’re not going to let that happen.’

‘But what if we can’t find a suitable candidate at such short notice?’

‘We’ll find someone,’ said Lacy, ‘even if it’s the village idiot, and there are one or two of those already sitting on our side of the House, some of them in safe seats.’

Emma laughed, as her eye moved on to ‘Adopted Constituency’.

‘A safe seat will adopt an adjoining marginal constituency,’ explained Lacy, ‘offering it the assistance of an experienced agent, canvassers, even money when it’s needed. We have a reserve fund with enough cash to supply any marginal seat with ten thousand pounds at a moment’s notice.’

‘Yes, I became aware of that during the last election when I was working in the West Country,’ said Emma. ‘But I found some constituencies were more cooperative than others.’

‘And you’ll find that’s the same right across the country. Local chairmen who think they know how to run a campaign better than we do, treasurers who would rather lose an election than part with a penny from their current account, Members of Parliament who claim they might lose their seats even when they have a twenty thousand majority. Whenever we come up against those sorts of problems, you’ll be the one who has to call the constituency chairman and sort it out. Not least because they won’t take any notice of an agent, however senior, and especially when everyone knows you have Mother’s ear.’

‘Mother?’

‘Sorry,’ said Lacy. ‘It’s agent shorthand for the leader.’ Emma smiled.

‘And “OAP”?’ she asked, placing a finger on the bottom line.

‘Not old age pensioners,’ said Lacy, ‘although they may well decide who wins the election because, assuming they can turn out, they’re the most likely to vote. And even if they can’t walk, we’ll supply a car and driver to take them to the nearest polling station. When I was a young agent I even helped someone get to the poll on a stretcher. It was only when I dropped him back at his house he told me he’d voted Labour.’

Emma tried to keep a straight face.

‘No,’ said Lacy, ‘it’s AOP, which stands for Any Other Problems, of which there will be several every day. But I’ll try to make sure you only have to deal with the really difficult ones because most of the time you’ll be out on the road while I’m back here at base.’

‘Is there any good news?’ asked Emma, as she continued to study the chart.

‘Yes. You can be sure that our opponents are facing exactly the same problems as we are, and just be thankful we don’t have a box marked “Unions”.’ Lacy turned to his boss. ‘I’m told you’re well acquainted with the methods of Griff Haskins, your brother’s right-hand. I’ve known him for years but really don’t know him at all, so what’s he like to work with?’

‘Totally ruthless. Doesn’t believe in giving anyone the benefit of the doubt, works untold hours, and considers all Tories were spawned by the devil.’

‘But we both know he has one great weakness.’

‘True,’ said Emma, ‘but he never drinks during a campaign. In fact, he won’t touch a drop until the final vote has been cast in the last constituency, when, win or lose, he’ll get plastered.’

‘I see the latest opinion poll gives Labour a two per cent lead,’ said Karin, as she looked up from her paper.

‘No politics at the breakfast table, please,’ said Giles. ‘And certainly not while Emma is in the room.’

Karin smiled across the table at her sister-in-law.

‘Did you notice that your ex-wife is back in the headlines?’ asked Emma.

‘What’s she been up to this time?’

‘It appears that Lady Virginia will be withdrawing the Hon. Freddie from his posh prep school in Scotland. William Hickey is hinting that it’s because she’s once again short of cash.’

‘I’ve never thought of you as an Express reader,’ said Giles.

‘Seventy-three per cent of its readers support Margaret Thatcher,’ said Emma, ‘which is why I don’t bother with the Mirror .’

When the phone rang, Giles immediately left the table and, ignoring the phone on the sideboard, retreated into the corridor, closing the door firmly behind him.

‘Where’s he off to today?’ whispered Emma.

‘I plead the fifth,’ said Karin, ‘although I am willing to tell you his driver’s taking him to Paddington.’

‘Reading 3.7 per cent, Bath 2.9 per cent, Bristol Docklands 1.6 per cent, Exeter 2.7 per cent and Truro—’

‘It can’t be Truro,’ said Karin. ‘He’s got a meeting at Transport House at eight o’clock this evening, so he couldn’t be back in time.’ She paused as Markham came into the room with a fresh supply of coffee.

‘Who was my brother speaking to on the phone?’ asked Emma casually.

‘Mr Denis Healey.’

‘Ah yes, and they’re off to...?’

‘Reading, my lady,’ said the butler, pouring Emma a cup of coffee.

‘You would have made a good spy,’ said Emma.

‘Thank you, my lady,’ said Markham, before clearing away the plates and leaving the room.

‘How do you know he isn’t one?’ whispered Karin.

If anyone had asked Emma to account for what took place during the next twenty-eight days, she would have described them as one long blur. Days that began with her leaping into a car at six o’clock each morning continued relentlessly until she fell asleep, usually in an empty train carriage or the back of a plane, around one the following morning.