Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

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?’