Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

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

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

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

‘Hi, I’m Fletcher Davenport...’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Female?’ said Nat, now more interested.

‘Decidedly female.’

‘Name?’

‘Julia Kirkbridge.’

‘And what...’

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

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

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

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

‘Something like that,’ said Nat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Me?’ said Su ling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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