Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘I’m only sorry that Julia has to rush back to New York. Let’s make it my place next time.’

Nat glanced across at Su Ling and smiled, but she didn’t respond.

Nat found himself chuckling as he closed the front door. ‘Some woman that,’ he said when he joined his wife in the kitchen and grabbed a drying-up cloth.

‘She’s a phony,’ said Su Ling.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.

‘Exactly what I said, she’s a phony — phony accent, phony clothes, and her phony story was altogether too neat and tidy. Don’t do any business with her.’

‘What can go wrong if she deposits five hundred thousand with the bank?’

‘I’d be willing to bet a month’s salary that the five hundred thousand never turns up.’

Although Su Ling didn’t raise the subject again that night, when Nat arrived at his office the following morning, he asked his secretary to dig up all the financial details she could find on Kirkbridge & Company of New York. She was back an hour later with a copy of their annual report, and latest financial statement. Nat checked carefully through the report and his eye finally settled on the bottom line. They had made a profit of just over a million the previous year, and all the figures tallied with those Julia had talked about over dinner. He then checked the board of directors. Mrs Julia Kirkbridge was listed as a director, below the chairman and chief executive. But because of Su Ling’s apprehension, he decided to take the enquiry one step further. He dialled the telephone number of their office in New York, without going through his secretary.

‘Kirkbridge and Company, how can I help you?’ said a voice.

‘Good morning, would it be possible to speak to Mrs Kirkbridge?’

‘No, I’m afraid not, sir, she’s in a board meeting,’ Nat glanced at his watch and smiled, it was ten twenty-five, ‘but if you leave your number, I’ll ask her to call you back just as soon as she’s free.’

‘No, that won’t be necessary,’ said Nat. As he put the phone down it rang again immediately. ‘It’s Jeb in new accounts, Mr Cartwright, I thought you would want to know that we have just received a wire transfer from Chase for the sum of five hundred thousand, to be credited to the account of a Mrs Julia Kirkbridge.’

Nat couldn’t resist calling Su Ling to tell her the news.

‘She’s still a phony,’ his wife repeated.

‘Heads or tails?’ asked the moderator.

‘Tails,’ said Barbara Hunter.

‘Tails it is,’ said the moderator. He looked across at Mrs Hunter and nodded. Fletcher couldn’t complain, because he would have called heads — he always did — so only wondered what decision she would make. Would she speak first, because that would determine at the end of the evening that Fletcher spoke last? If, on the other hand...

‘I’ll speak first,’ she said.

Fletcher suppressed a smile. The tossing of the coin had proved irrelevant; if he’d won, he would have elected to speak second.

The moderator took his seat behind the desk on the centre of the stage. Mrs Hunter sat on his right, and Fletcher on his left, reflecting the ideology of their two parties. But selecting where they should sit had been the least of their problems. For the past ten days there had been arguments about where the debate should be held, what time it should begin, who the moderator should be, and even the height of the lecterns from which they would speak, because Barbara Hunter was five foot seven, and Fletcher six foot one. In the end, it was agreed there should be two lecterns of different heights, one on either side of the stage.

The moderator acceptable to both was chairman of the journalism department at UConn’s Hartford campus. He rose from his place.

‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Frank McKenzie, and I will be moderator for this evening’s debate. The format calls on Mrs Hunter to begin with a six-minute opening statement, followed by Mr Davenport. I feel I should warn both candidates that I will ring this bell,’ he picked up a small bell by his side and rang it firmly, which caused some laughter in the audience and helped break the tension, ‘at five minutes to warn you both that you have sixty seconds left to speak. I will then ring it again after six minutes when you must deliver your final sentence. Following their opening statements, both candidates will then answer questions from a selected panel for forty minutes. Finally, Mrs Hunter followed by Mr Davenport, will each make their closing remarks for three minutes. I now call upon Mrs Hunter to open proceedings.’

Barbara Hunter rose from her place and walked slowly over to her lectern on the right-hand side of the stage. She had calculated that since ninety per cent of the audience would be watching the debate on television, she would address the largest number of potential voters if she spoke first, especially as a world series game was due to be aired at eight thirty, when the majority of viewers would automatically switch channels. Since both of them would have made their opening remarks by that time, Fletcher felt it wasn’t that significant. But he also wanted to speak second so that he could pick up on some of the points Mrs Hunter made during her statement, and if at the end of the evening, he had the last word, perhaps it might be the only thing the audience would remember.

Fletcher listened attentively to a predictable and well rehearsed opening from Mrs Hunter. She held the lectern firmly as she spoke. ‘I was born in Hartford. I married a Hartford man, my children were born at St Patrick’s Hospital and all of them still live in the state capital, so I feel I am well qualified to represent the people of this great city.’ The first burst of applause flooded up from the floor. Fletcher checked the packed audience carefully, and noted that about half of them were joining in, while the other half remained silent.

Among Jimmy’s responsibilities for the evening was the allocation of seats. It had been agreed that both parties would be given three hundred tickets each, with four hundred left over for the general public. Jimmy and a small band of helpers had spent hours urging their supporters to apply for the remaining four hundred, but Jimmy realized that the Republicans would be just as assiduous in carrying out the same exercise, so it was always going to end up around fifty-fifty. Fletcher wondered how many genuinely neutral people there were sitting in the auditorium.

‘Don’t worry about the hall,’ Harry had told him, ‘the real audience will be watching you on television and they’re the ones you need to influence. Stare into the middle of the camera lens, and look sincere,’ he added with a grin.

Fletcher made notes as Mrs Hunter outlined her programme, and although the contents were sensible and worthy, she had the sort of delivery that allowed the mind to wander. When the moderator rang the bell at five minutes, Mrs Hunter was only about half-way through her speech and even paused while she turned a couple of pages. Fletcher was surprised that such a seasoned campaigner hadn’t calculated that the occasional burst of applause would cut into her time. Fletcher’s opening remarks were timed at just over five minutes. ‘Better to finish a few seconds early than have to rush towards the end,’ Harry had warned him again and again. Mrs Hunter’s peroration closed a few seconds after the second bell had rung, making it sound as if she had been cut short. Nevertheless, she still received rapturous applause from half of the audience, and courteous acknowledgment from the remainder.

‘I’ll now ask Mr Davenport to make his opening statement.’

Fletcher slowly approached the lectern on his side of the stage, feeling like a man just a few paces away from the gallows. He was somewhat relieved by the warm reception he received. He placed his five-page, double spaced, large-type script on the lectern and checked the opening sentence, though in truth he had been over the speech so many times he virtually knew it by heart. He looked down at the audience and smiled, aware that the moderator wouldn’t start the clock until he’d delivered his first word.