Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘Have we?’ said Tom, ‘I don’t...’

‘That’s not very flattering, Tom,’ said Mrs Kirkbridge, ‘after all, it was only a few weeks ago, when I was out jogging that you invited me for a drink and then to dinner at the Cascade the following evening. That’s when I first told you about my interest in the Cedar Wood project.’

Tom turned to Nat. ‘This is all very clever, but you seem to have forgotten that Mr Cooke, the auctioneer, and our chief teller, have all come into contact with the original Mrs Kirkbridge.’

‘The first Mrs Kirkbridge, yes, but not the original,’ said Nat. ‘And I have already given that problem some considerable thought. There is no reason why Mr Cooke should ever meet Julia, as he retires in a few months’ time. As for the auctioneer, it was you who did the bidding, not Julia, and you needn’t worry about Ray because I’m going to move him to the Newington branch.’

‘But what about the New York end?’ said Tom.

‘They know nothing,’ said Julia, ‘other than that I have closed a very advantageous deal.’ She paused. ‘This is lovely lobster bisque, Su Ling. It’s always been my favourite.’

‘Thank you,’ said Su Ling as she cleared away the soup bowls and returned to the kitchen.

‘And, Tom, can I just say while Su Ling is out of the room, that I would prefer to forget any other little indiscretions that are rumoured to have taken place during the past month.’

‘You bastard,’ said Tom, turning to face Nat.

‘No, to be fair,’ said Julia, ‘I did insist on being told everything before I signed the confidentiality agreement.’

Su Ling returned carrying a serving dish. The smell of roast lamb was tantalizing. ‘I’ve now worked out why Nat asked me to serve exactly the same meal a second time, but I’m bound to ask, how much more do I need to know if I’m to keep up this charade?’

‘What would you like to know?’ asked Julia.

‘Well, I’ve worked out that you’re the real McCoy, and therefore must be the majority shareholder of the Kirkbridge company, but what I’m not sure about is, did you at your husband’s request jog over building sites on a Sunday morning and then report back to him?’

Julia laughed. ‘No, my husband didn’t expect me to do that, as I already have an architecture degree.’

‘And may I ask,’ continued Su Ling, ‘did Mr Kirkbridge die of cancer and then leave the company to you, having taught you everything he knew?’

‘No, he’s very much alive, but I divorced him two years ago, when I discovered he was siphoning off the company’s profits for his personal use.’

‘But wasn’t it his company?’ asked Tom.

‘Yes, and I wouldn’t have minded so much if he hadn’t been lavishing those profits on another woman.’

‘Would that woman by any chance be around five foot eight, blonde, like expensive clothes, and claim to hail from Minnesota?’

‘You’ve obviously met her,’ said Julia, ‘and I expect it was also my ex-husband who called you from a bank in San Francisco claiming to be Mrs Kirkbridge’s lawyer.’

‘You’ve no idea where the two of them are at the moment by any chance?’ asked Tom. ‘Because I’d like to kill them.’

‘Absolutely no idea,’ said Julia, ‘but should you find out, please let me know. Then you can kill her and I can kill him.’

‘Anyone for creme brûlée ?’ asked Su Ling.

‘How did the other Mrs Kirkbridge answer that question?’ enquired Julia.

Members of the public were leaning over the balcony observing every move, and Mr Cooke seemed to want everyone in the hall to witness what was going on. Fletcher and Jimmy left the senator to join Mrs Hunter and her representative inside the horseshoe.

‘There are,’ said Mr Cooke addressing both candidates, ‘seventy-seven disputed ballot papers, of which I believe forty-three are invalid, however there remain difficulties over the other thirty-four.’ Both candidates nodded. ‘First I am going to show you the forty-three,’ said the returning officer, placing his hand on the larger of the two piles, ‘which I consider to be invalid. If you agree, I shall then go through the remaining thirty-four that are still in dispute,’ his hand transferring across to the smaller pile. Both candidates nodded again. ‘Just say no if you disagree,’ said Mr Cooke, as he began to turn over the ballot papers in the larger pile, only to reveal that no vote had been registered on any of them. As neither candidate put up any objection, he completed this part of the exercise in under two minutes.

‘Excellent,’ said Mr Cooke, pushing those ballot papers to one side, ‘but now we must consider the crucial thirty-four.’ Fletcher noted the word crucial, and realized just how close the final result must be. ‘In the past,’ continued Mr Cooke, ‘if both parties were unable to agree, then the final decision would be left to a third party,’ He paused.

‘If there is any dispute,’ said Fletcher, ‘I am quite happy to abide by your decision, Mr Cooke.’

Mrs Hunter didn’t immediately respond and began whispering to her aide. Everyone waited patiently for her response. ‘I am also happy that Mr Cooke should act as the arbitrator,’ she finally conceded.

Mr Cooke gave a slight bow. ‘Of the thirty-four votes in the disputed pile,’ he said, ‘eleven I believe can quickly be dealt with, as they are what I would call, for lack of a better description, the Harry Gates supporters,’ He then laid out on the table eleven votes that had ‘Harry Gates’ written across the ballot paper. Fletcher and Mrs Hunter studied them one by one.

‘They are obviously invalid,’ said Mrs Hunter.

‘However, two of them,’ continued Mr Cooke, ‘also have a cross against Mr Davenport’s name.’

‘They must still be invalid,’ said Mrs Hunter, ‘because as you can see, Mr Gates’s name is clearly written across the paper, making them spoilt ballots.’

‘But...’ began Jimmy.

‘As there is obviously some disagreement on these two ballots,’ said Fletcher, ‘I’m happy to allow Mr Cooke to decide.’

Mr Cooke looked towards Mrs Hunter and she nodded reluctantly. ‘I concur that the one with “Mr Gates should be president” written across it is indeed invalid.” Mrs Hunter smiled. ‘However, the one that has a cross by Mr Davenport’s name with the added comment, “but I’d prefer Mr Gates”, is in my view under election law, a clear indication of the voter’s intention, and I therefore deem it to be a vote for Mr Davenport.’ Mrs Hunter looked annoyed but, aware of the crowd peering down from the gallery, managed a weak smile. ‘Now we can turn to the seven votes where Mrs Hunter’s name appears on the ballot.’

‘Surely they must all be mine,’ said Mrs Hunter as Mr Cooke laid them out neatly in a row so that the two candidates could consider them.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Mr Cooke,

The first had written on it, ‘Hunter is the winner’, with a cross against Hunter.

‘That person clearly voted for Mrs Hunter,’ said Fletcher.

‘I agree,’ said Mr Cooke as a ripple of applause emanated from the gallery.

‘That boy’s honesty will be the death of him,’ said Harry.

‘Or the making of him,’ said Martha.

‘Hunter would be a dictator’, was written across the next with no cross against either name. ‘I believe that to be invalid,’ said Mr Cooke. Mrs Hunter reluctantly nodded.

‘Despite being accurate,’ said Jimmy under his breath.

‘Hunter is a bitch’, ‘Hunter should be shot’, ‘Hunter is mad’, ‘Hunter is a loser’, ‘Hunter for pope’ were also declared invalid. Mrs Hunter did not bother to suggest that any of these wanted her to be Hartford’s next senator.