‘Congratulations once again,’ said Alf. ‘I can’t pretend I’m surprised, because I meant it when I said I hoped to live long enough to see you take your place in the Cabinet, though I confess I’d rather hoped it might be as the member for Merrifield.’
‘But you told me you wouldn’t expect me to stand for Merrifield again. And in any case, now that Fiona has begun to establish herself in the House, we can assume it will go back to being a safe Tory seat at the next general election.’
‘I would normally agree with you,’ said Alf, ‘if it weren’t for the recommendations of the boundary commission which have just been published.’
‘Am I missing something here?’ asked Charlie. ‘I feel like Alice at the Mad Hatter’s tea party.’
‘That’s not surprising, because not many people outside of the Westminster hothouse have even heard of the boundary commission. It’s an independent body that comes together as and when required to review the parliamentary landscape, so that any anomalies that have arisen over the years can be ironed out. In their wisdom, the Commission has decided that Merrifield’s boundaries should be redrawn to include Blandford, a few miles up the road, and form a new constituency that will retain the name of Merrifield.’
‘Does that mean Merrifield will become a safe Labour seat?’ asked Sasha.
‘No, I can’t pretend it does,’ said Alf, ‘but we’ve done the calculations, and it will certainly be a key marginal. In fact the Guardian has listed it as among the seats that will decide who wins the next election.’
The waiters cleared away the first course, although Sasha’s soup had gone cold. ‘And how has Fiona reacted to this bombshell?’ he asked.
‘She appealed, of course, and fought the commission’s decision tooth and nail, but she lost, and had to decide whether to look for a safer seat, or stay put and contest Merrifield. I’m told that the chairman of the Conservative Party left Fiona in no doubt what was expected of her, so she’s just announced that she’ll be defending the seat.’
Although the main courses had been served, Sasha’s knife and fork remained in place.
‘In view of the changed circumstances,’ said Alf, ‘I called a meeting of the committee last night and they unanimously agreed that if you’d be willing to stand as our candidate, we wouldn’t look elsewhere.’
‘How long has he got to make up his mind?’ asked Charlie.
‘I’ve promised to report back to the committee by the end of the week.’
‘Before Wandsworth Central select their candidate?’ said Sasha.
‘You know perfectly well, Sasha, that whoever Wandsworth Central select will win by a landslide, whereas I’m convinced that you’re our best hope to capture Merrifield, and therefore give the Labour Party a chance of clinging on to power.’
‘That sounds to me like a not very subtle attempt at arm twisting,’ said Charlie.
‘Sometimes known as backroom politics,’ said Alf, as Elena came bursting out of the kitchen.
Alf immediately stood up. ‘The moussaka was mouth-watering, my dear,’ he said. ‘And there’s still your famous banoffee pie to follow.’
‘Yes, but not before we all have another glass of champagne,’ said Elena. ‘I assume Sasha has told you the good news?’
‘We’ve been discussing little else,’ said Alf.
‘And I think you’ll find he’s already made up his mind.’
Alf looked disappointed, Charlie surprised, and Sasha puzzled.
‘Oh yes,’ said Elena. ‘Konstantin if it’s a boy, Natasha for a girl.’
Sasha, Charlie and Alf all burst out laughing.
‘What did I say that was so funny?’ asked Elena.
*
Dear Chairman,
It is with considerable regret, and much soul searching, that I have decided not to allow my name to go forward as the prospective Labour parliamentary candidate for the constituency of . . .
Sasha placed his pen on the desk, leant back and thought yet again about the decision he and Charlie had finally agreed on.
Even at this last moment, he considered changing his mind. After all, it was a decision that could change his whole life. And then he thought about Fiona. He picked up his pen and wrote the words ‘Wandsworth Central’.
32
ALEX
Boston
The Cathedral of the Holy Cross was packed for Lawrence Lowell’s funeral. This gentle, modest and decent man would have been touched by how many people had clearly admired him.
Alex was honoured when Lawrence’s mother, Mrs Rose Lowell, invited him to deliver one of the three eulogies, especially as the other two orators were Senator Ted Kennedy and Bishop Lomax. Mrs Evelyn Lowell-Halliday sat in the front row, but never once acknowledged Alex.
After the bishop had given the final blessing and the mourners had departed, Alex was approached by two men; one he knew well, the other he’d never met before.
Bob Brookes, the chairman of the Boston branch of the Democratic Party, said he needed to speak to him on a private matter. Alex had intended to return to New York that afternoon, but he agreed to delay his departure by twenty-four hours, and they arranged to meet at his hotel at ten o’clock the following morning. The second man turned out to be the Lowell family lawyer, and he had a similar request. However, Mr Harbottle was unwilling to discuss such a delicate matter outside his office, so Alex made an appointment to see him following his meeting with Brookes.
Alex returned to the Mayflower Hotel, and called Anna at the gallery to tell her he wouldn’t be back until the next day. She sounded disappointed, but confessed she couldn’t wait to find out why the two men wanted to see him.
‘By the way,’ she said, ‘have you told your mother yet?’
*
‘The vote was unanimous,’ said Brookes.
‘I’m flattered,’ said Alex, ‘but I’m afraid the answer is still no. Elena’s has recently opened two new pizza parlours in Denver and Seattle, and the staff have yet to meet their boss, so you’ll have to look for someone else.’
‘You were the only candidate the committee considered,’ said Brookes.
‘But I’m from New York. My only connection with Boston was Lawrence.’
‘Alex, I’ve watched you working with Lawrence during the past six weeks, and after a life in politics, I can tell you, you’re a natural.’
‘Why don’t you stand yourself, Bob? You were born and bred in Boston, and everyone knows and respects you.’
‘I could introduce you to a dozen people who can chair their local party committee,’ said Brookes, ‘but only occasionally someone comes along who was born to be the candidate.’
‘I have to admit,’ said Alex, ‘that I have considered politics as a career, but it would make far more sense for me start out in local government in Brighton Beach, where I went to school and founded my business – and perhaps if I’m lucky enough, one day I’ll represent them in Congress. No, Bob, you’ll have to find a local man to fight Blake Hawksley.’
‘But Hawksley isn’t in your class, and the Democratic majority is large enough for you to see him off. Once we’ve got you into Congress, no one will ever prise you out, at least not until you want to become a senator.’
Alex hesitated. ‘I wish it was that easy, but it isn’t. So would you be kind enough to thank your committee and say that perhaps in four or five years’ time . . .’
‘The seat won’t be available in four or five years’ time, Alex. Politics is about timing and opportunity, and those two stars aren’t aligned that often.’
‘I know you’re right, Bob, but the answer is still no. I must get going. I’ve got an appointment with Lawrence’s executor. He asked me to drop by his office on the way to the airport.’
‘If you should change your mind . . .’
*