19
THE CONSTITUTIONAL HALL on Davis Street was packed. Several party members had to stand in the aisle or at the back of the room. One or two were even perched on windowsills in the hope of getting a better view of proceedings.
Both of the candidates on the shortlist, Neville Simpson and Gregory Dunnett, had delivered powerful speeches, but Fisher felt that at that moment Simpson had the edge over his preferred candidate. Simpson, a London barrister, was a few years older than Dunnett, had a fine war record and had already contested an election against Aneurin Bevan in Ebbw Vale, where he’d increased the Tory share of the vote. But Mitchell had been able to supply Fisher with enough information to embarrass the man.
Simpson and Dunnett were seated on either side of the chairman on the stage, while the committee were in the front row. The news that Sir Giles Barrington had survived a vote of no confidence at a closed meeting of the local Labour Party earlier in the week had pleased Fisher, although he didn’t admit his reason to anyone, other than Virginia. He planned to humiliate Barrington publicly, in the glare of a general election campaign, rather than in a dimly lit Labour Party committee room. But his plan couldn’t work unless Dunnett became the Tory candidate, and that was still in the balance.
The chairman rose from his seat and smiled benignly down on the assembled gathering. He gave his trademark cough before addressing the faithful.
‘Before I call for questions, I should like you to know that this will be my last meeting as chairman. I feel the association should go into the general election with both a new candidate and a new chairman, preferably someone a lot younger than me.’ He paused for a moment, to see if anyone would try to talk him out of it, but as no one did, he reluctantly continued.
‘We now enter the final stage of the meeting before we select the man who will fight our cause at the next election. Members will have the opportunity to put their questions directly to the two prospective candidates.’
A tall man leapt up at the back of the hall and began to speak even before Bill Hawkins had called on anyone.
‘Mr Chairman, can I ask both candidates, if they were to win the seat, would they live in the constituency?’
Simpson was the first to respond. ‘I would certainly buy a house in the constituency,’ he said, ‘but I would expect to live in the House of Commons.’
This comment received laughter and a smattering of applause.
‘I took the liberty of visiting an estate agent last week,’ countered Dunnett, ‘not in the anticipation, but in the hope, that you will select me.’
The applause suggested to Fisher that the gathering was fairly evenly divided.
The chairman pointed to a woman in the third row, who never failed to ask a question whenever the association met, so he decided to get her out of the way early.
‘As one of you is a successful barrister, and the other an insurance broker, will you have enough time to devote to this key marginal seat in the run-up to the election?’
‘If I am selected, I won’t be returning to London tonight,’ said Dunnett. ‘I will devote every hour I’m awake to winning this seat and making sure we remove Giles Barrington once and for all.’
This time the applause was prolonged, and Fisher relaxed for the first time.
‘It’s not how many hours you spend,’ said Simpson, ‘but how you spend them that matters. I’ve already fought a general election against a doughty opponent, so I know what to expect. It is important that you select someone who can learn quickly, and can use that knowledge to defeat Giles Barrington and win this seat for the Conservative Party.’
Fisher was beginning to feel that Dunnett might need a helping hand if Simpson was to be derailed. The chairman gestured to a well-known local businessman.
‘Who do you consider would be the right person to succeed Winston Churchill as leader of our party?’
‘I didn’t realize there was a vacancy,’ said Simpson, which was greeted by laughter and further applause, before he added in a more serious tone, ‘We would be foolish to think of replacing the greatest prime minister of this century without a damn good reason for doing so.’
The applause was deafening, and it was some time before Dunnett could make himself heard.
‘I believe Mr Churchill has made it clear that when the time comes, his preferred choice to succeed him would be Sir Anthony Eden, our distinguished and much admired foreign secretary. If that’s good enough for Mr Churchill, it’s good enough for me.’
The applause was not quite as deafening.
Over the next thirty minutes, as questions continued to come thick and fast, Fisher felt that Simpson was consolidating his position as favourite. However, Fisher was confident that the last three questions would assist his candidate, not least because he’d planted two of them, and had arranged with the chairman that he would ask the final question himself.
Bill Hawkins looked at his watch.
‘I think there’s just enough time left for three more questions.’ He pointed to a man at the back, who had been constantly trying to catch his eye. Fisher smiled.
‘Would the two candidates care to give their views on the proposed new divorce laws?’
There was an audible gasp, followed by an expectant hush, as few people in the room doubted that this question was aimed at Sir Giles Barrington rather than either of the two candidates on the stage.
‘I intensely dislike our antiquated divorce laws, which clearly need reforming,’ said the barrister. ‘I only hope the subject doesn’t dominate the election campaign in this constituency, because I would prefer to beat Barrington on merit, and not to have to rely on rumour and innuendo.’
Fisher didn’t find it difficult to understand why Central Office considered Simpson to be a future cabinet minister, but he also knew that this wasn’t the answer the local members wanted to hear.
Dunnett quickly gauged the reaction of the audience, and said, ‘While I agree with much of what Mr Simpson has just said, I feel the voters of Bristol Docklands have the right to know the truth about Barrington’s domestic arrangements before they go to the ballot box, and not after.’
The first round of applause was clearly in favour of Dunnett.
The chairman pointed to Peter Maynard, who was seated in the middle of the front row.
‘We in this constituency are looking for more than a Member of Parliament,’ said Maynard, reading from a prepared script. ‘Rather, we are looking for a partnership, a team. Can both candidates assure us that we will regularly see their wives in the constituency supporting them during the run-up to the general election, because we never see Lady Barrington from one year to the next.’
The first questioner to receive a round of applause.
‘My wife is already by my side,’ said Dunnett, gesturing towards an attractive young woman seated in the second row, ‘as she will be throughout the campaign. In fact if I become your Member of Parliament, you’ll probably see a lot more of Connie than you will of me.’
Fisher smiled. He knew the question played to Dunnett’s strengths and, just as important, to Simpson’s weakness. Mind you, when he had sent out the letters inviting them to attend the meeting, he had addressed one envelope to Mr and Mrs Dunnett, and the other simply to N. Simpson Esq.
‘My wife is a lecturer at the London School of Economics,’ said Simpson, ‘but she would be free to visit the constituency most weekends and during the university holidays.’ Fisher could feel the votes slipping away. ‘And I’m sure you’ll agree there can be no greater calling than teaching the next generation.’
The applause that followed suggested that one or two people didn’t altogether agree that the LSE was the best way of doing it.
‘And finally,’ said the chairman, ‘I know that our secretary, Major Fisher, has a question for both candidates.’
‘I read in the Daily Mail this morning,’ said Fisher, ‘so it’s possibly not true’ – both candidates laughed dutifully – ‘that the London constituency of Fulham Central has also selected its shortlist, and will be interviewing prospective candidates on Monday. I wondered if either of you are on that shortlist and, if you are, would you be willing to withdraw from that contest before we vote tonight?’
‘I did not apply for Fulham Central,’ said Dunnett, ‘as I have always wanted to represent a seat in the West Country, where my wife was born and bred, and where we hope to raise a family.’
Fisher nodded. Simpson had to wait for the applause to die down.
‘I am on the shortlist for Fulham Central, Major Fisher,’ he began, ‘and I would consider it to be discourteous to withdraw my name at such short notice without good reason. However, if I were fortunate enough to be selected tonight, I couldn’t have a better reason to withdraw.’
Good recovery, thought Fisher as he listened to the applause that followed. But was it good enough?
The chairman rose from his place. ‘I am sure you will all join me in thanking both candidates not only for giving up their valuable time to be with us tonight, but for making such splendid contributions. I have no doubt that both will become Members of Parliament, but unfortunately we can only select one of them.’ Yet more applause. ‘And so now we come to the vote. Let me explain how I intend to proceed. If members will kindly make their way to the front of the hall, our association secretary Major Fisher will issue you with ballot papers. After you have placed a cross beside the name of the candidate of your choice, please drop your voting slip into the ballot box. Once the count has been completed and the secretary and I have checked the papers, which shouldn’t take long, I will announce which candidate has been chosen to represent the Conservative Party in Bristol Docklands at the forthcoming general election.’
The members formed an orderly queue while Fisher handed out just over 300 ballot papers. After the last vote had been cast, the chairman asked a steward to remove the ballot box and take it to a private room behind the stage.
When the chairman and the secretary entered the room a few minutes later, they found the ballot box on a table in the centre, guarded by the steward. They sat down on two wooden chairs placed opposite each other. The steward unlocked the ballot box before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Once he heard the door close, the chairman stood up, opened the box and tipped the voting slips out on to the table. As he sat back down he asked Fisher, ‘How do you want to proceed?’
‘I suggest you count Simpson’s votes while I count Dunnett’s.’
The chairman nodded, and they began sifting through the votes. It quickly became clear to Fisher that Simpson was likely to win by twenty or thirty votes. He realized he’d have to be patient, and wait for the right moment. That moment came when the chairman placed the ballot box on the floor and bent down to check inside and make sure he hadn’t missed any of the voting slips. It only took him a few seconds, but it gave Fisher enough time to reach into a pocket of his jacket and discreetly remove a handful of votes he’d marked in favour of Dunnett earlier that afternoon, an action he’d practised several times in front of a mirror. He skilfully slipped the votes on to his own pile, not sure if they’d be enough.
‘So,’ said Fisher, looking up, ‘how many votes for Simpson?’
‘One hundred and sixty-eight,’ replied the chairman. ‘And how many for Dunnett?’
‘One hundred and seventy-three.’
The chairman looked surprised.
‘As it was so close, chairman, perhaps it would be wise to double check so there can be no reprisals later.’
‘Couldn’t agree with you more,’ said the chairman. ‘Shall we change places?’
They did so and began to count a second time.
A few minutes later the chairman said, ‘Spot on, Fisher. One hundred and seventy-three for Dunnett.’
‘And I agree with your figure, chairman. A hundred and sixty-eight for Simpson.’
‘You know, I wouldn’t have thought there were that many people in the room.’
‘There were an awful lot standing at the back,’ said Fisher. ‘And several sitting in the aisles.’
‘That must explain it,’ said the chairman. ‘But I don’t mind telling you on the QT, old boy, that I voted for Simpson.’
‘So did I,’ said Fisher. ‘But that’s democracy for you.’
The chairman laughed. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back and tell them the result before the natives become restless.’
‘Perhaps it might be wise, chairman, to simply announce the winner, and not reveal how close the vote was? After all, we must now all get behind the candidate the association has selected. Of course, I’ll record the exact figures when I write up the minutes.’
‘Good thinking, Fisher.’
‘I’m sorry to ring you at such a late hour on a Sunday night, Lady Virginia, but something has arisen, and if we’re to take advantage of it, I’ll need your authority to act immediately.’
‘This had better be good,’ said a sleepy voice.
‘I’ve just heard that Sir William Travers, the chairman of Barrington’s—’
‘I know who William Travers is.’
‘–died of a heart attack a couple of hours ago.’
‘Is that good news or bad news?’ asked a voice that was suddenly awake.
‘Unquestionably good, because the share price is certain to fall the moment the press gets wind of it, which is why I called, because we’ve only got a few hours’ start.’
‘I presume you want to sell my shares again?’
‘Yes, I do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you made a handsome profit on the last occasion, as well as damaging the company’s reputation.’
‘But if I do sell again, is there any chance the shares might go up?’
‘Shares only go one way when the chairman of a public company dies, Lady Virginia, especially when it’s a heart attack.’
‘Then go ahead, sell.’