23
GILES TOOK HIS seat on the stage to loud applause. His speech to the packed hall could hardly have gone better, and speaking last had turned out to be an advantage.
The three candidates had all arrived half an hour early, and then waltzed around each other like schoolboys attending their first dance class. The bishop, acting as moderator, finally brought them together and explained how he intended to conduct the evening.
‘I will invite each of you to make an opening speech, which mustn’t last longer than eight minutes. After seven minutes, I will ring a bell.’ He gave a demonstration. ‘I’ll ring it a second time after eight minutes, to show that your time is up. Once you’ve all delivered your speeches, I will open the meeting to questions from the floor.’
‘How will the order be decided?’ asked Fisher.
‘By the drawing of straws.’ The bishop then held out three straws in a clenched fist and invited each candidate to pick one.
Fisher drew the short straw.
‘So you will be opening the batting, Major Fisher,’ said the bishop. ‘You will go second, Mr Ellsworthy, and, Sir Giles, you will go last.’
Giles smiled at Fisher and said, ‘Bad luck, old chap.’
‘No, I wanted to go first,’ protested Fisher, causing even the bishop to raise an eyebrow.
When the bishop led the three men on to the stage at 7.25 p.m, it was the only time that night when everyone in the hall applauded. Giles took his seat and looked down at the packed audience. He estimated that over a thousand members of the public had turned up to watch the jousting.
Giles knew that each of the three parties had been issued with 200 tickets for their supporters, which left some 400 undecided votes to be played for; just about his majority at the last election.
At 7.30 p.m., the bishop opened proceedings. He introduced the three candidates, then invited Major Fisher to deliver his opening address.
Fisher made his way slowly to the front of the stage, placed his prepared speech on the lectern and tapped the microphone. He delivered his words nervously, keeping his head down, clearly fearful of losing his place.
When the bishop rang the bell to indicate that he had one minute left, Fisher began to speed up, which caused him to stumble over his words. Giles could have told him it was a golden rule that if you have been allocated eight minutes, you prepare a seven-minute speech. It’s far better to end slightly early than to be stopped in the middle of your peroration. Despite this, when Fisher returned to his seat he was rewarded with prolonged applause from his supporters.
Giles was surprised when Reg Ellsworthy rose to present the Liberal case. He didn’t have a prepared speech, or even a list of headings to remind him what subjects he should concentrate on. Instead, he chatted about local issues, and when the one-minute bell went, he stopped in the middle of a sentence and returned to his seat. Ellsworthy had achieved something Giles would have thought impossible; he’d made Fisher look good. Nevertheless, a fifth of those assembled still cheered their champion.
Giles rose to a warm reception from his two hundred supporters, although large sections of the crowd sat on their hands. Something he’d become familiar with whenever he addressed the government benches. He stood by the side of the lectern, only occasionally glancing at his notes.
He began by describing the Conservatives’ failures in office, and outlining what the Labour Party’s policies would be should it form the next government. He then touched on local issues, and even managed a dig about pavement politics at the expense of the Liberals, which brought laughter from the packed hall. By the time he’d come to the end of his speech, at least half the audience were applauding. If the meeting had ended then, there would have been only one winner.
‘The candidates will now take questions from the floor,’ announced the bishop, ‘and I hope this will be done in a respectful and orderly manner.’
Thirty of Giles’s supporters leapt up and threw their hands in the air, all of them with well-prepared questions calculated to assist their candidate and undermine the other two. The only problem was that sixty other equally determined hands also shot up at the same time.
The bishop was astute enough to have identified where the three different blocks of supporters were sitting, and skilfully selected non-partisan members of the general public who wanted to know such things as where the candidates stood on the introduction of parking meters in Bristol, which gave the Liberal candidate a chance to shine; the end of rationing, which they all approved of; and the proposed extension of the electrification of the railways, which didn’t advance anyone’s cause.
But Giles knew that eventually an arrow would be shot in his direction, and he would have to make sure it didn’t hit the target. Finally he heard the bow twang.
‘Could Sir Giles explain why he visited Cambridge more times during the last parliament than he did his own constituency?’ asked a tall, thin, middle-aged man, whom Giles thought he recognized.
Giles sat still for a moment while he composed himself. He was just about to rise from his place when Fisher shot up, clearly not surprised by the question, while assuming everyone present knew exactly what the questioner was alluding to.
‘Let me assure everyone in this hall,’ he said, ‘that I will be spending far more time in Bristol than in any other city, whatever the distractions.’
Giles looked down to see rows of blank faces. It seemed the audience had no idea what Fisher was talking about.
The Liberal candidate rose next. He clearly missed the point, because all he had to say was, ‘Being an Oxford man, I never visit the other place unless I have to.’
A few people laughed.
Giles’s two opponents had supplied him with the ammunition to fire back. He stood and turned to face Fisher.
‘I feel bound to ask Major Fisher, if he intends to spend more time in Bristol than in any other city, does that mean that were he to win next Thursday, he won’t be going up to London to take his seat in the House of Commons?’
Giles paused to wait for the laughter and applause to die down, before adding, ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind the Conservative candidate of the words of Edmund Burke. “I was elected to represent the people of Bristol in Westminster, not the people of Westminster in Bristol.” That’s one Conservative I’m wholeheartedly in agreement with.’ Giles sat down to sustained applause. Although he knew he hadn’t really answered the question, he felt he’d got away with it.
‘I think there’s time for just one more question,’ said the bishop, and pointed to a woman seated in the middle of the hall about halfway back, who he felt confident was neutral.
‘Can each of the three candidates tell us where their wives are tonight?’
Fisher sat back and folded his arms, while Ellsworthy looked puzzled. Eventually, the bishop turned to Giles and said, ‘I think it’s your turn to go first.’
Giles stood and looked directly at the woman.
‘My wife and I,’ he began, ‘are currently involved in divorce proceedings, which I hope will be settled in the near future.’
He sat down to an uncomfortable silence.
Ellsworthy jumped up and said, ‘I have to admit that since I’ve become the Liberal candidate I haven’t managed to find anyone who’s willing to go out with me, let alone marry me.’
This was greeted by peals of laughter and warm applause. Giles thought for a moment that Ellsworthy might have helped to lessen the tension.
Fisher slowly rose to his feet.
‘My girlfriend,’ he said, which took Giles by surprise, ‘who has joined me here this evening and is sitting in the front row, will be by my side for the rest of the campaign. Jenny, why don’t you stand up and take a bow.’
An attractive young woman rose, turned to face the audience, and gave them a wave. She was greeted with a round of applause.
‘Where have I seen that woman before?’ whispered Emma. But Harry was concentrating on Fisher, who hadn’t returned to his seat and clearly had more to say.
‘I thought it might also be of interest for you to know that this morning I received a letter from Lady Barrington.’
A silence descended on the hall that none of the candidates had achieved all evening. Giles was sitting on the edge of his seat as Fisher produced a letter from an inside jacket pocket. He slowly unfolded it and began to read.
‘“Dear Major Fisher, I write to express my admiration for the gallant campaign you are waging on behalf of the Conservative Party. I wanted to let you know that if I were a citizen of Bristol, I would not hesitate to vote for you, as I believe you are by far the best candidate. I look forward to seeing you take your seat in the House of Commons. Yours sincerely, Virginia Barrington.”’
Pandemonium broke out in the hall, and Giles realized that all he’d achieved in the past hour had evaporated in a single minute. Fisher folded up the letter, slipped it back into his pocket and returned to his place. The bishop tried valiantly to bring the meeting back to order, while Fisher’s followers continued to cheer and cheer, leaving Giles’s supporters to look on in despair.
Griff had been proved right. Never give your opponent a platform.
‘Have you managed to buy back any of those shares?’
‘Not yet,’ said Benny, ‘Barrington’s are still riding high on the back of the better than expected annual profits, and the expectation that the Tories will increase their majority at the election.’
‘What’s the share price standing at now?’
‘Around four pounds seven shillings, and I can’t see it dropping in the near future.’
‘How much do we stand to lose?’ asked Fisher.
‘We? Not we,’ said Benny, ‘only you. Lady Virginia won’t lose anything. She sold all her shares at a far higher price than she originally paid for them.’
‘But if she doesn’t buy them back, I’ll lose my place on the board.’
‘And if she did buy them back, she’d have to pay a hefty premium, and I imagine she wouldn’t be happy about that.’ Benny waited for a few seconds before adding, ‘Try to look on the bright side, major. By this time next week, you’ll be a Member of Parliament.’