Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(28)

10


‘THIS IS THE BBC Home Service. Here is the news, and this is Alvar Lidell reading it. At ten o’clock this morning, the prime minister, Mr Attlee, requested an audience with the King and asked His Majesty’s permission to dissolve Parliament and call a general election. Mr Attlee returned to the House of Commons, and announced that an election would be held on Thursday, October twenty-fifth.’

The following day, 622 members packed their bags, cleared their lockers, bade farewell to their colleagues and returned to their constituencies to prepare for battle. Among them was Sir Giles Barrington, the Labour candidate for Bristol Docklands.



Over breakfast one morning during the second week of the campaign, Giles told Harry and Emma that Virginia would not be joining him in the run-up to the election. Emma didn’t attempt to hide her relief.

‘Virginia feels she might even lose me votes,’ admitted Giles. ‘After all, no member of her family has ever been known to vote Labour. One or two may have supported the odd Liberal, but never Labour.’

Harry laughed. ‘At least we have that in common.’

‘If Labour were to win the election,’ said Emma, ‘do you think Mr Attlee might ask you to join the Cabinet?’

‘Heaven knows. That man plays his cards so close to his chest even he can’t see them. In any case, if you believe the polls, the election is too close to call, so there’s not much point in dreaming about red boxes until after we know the result.’

‘My bet,’ said Harry, ‘is that Churchill will scrape home this time. Mind you, only the British could kick a prime minister out of office after he’d just won a war.’

Giles glanced at his watch. ‘Can’t sit around chatting,’ he said. ‘I’m meant to be canvassing in Coronation Road. Care to join me, Harry?’ he said with a grin.

‘You must be joking. Can you see me asking people to vote for you? I’d turn off more people than Virginia.’

‘Why not?’ said Emma. ‘You’ve handed in your latest manuscript to the publisher, and you’re always telling everyone firsthand experience is more worthwhile than sitting in a library checking endless facts.’

‘But I’ve got a busy day ahead of me,’ protested Harry.

‘Of course you have,’ said Emma. ‘Now let me see, you’re taking Jessica to school this morning and, oh yes, you’re picking her up this afternoon and bringing her home.’

‘Oh all right. I’ll join you,’ said Harry. ‘But strictly as an observer, you understand.’



‘Good afternoon, sir, my name is Giles Barrington. I hope I can count on your support at the general election on October twenty-fifth?’ he said as he stopped to chat to a constituent.

‘You certainly can, Mr Barrington. I always vote Tory.’

‘Thank you,’ said Giles, quickly moving on to the next voter.

‘But you’re the Labour candidate,’ Harry reminded his brother-in-law.

‘There’s no mention of the parties on the ballot paper,’ said Giles, ‘only the candidates’ names. So why disillusion him? Good afternoon, my name is Giles Barrington, and I was hoping—’

‘And you can go on hoping, because I won’t be voting for a stuck-up toff.’

‘But I’m the Labour candidate,’ protested Giles.

‘Doesn’t stop you being a toff. You’re as bad as that Frank Pakenham fellow, a traitor to your class.’

Harry tried not to laugh as the man walked away.

‘Good afternoon, madam, my name is Giles Barrington.’

‘Oh, how nice to meet you, Sir Giles. I’ve been a great admirer of yours ever since you won the MC at Tobruk.’ Giles bowed low. ‘And although I would normally vote Liberal, on this occasion you can rely on me.’

‘Thank you, madam,’ said Giles.

She turned to Harry, who smiled and raised his hat. ‘And you needn’t bother raising your hat to me, Mr Clifton, because I know you were born in Still House Lane, and it’s disgraceful that you vote Tory. You’re a traitor to your class,’ she added before marching off.

It was Giles’s turn to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think I’m cut out for politics,’ said Harry.

‘Good afternoon, sir, my name is—’

‘—Giles Barrington. Yes, I know,’ the man said, refusing Giles’s outstretched hand. ‘You shook hands with me half an hour ago, Mr Barrington, and I told you I’d be voting for you. But now I’m not so sure.’

‘Is it always this bad?’ asked Harry.

‘Oh, it can be far worse. But if you place your head in the stocks, don’t be surprised if there are people who are only too happy to throw the occasional rotten tomato in your direction.’

‘I would never make a politician,’ said Harry. ‘I take everything too personally.’

‘Then you’ll probably end up in the House of Lords,’ said Giles, coming to a halt outside a pub. ‘I think a quick half pint is called for, before we return to the battlefield.’

‘I don’t think I’ve been in this pub before,’ said Harry, looking up at a flapping sign with a Volunteer beckoning them in.