Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(54)

Dunnett looked up.

‘Does your wife know you were a conscientious objector?’

Dunnett shook his head.

‘Then let’s keep it that way, shall we?’ Fisher gave him an understanding smile before continuing. ‘I would like to say how sorry I am to have caused the committee this inconvenience so close to the election –’ Fisher paused again, and watched as Dunnett’s trembling hand stuttered across the page – ‘and wish whoever is fortunate enough to take my place the best of luck. Yours sincerely. . .’ He didn’t speak again until Dunnett had written his signature at the bottom of the page.

Fisher picked up the letter and checked the text carefully. Satisfied, he slipped it into an envelope and pushed it back across the table.

‘Just address it “The Chairman, private and personal”.’

Dunnett obeyed, having accepted his fate.

‘I’m so sorry, Dunnett,’ said Fisher as he screwed the top back on his pen. ‘I really do feel for you.’ He placed the envelope in the top drawer of his desk, which he then locked. ‘But chin up, old fellow.’ He rose from his chair and took Dunnett by the elbow. ‘I’m sure you’ll realize I’ve always had your best interests at heart,’ he added as he led him slowly to the door. ‘It might be wise if you were to leave the constituency as quickly as possible. Wouldn’t want some nosy journalist to get his hands on the story, would we?’

Dunnett looked horrified.

‘And before you ask, Greg, you can rely on my discretion.’

‘Thank you, Mr Chairman,’ said Dunnett as the door closed.

Fisher returned to his office, picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number that was written on the pad in front of him.

‘Peter, it’s Alex Fisher. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday afternoon, but a problem has arisen that I need to discuss with you urgently. I wonder if you’re free to join me for dinner?’



‘Gentlemen, it is with considerable regret that I have to inform you that yesterday afternoon I had a visit from Gregory Dunnett, who sadly felt he had to tender his resignation as our parliamentary candidate, which is why I called this emergency meeting.’

Almost every member of the executive committee started talking at the same time. The word that kept being repeated was, why?

Fisher waited patiently for order to be restored before he answered that question. ‘Dunnett confessed to me that he misled the committee when he suggested he had served with the Royal Ambulance Corps during the war, when in fact he had been a conscientious objector who served a six-month prison sentence. He got wind that one of his fellow inmates at Parkhurst had been approached by the press, which he felt left him with no option but to resign.’

The second outburst of opinions and questions was even more vociferous, but once again Fisher bided his time. He could afford to. He’d written the script and knew what was on the next page.

‘I felt I was left with no choice but to accept his resignation on your behalf, and we agreed that he should leave the constituency as quickly as possible. I hope you won’t feel I was too lenient on the young man.’

‘How can we possibly find another candidate at such short notice?’ asked Peter Maynard, bang on cue.

‘That was also my first reaction,’ said Fisher, ‘so I immediately phoned Central Office to seek their guidance, but there were not many people at their desks on a Sunday afternoon. However, I did discover one thing when I spoke to their legal department, which you may feel is significant. Should we fail to adopt a candidate before May the twelfth, next Thursday, under electoral law we will be disqualified from taking any part in the election, which would guarantee Barrington a landslide victory, as his only opponent would be the Liberal candidate.’

The noise around the table reached fever pitch, but Fisher had never doubted it would. Once a semblance of order had returned, he continued. ‘My next call was to Neville Simpson.’

A few hopeful smiles appeared among the committee members.

‘But sadly he’s been snapped up by Fulham Central, and has already signed his adoption papers. I then scoured the original list sent to us by Central Office, only to find that the better candidates have already secured a seat, and those who are still available would, frankly, be eaten alive by Barrington. So, I’m in your hands, gentlemen.’

Several hands shot up and Fisher selected Peter Maynard, as if he’d been the first person to catch his eye.

‘This is a sad day for the party, Mr Chairman, but I don’t feel anyone could have handled this delicate situation better than you have done.’

A general murmur of approval swept around the table.

‘It’s kind of you to say so, Peter. I simply did what I felt was best for the association.’

‘And I can only speak for myself, Mr Chairman,’ continued Maynard, ‘when I say that, given the problem we find ourselves with, is it at all possible that you could be prevailed upon to step into the breach?’

‘No, no,’ said Fisher, waving a Cassius-like hand. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone far better qualified than me to represent you.’

‘But no one knows the constituency, or for that matter our opponent, better than you, Mr Chairman.’

Fisher allowed several similar sentiments to be aired, before the party secretary said, ‘I agree with Peter. We certainly can’t afford to waste any more time. The longer we procrastinate, the happier Barrington will be.’