Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(58)

Emma glanced over Giles’s shoulder to see the headline. Fisher challenges Barrington to debate. ‘That sounds interesting,’ she said.

‘It would be interesting, but only if Giles was foolish enough to accept.’

‘Why wouldn’t he?’ asked Harry. ‘After all, he’s a far better debater than Fisher, and he has a great deal more political experience.’

‘That may well be the case,’ said Griff, ‘but you must never give your opponent a platform. While Giles is the sitting member, he can dictate the terms.’

‘Yes, but have you read what the bastard went on to say?’ said Giles.

‘Why should I waste my time on Fisher,’ said Griff, ‘when it’s not going to happen?’

Giles ignored the comment, and began reading the front page out loud. ‘“Barrington’s got a lot of questions to answer if he still hopes to be the Member of Parliament for Docklands on May the twenty-sixth. Knowing him as I do, I’m confident the hero of Tobruk will not shirk the challenge. I will be at Colston Hall next Thursday, May the nineteenth, and will be happy to answer any questions put to me by members of the public. There will be three chairs on stage, and if Sir Giles doesn’t show up, I’m sure the electors will be able to draw their own conclusions.”’

‘Three chairs?’ queried Emma.

‘Fisher knows the Liberals will turn up because they’ve got nothing to lose,’ said Griff. ‘But my advice remains the same. Ignore the bastard. There’ll be another headline tomorrow, and by then,’ he said, pointing to the newspaper, ‘that will only be good for fish and chips.’



Ross Buchanan was sitting at his desk at Barrington’s checking the latest report from Harland and Wolff when his secretary buzzed through.

‘I’ve got Sandy McBride on the line from Hong Kong. Do you want to take the call?’

‘Put him through.’

‘Good morning, sir. I thought you’d like to know that Benny Driscoll has been phoning every few hours wanting to find out if we’ve got any Barrington’s stock for sale. I’ve still got two hundred thousand on my books and, as the price continues to rise, I was calling to ask if you want me to release any of them?’

‘Not until the three-week period is up, and a new account has been opened. Until then, we’re buyers, not sellers.’



When Giles saw the headline in the Evening Post the following day, he knew he could no longer avoid a direct confrontation with Fisher. Bishop of Bristol to chair election debate. This time, Griff read the front page more carefully.

The Bishop of Bristol, the Right Reverend Frederick Cockin, has agreed to act as moderator at an election debate to be held at Colston Hall next Thursday, May 19th at 7.30 p.m. Major Alex Fisher, the Conservative candidate, and Mr Reginald Ellsworthy, the Liberal candidate, have both agreed to take part. Sir Giles Barrington, the Labour candidate, has not yet responded to our invitation.





‘I still think you should ignore it,’ said Griff.

‘But look at the picture on the front page,’ said Giles, thrusting the paper back into his agent’s hands.

Griff looked at the photograph, which showed an empty chair in the middle of the stage at Colston Hall with a spotlight beamed on to it, above a caption that read: Will Sir Giles turn up?

‘Surely you see,’ said Giles, ‘if I don’t turn up, they’ll have a field day.’

‘And if you do, they’ll have a heyday.’ Griff paused. ‘But it’s your choice, and if you’re still determined to be there, we have to turn this situation to our advantage.’

‘How do we do that?’

‘You’ll issue a press statement at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, so we get the headlines for a change.’

‘Saying?’

‘Saying that you’re delighted to accept the challenge, because it will give you an opportunity to expose Tory policies for what they’re worth, and at the same time let the people of Bristol decide who is the right man to represent them in Parliament.’

‘What made you change your mind?’ asked Giles.

‘I’ve been looking at the latest canvass returns, and they suggest you’re likely to lose by over a thousand votes, so you’re no longer the favourite, you’re now the challenger.’

‘What else can go wrong?’

‘Your wife could make an appearance, take a seat in the front row and ask the first question. Then your girlfriend turns up and slaps her in the face, in which case you needn’t worry about the Bristol Evening Post because you’ll be on the front page of every paper in the country.’





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.’