Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(64)

Sam Wainwright was not a man destined to break speed records on land or sea. ‘Slowly, but surely’ would be the words etched on his gravestone. Giles had dealt with the town clerk on local matters for the past decade and still didn’t know which party he supported. He suspected he just didn’t vote. What Giles did know was that this would be Wainwright’s last election, as he would be retiring at the end of the year. In Giles’s opinion, the city would be very lucky to find a worthy successor. Someone might succeed Wainwright, but no man could replace him, as Thomas Jefferson had said when he followed Benjamin Franklin into the post of American ambassador to France.

One or two passers-by waved as Giles continued on his way to City Hall, while others simply ignored him. He began to think about his life, and what he might do if he were no longer the MP for Bristol Docklands. He would be thirty-five in a couple of weeks. True, no great age, but since returning to Bristol just after the war ended he’d only ever done one job, and frankly he wasn’t qualified to do much else; the perennial problem for any Member of Parliament who doesn’t have a safe seat.

His thoughts turned to Virginia, who could have made his life so much easier simply by signing a piece of paper some six months ago. He now realized that had never been part of her plan. She had always intended to wait until after the election in order to cause him the maximum possible embarrassment. He was now certain she had been responsible for putting Fisher on the board of Barrington’s, and he even wondered if it was she who’d sown the seed in Fisher’s mind that he could defeat Giles and replace him as Member of Parliament.

She was probably sitting at home in London right now waiting for the election results to come in, although in truth she was only interested in one seat. Was she preparing for another raid on the company’s shares as part of her long-term plan to bring the Barrington family to its knees? Giles was confident that in Ross Buchanan and Emma, she had met her match.

It was Grace who had finally brought him to his senses about Virginia, and having done so, she never mentioned the subject again. He also had her to thank for introducing him to Gwyneth. She had been keen to come to Bristol and help him retain his seat, but she had been the first to acknowledge that if she’d been seen canvassing with him on the high street, the only person who would have gained from it would be Fisher.

Giles had rung Gwyneth in Cambridge every morning before going into the office, but not when he returned at night, despite her telling him to wake her, because he rarely arrived home before midnight. If he lost tonight, he would drive up to Cambridge in the morning and unburden his troubles on her. If he won, he would join her in the afternoon and share his triumph with her. Whatever the outcome, he wasn’t going to lose her.

‘Good luck, Sir Giles,’ said a passing voice that brought him back to the real world. ‘I’m sure you’ll make it.’ Giles returned his confident smile, but he wasn’t sure.

He could now see the massive bulk of City Hall looming in front of him. The two golden unicorns perched high on the roof at each end of the building grew larger with every step he took.

The volunteers who’d been chosen to assist with the count would already be in place. This was considered a great responsibility, and was usually undertaken by local councillors or senior party officials. Miss Parish would be in charge of the six Labour scrutineers, as she had been for the past four elections, and he knew she had invited Harry and Emma to join her select team.

‘I would have asked Sebastian as well,’ she had told Giles, ‘but he’s not old enough.’

‘He’ll be disappointed,’ Giles had replied.

‘Yes, he was. But I got him a pass, so he can watch everything that’s going on from the balcony.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me,’ said Miss Parish. ‘I only wish I’d had him for the whole campaign.’

Giles took a deep breath as he climbed the steps of City Hall. Whatever the outcome, he mustn’t forget to thank the many people who had supported him, whose only reward would be victory. He recalled Old Jack’s words after he’d scored a century at Lord’s: anyone can be a good winner. The sign of a great man is how you handle defeat.





25


GRIFF HASKINS WAS striding back and forth in the lobby of City Hall when he spotted Giles walking towards him. The two shook hands as if they hadn’t seen each other for weeks.

‘If I win,’ said Giles, ‘you—’

‘Don’t get sentimental on me,’ said Griff. ‘We’ve still got a job to do.’

They made their way through the swing doors into the main auditorium to find that the thousand seats that usually filled the room had been replaced by two dozen trestle tables in rows, with wooden chairs on either side of them.

Sam Wainwright, hands on hips, feet apart, stood in the middle of the stage. He blew a whistle to announce that the game had begun. Scissors appeared, seals were cut, ballot boxes were thrown open and turned upside down to allow thousands of little slips of paper, each one bearing three names, to spill out on to the tables in front of the counters.

Their first job was to sort the ballot papers into three piles before the counting could begin. One side of the table concentrated on Fisher, while the other worked on Barrington. The search for Ellsworthy’s votes took a little longer.

Giles and Griff paced nervously around the room, trying to work out from the piles of ballot papers if one side or the other had an obvious lead. After one complete circuit, it was clear to both of them that neither had. Giles appeared to be comfortably ahead if you looked at the pile of slips from the boxes collected from the Woodbine estate, but Fisher was a clear winner if you checked the ballot boxes from the Arcadia Avenue wards. Another circuit of the hall, and they were none the wiser. The only thing they could predict with any certainty was that the Liberals would end up in third place.