Heads You Win

Sasha waited for the laughter to die down before he began his peroration.

“What a compliment it is to the citizens of Merrifield that they could elect a Russian immigrant to sit on these hallowed benches, where he is able to express his opinions on any subject without fear or favor. Does anyone in this chamber believe that an Englishman could take his place in the Kremlin on equal terms? No, of course they don’t. But I only hope I live long enough to see you all proved wrong.”

He sat down to resounding cheers from both sides of the House. To everyone’s surprise, a bespectacled man with a shock of white hair rose from his place on the front bench.

“The leader of the opposition,” said the Speaker.

“Mr. Speaker, I rise to congratulate the honorable member for Merrifield on a remarkable maiden speech.” Hear, hears echoed around the chamber. “However, I feel I should point out to him that many of those sitting on the benches opposite already think I am the member for Moscow.” Cheers and jeers filled the air. “Nevertheless, I’m sure I speak for the whole House when I say we all look forward to the honorable member’s next contribution.”

Sasha looked up at the visitors’ gallery to see Charlie, his mother, Alf, and the countess, all looking down at him with unabashed pride. But it was not until he read The Times’ leader the following morning that the impact he had made in those few short minutes began to sink in.

It would have been better if Mr. Sasha Karpenko MP had never left the Soviet Union, as he might have played an important role in helping that country embrace the values of democracy.

* * *

“I’m to blame,” said Sasha. “I should have realized it was a step too far.”

“No one’s to blame,” said Elena. “We took a vote and only the countess expressed her reservations.”

“I just thought it might be a little too much for Elena to cope with,” said the countess.

“And you were proved right,” said Sasha, “because, I must warn you, the latest figures don’t make pleasant reading.”

The rest of the board braced themselves.

“Elena Three has made a loss for the seventh quarter in a row. Even though I’m a born optimist, this is a trend I can’t see us reversing.”

“What is the financial impact on the business?” asked the countess.

“If you put together the purchase price of the lease, the original set-up costs, and the losses we’ve sustained so far”—Sasha paused as he added up the figures—“we’re down a little over one hundred eighty-three thousand pounds.”

Charlie was the first to speak. “Can we survive such a setback?”

“I believe we can,” said Sasha, “but it will be a close-run thing.”

“What’s the bank’s attitude?” asked Elena.

“They’re still willing to back us if we agree to close Elena’s Three immediately, and concentrate our attention on Elena’s One and Two. Although they’re both still making a profit, they’re also suffering from some of the consequences of my decision.”

“Well, let’s look on the bright side,” said Elena. “At least you’ve got your parliamentary salary to fall back on.”

“Not for much longer, I fear,” said Sasha, “because if Margaret Thatcher retains her lead in the polls, it will be very hard for me to hold on to Merrifield at the next election.”

“Isn’t there a personal vote, if your constituents feel you’ve done a good job?” asked the countess.

“Rarely worth more than a few hundred votes, and usually reserved for rebels who’ve voted against their own party. And if the company were to go bankrupt, I’d have to resign and leave Fiona to march back onto the field in triumph.”

“One should never forget,” said the countess, “you have to climb a ladder to success, but failure is a lift going down.”

“Then we’ll just have to start climbing again,” said Elena.

* * *

Sasha realized that if Elena’s was to survive, his biggest problem would be the taxman. Should the Inland Revenue demand their pound of flesh, the company would have to go into receivership, and dispose of its assets. And if Elena’s One and Two were to suddenly come on the market, everyone in business would know it was a fire sale.

Sasha knew if that was the outcome, he would have to abandon his political career and look for a job. What a complete fool he’d made of himself, just when he thought nothing could derail him.

There was no one else to blame, so he decided to face the problem head-on. He phoned the Inland Revenue and made an appointment to see his case officer, Mr. Dark. Even the name filled him with foreboding. He could already visualize the damn man. Short, bald, overweight, coming to the end of an undistinguished career of pen-pushing, who enjoyed nothing more than depositing lives into an out-tray. He probably voted Conservative, and wouldn’t be able to resist saying how sorry he was, but he had a job to do, and there couldn’t be any exceptions.