Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles 3)

He then had a word with his secretary, before returning to the stage and resuming his place behind the adding machine. Once again, he took his time entering each figure that was presented by his deputies. After he'd pressed the add button for the last time, he entered the new numbers against each candidate's name, and when he was finally satisfied, he asked them all to come back on stage. This time, after he had informed them of the revised figures, Giles did not ask for a re-count.

Wainwright returned to the microphone to announce the result of the second count to an audience who, until then, had been surviving on Chinese whispers.

'. . . declare the total number of votes cast for each candidate to be as follows:

Sir Giles Barrington

18,813

Mr Reginald Ellsworthy

3,472

Major Alexander Fisher

18,809.'

This time it was the Labour supporters who erupted, holding up proceedings for several minutes before Wainwright was able to announce that Major Fisher had requested a recount.

'Will all the counters please check their numbers carefully for a third time, and immediately inform one of my deputies if there are any changes you wish to report.'

When the town clerk returned to the desk, his secretary handed him the reference book he had requested. He turned several pages of Macaulay's Election Law until he came to an entry he'd marked earlier that afternoon. While Wainwright was confirming his understanding of the returning officer's duties, Fisher's scrutiny team were charging up and down the aisles demanding to be shown the second ballot paper of every Barrington stack.

Despite this, forty minutes later Wainwright was able to announce that there were no changes from the result of the second count. Fisher immediately demanded another re-count.

'I am not willing to grant that request,' said Wainwright. 'The numbers have been consistent on three separate occasions,' he added, quoting Macaulay's exact words.

'But that is blatantly not the case,' barked Fisher. 'They've only been consistent twice. You will recall that I won the first count quite comfortably.'

'They have been consistent three times,' repeated Wainwright, 'remembering the unfortunate mistake your colleague made on the first count.'

'My colleague?' said Fisher. 'That is a disgraceful slur on my character. I've never seen the man before in my life. If you don't withdraw that statement and allow a re-count, I'll have no choice but to consult my lawyers in the morning.'

'That would be most unfortunate,' said Wainwright, 'because I wouldn't want to see Councillor Peter Maynard in the witness box, trying to explain how he'd never come across the chairman of his local party's association, who also happens to be its prospective parliamentary candidate.'

Fisher turned scarlet and marched off the stage.

Mr Wainwright rose from his place, walked slowly towards the front of the stage and tapped the microphone for the last time. He cleared his throat and announced, 'I, the returning officer for the constituency of Bristol Docklands, declare the total number of votes cast for each candidate to be as follows:

Sir Giles Barrington

18,813

Mr Reginald Ellsworthy

3,472

Major Alexander Fisher

18,809.'

'I therefore declare Sir Giles Barrington to be the duly elected Member of Parliament for the constituency of Bristol Docklands.'

The Member of Parliament for Bristol Docklands looked up to the balcony and bowed low to Sebastian Clifton.

SEBASTIAN CLIFTON

1955 - 1957

26

'RAISE YOUR GLASSES to the man who won us the election!' yelled Griff, who was teetering precariously on a table in the middle of the room, a glass of champagne in one hand, a cigarette in the other.

'To Sebastian!' everyone shouted, to laughter and applause.

'Have you ever drunk champagne before?' asked Griff after he had stepped unsteadily down to join Sebastian.

'Only once,' admitted Sebastian, 'when my friend Bruno celebrated his fifteenth birthday, and his father took the two of us out to supper at a local pub. So I suppose this is my second glass.'

'Take my advice,' said Griff, 'don't get used to it. It's the nectar of the rich. We working-class lads,' he said, putting an arm around him, 'can only expect to have a couple of glasses a year, and then at someone else's expense.'

'But I intend to be rich.'

'Why am I not surprised?' said Griff, filling his glass again. 'In that case you'll have to become a champagne socialist, and heaven knows we've got enough of them in our party.'

'I'm not in your party,' said Sebastian firmly. 'I'm a Tory in every other seat, apart from the one Uncle Giles is standing in.'

'Then you'll have to come and live in Bristol,' said Griff as the newly re-elected member strolled across to join them.

'Not much chance of that,' said Giles. 'His parents tell me they have high hopes of him winning a scholarship to Cambridge.'

'Well, if it's to be Cambridge rather than Bristol, you'll probably end up seeing more of your uncle than we do.'

'You've had too much to drink, Griff,' said Giles, patting his agent on the back.

'Not as much as I would have had if we'd lost,' said Griff, downing his glass. 'And try not to forget the bloody Tories have increased their majority in the House.'

'We ought to be getting home, Seb, if you're going to be in any shape for school tomorrow. Heaven knows how many rules you've broken in the last couple of hours.'

'Can I say goodnight to Miss Parish before I go?'

'Yes, of course. Why don't you do that while I go and pay the drinks bill. The drinks are on me, now the election is over.'

Sebastian wove his way through groups of volunteers, some swaying like branches in the wind, while others, heads down on the nearest table, had passed out, or were simply incapable of movement. He spotted Miss Parish seated in an alcove on the far side of the room with two empty bottles of champagne for company. When he finally reached her, he wasn't altogether sure she recognized him.

'Miss Parish, I just wanted to thank you for allowing me to be in your team. I've learnt so much from you. I only wish you were one of my teachers at the Abbey.'

'That is indeed a compliment, Sebastian,' said Miss Parish. 'But I fear I was born in the wrong century. It will be a long time before women are offered the chance to teach at an independent boys' school.' She hauled herself up and gave him a huge hug. 'Good luck, Sebastian,' she said. 'I hope you get that scholarship to Cambridge.'

'What did Miss Parish mean, she was born in the wrong century?' asked Sebastian as Giles drove them back to the Manor House.

'Simply that women of her generation weren't given the opportunity to pursue a proper career,' said Giles. 'She would have made a great teacher, and hundreds of children would have benefited from her wisdom and common sense. The truth is, we lost two generations of men in world wars, and two generations of women who weren't given the chance to take their places.'

'Fine words, Uncle Giles, but what are you going to do about it?'

Giles laughed. 'I could have done a damned sight more if we'd won the election, because tomorrow I would probably have been in the Cabinet. Now I'll have to be satisfied with another stint on the Opposition front bench.'