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way through the swing doors into the main auditorium to find that the thousand seats that usually filled the room had been replaced by two dozen trestle tables in rows, with wooden chairs on either side of them.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

Giles looked up when he heard a burst of applause coming from the other side of the hall. Fisher had just entered the room with his agent and a few key supporters. Giles recognized some of them from the evening of the debate. He couldn't help noticing that Fisher had changed into a fresh shirt and was wearing a smart double-breasted suit, already looking every inch a Member of Parliament. After chatting to one or two of the counters, he also began to move around the room, making quite sure he didn't bump into Barrington.

Giles and Griff, along with Miss Parish, Harry and Emma, continued to walk slowly up and down the aisles, watching carefully as piles of ballot papers were stacked in tens, and then, once they totalled a hundred, were bound by thick red, blue or yellow bands, so they could be identified quickly. Finally they were lined up in five-hundreds, like soldiers on parade.

The scrutineers took a row each, checking that the tens were not nines or elevens, and, even more important, that the hundreds weren't hundred-and-tens or nineties. If they thought a mistake had been made, they could ask for a pile to be re-counted in the presence of Mr Wainwright or one of his deputies. Not something to be done lightly, Miss Parish warned her team.

After two hours of counting, Griff shrugged his shoulders in answer to Giles's whispered question as to how he thought things were going. By this time in 1951, he'd been able to tell Giles he'd won, even if it was only by a few hundred votes. Not tonight.

Once the counters had their neat, well-ordered piles of five-hundreds in place, they raised a hand to let the town clerk know that they'd completed the task and were ready to confirm their results. Finally, when the last hand was raised, Mr Wainwright once again blew a sharp blast on his whistle and said, 'Now double check every pile one more time.' He then added, 'Would the candidates and their agents please join me on stage.'

Giles and Griff were the first to climb the steps, with Fisher and Ellsworthy only a stride behind. On a table in the centre of the stage, where everyone could observe exactly what was taking place, was a small pile of ballot papers. No more than a dozen of them, Giles estimated.

'Gentlemen,' announced the town clerk, 'these are the spoilt ballot papers. Electoral law decrees that I, and I alone, must decide if any of them should be included in the final count. However, you have the right to disagree with any of my judgements.'

Wainwright stood over the pile of votes, adjusted his glasses and studied the top slip. It had a cross in Fisher's box, but also scribbled across it were the words 'God Save the Queen'.

'That's obviously a vote for me,' said Fisher, before Wainwright could give his opinion.

The town clerk looked at Giles, and then at Ellsworthy, and they both nodded, so the ballot paper was placed to his right. On the next slip a tick, not a cross, had been placed in Fisher's box.

'They clearly intended to vote for me,' said Fisher firmly. Once again, Giles and Ellsworthy nodded.

The town clerk placed the vote on Fisher's pile, which caused the Conservative candidate to smile, until he saw that the next three ballot papers had ticks in Barrington's box.

On the next paper, the names of all three candidates had been crossed out and replaced by Vote for Desperate Dan. They all agreed it was spoilt. The next had a tick by Ellsworthy's name, and it was accepted as a vote for the Liberal candidate. The eighth declared Abolish hanging, and joined the spoilt pile without comment. The ninth had a tick in Barrington's box, and Fisher had no choice but to allow it, giving Giles a 4 - 2 lead with only two papers left to consider. The next had a tick in Barrington's box, with the word NEVER written next to Fisher's name.

'That must be a spoilt ballot,' said Fisher.

'In which case,' said the town clerk, 'I will have to treat "God Save the Queen" in the same way.'

'That's logical,' said Ellsworthy. 'Better take them both out.'

Tags: Jeffrey Archer The Clifton Chronicles Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net