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  Both men watched as Dr. Renwick opened the file and first extracted a birth certificate which he placed firmly into the shredder. Neither spoke as they watched each piece of evidence disappear. The birth certificate was followed by a three-page letter dated May 11, 1949, signed by Dr. Greenwood. After that came several internal hospital documents and memos, all stamped 1949. Dr. Renwick continued to place them one by one through the shredder until all he was left with was an empty file. On top were printed the names Nathaniel and Peter Cartwright. He tore the file into four pieces before offering the final vestige of proof to the waiting teeth of the shredder.

  Fletcher rose unsteadily from his place, and turned to shake hands with his brother. “See you in the governor’s mansion.”

  “You sure will,” said Nat, taking him in his arms. “The first thing I’ll do is put in a wheelchair ramp so you can visit me regularly.”

  “Well, I have to go,” said Fletcher, turning to shake hands with Ben Renwick. “I’ve got an election to win.” He hobbled toward the door, trying to reach it before Nat, but his brother jumped in front and held it open for him.

  “I was brought up to open doors for women, senior citizens and invalids,” explained Nat.

  “And you can now add future governors to that list,” said Fletcher, hobbling through.

  “Have you read my paper on disability benefits?” asked Nat, as he caught up with him.

  “No,” Fletcher replied, “I’ve never bothered with impractical ideas that could never reach the statute books.”

  “You know, I will regret only one thing,” said Nat, once they were alone in the corridor and could no longer be overheard by Dr. Renwick.

  “Let me guess,” said Fletcher as he waited for the next quip.

  “I think you would have been one hell of a brother to grow up with.”

  52

  DR. RENWICK’S PREDICTION turned out to be accurate. Senator Davenport had discharged himself from St. Patrick’s by the weekend, and a fortnight later no one would have believed he had been within hours of dying only a month before.

  With only a few days left before the election, Clinton went farther ahead in the national polls as Perot continued to eat into Bush’s support. Both Nat and Fletcher went on traveling around the state at a pace that would have impressed an Olympic athlete. Neither waited for the other to challenge them to a debate, and when one of the local television companies suggested they should face each other in three encounters, both accepted without needing any persuasion.

  It was universally agreed that Fletcher came off better in the first duel, and the polls confirmed that impression when he went into the lead for the first time. Nat immediately cut down on his travel commitments, and spent several hours in a mock-up television studio being coached by his staff. It paid off, because even the local Democrats conceded that he had won the second round, when the polls put him back into the lead.

  So much rested on the final debate that both men became overanxious not to make a mistake, and it ended up being judged as a stalemate or, as Lucy described it, “dullmate.” Neither candidate was distressed to learn that a rival station had aired a football game that had been watched by ten times as many viewers. The polls the following day put both candidates at forty-six percent, with eight percent undecided.

  “Where have they been for the past six months?” demanded Fletcher as he stared at the figure of eight percent.

  “Not everyone is as fascinated by politics as you are,” suggested Annie over breakfast that morning. Lucy nodded her agreement.

  Fletcher hired a helicopter and Nat chartered the bank’s small jet to take them around the state during the final seven days, by which time the don’t-knows had fallen to six percent, shedding one point to each rival. By the end of the week, both men wondered if there was a shopping mall, factory, railway station, town hall, hospital or even street that they hadn’t visited, and both accepted that, in the end, it was going to be the organization on the ground that mattered. And the winner would be the one who had the best-oiled machine on election day. No one was more aware of this than Tom and Jimmy, but they couldn’t think of anything they hadn’t already done or prepared for, and could only speculate as to what might go wrong at the last minute.

  For Nat, election day was a blur of airports and main streets, as he tried to visit every city that had a runway before the polling booths closed at eight P.M. As soon as his plane touched down, he would run to the second car in the motorcade, and take off at seventy miles an hour, until he reached the city limits, where he would slow down to ten miles an hour, and start waving at anyone who showed the slightest interest. He ended up in the main street at a walking pace, and then reversed the process with a frantic dash back to the airport before taking off for the next city.

  Fletcher spent his final morning in Hartford, trying to get out his core vote before taking the helicopter to visit the most densely populated Democratic areas. Later that night, commentators even discussed who had made the better use of the last few hours. Both men landed back at Hartford’s Brainard airport a few minutes after the polls had closed.

  Normally in these situations, candidates will go to almost any lengths to avoid one another, but when the two teams crossed on the tarmac, like jousters at a fair, they headed straight toward each other.

  “Senator,” said Nat, “I will need to see you first thing in the morning as there are several changes I will require before I feel able to sign your education bill.”

  “The bill will be law by this time tomorrow,” replied Fletcher. “I intend it to be my first executive action as governor.”

  Both men became aware that their closest aides had fallen back so that they could have a private conversation, and they realized that the banter served little purpose if there was no audience to play to.

  “How’s Lucy?” asked Nat. “I hope her problem’s been sorted out.”

  “How did you know about that?” asked Fletcher.

  “One of my staff was leaked the details a couple of weeks ago. I made it clear that if the subject was raised again he would no longer be part of my team.”

  “I’m grateful,” said Fletcher, “because I still haven’t told Annie.” He paused, “Lucy spent a few days in New York with Logan Fitzgerald, and then returned home to join me on the campaign trail.”

  “I wish I’d been able to watch her grow up, like any other uncle. I would have loved to have a daughter.”

  “Most days of the week she’d happily swap me for you,” said Fletcher. “I’ve even had to raise her allowance in exchange for not continually reminding me how wonderful you are.”

  “I’ve never told you,” said Nat, “that after your intervention with that gunman who took over Miss Hudson’s class at Hartford School, Luke stuck a photograph of you up on his bedroom wall, and never took it down, so please pass on my best wishes to my niece.”

  “I will, but be warned that if you win, she’s going to postpone college for a year and apply for a job in your office as an intern, and she’s already made it clear that she won’t be available if her father is the governor.”

  “Then I look forward to her joining my team,” said Nat, as one or two aides reappeared and suggested that perhaps it was time for both of them to be moving on.

  Fletcher smiled. “How do you want to play tonight?”

  “If either of us gets a clear lead by midnight, the other will call and concede?”

  “Suits me,” said Fletcher, “I think you know my home number.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call, Senator,” said Nat.

  The two candidates shook hands on the concourse outside the airport, and their motorcades whisked off in different directions.

  A designated team of state troopers followed both candidates home. Their orders were clear. If your man wins, you are protecting the new governor. If he loses, you take the weekend off.

  Neither team took the weekend off.

  53

  NAT SWITCHED ON th