Best Kept Secret Read online

  The Bishop of Bristol, the Right Reverend Frederick Cockin, has agreed to act as moderator at an election debate to be held at Colston Hall next Thursday, May 19th at 7.30 p.m. Major Alex Fisher, the Conservative candidate, and Mr Reginald Ellsworthy, the Liberal candidate, have both agreed to take part. Sir Giles Barrington, the Labour candidate, has not yet responded to our invitation.

  ‘I still think you should ignore it,’ said Griff.

  ‘But look at the picture on the front page,’ said Giles, thrusting the paper back into his agent’s hands.

  Griff looked at the photograph, which showed an empty chair in the middle of the stage at Colston Hall with a spotlight beamed on to it, above a caption that read: Will Sir Giles turn up?

  ‘Surely you see,’ said Giles, ‘if I don’t turn up, they’ll have a field day.’

  ‘And if you do, they’ll have a heyday.’ Griff paused. ‘But it’s your choice, and if you’re still determined to be there, we have to turn this situation to our advantage.’

  ‘How do we do that?’

  ‘You’ll issue a press statement at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, so we get the headlines for a change.’

  ‘Saying?’

  ‘Saying that you’re delighted to accept the challenge, because it will give you an opportunity to expose Tory policies for what they’re worth, and at the same time let the people of Bristol decide who is the right man to represent them in Parliament.’

  ‘What made you change your mind?’ asked Giles.

  ‘I’ve been looking at the latest canvass returns, and they suggest you’re likely to lose by over a thousand votes, so you’re no longer the favourite, you’re now the challenger.’

  ‘What else can go wrong?’

  ‘Your wife could make an appearance, take a seat in the front row and ask the first question. Then your girlfriend turns up and slaps her in the face, in which case you needn’t worry about the Bristol Evening Post because you’ll be on the front page of every paper in the country.’

  23

  GILES TOOK HIS seat on the stage to loud applause. His speech to the packed hall could hardly have gone better, and speaking last had turned out to be an advantage.

  The three candidates had all arrived half an hour early, and then waltzed around each other like schoolboys attending their first dance class. The bishop, acting as moderator, finally brought them together and explained how he intended to conduct the evening.

  ‘I will invite each of you to make an opening speech, which mustn’t last longer than eight minutes. After seven minutes, I will ring a bell.’ He gave a demonstration. ‘I’ll ring it a second time after eight minutes, to show that your time is up. Once you’ve all delivered your speeches, I will open the meeting to questions from the floor.’

  ‘How will the order be decided?’ asked Fisher.

  ‘By the drawing of straws.’ The bishop then held out three straws in a clenched fist and invited each candidate to pick one.

  Fisher drew the short straw.

  ‘So you will be opening the batting, Major Fisher,’ said the bishop. ‘You will go second, Mr Ellsworthy, and, Sir Giles, you will go last.’

  Giles smiled at Fisher and said, ‘Bad luck, old chap.’

  ‘No, I wanted to go first,’ protested Fisher, causing even the bishop to raise an eyebrow.

  When the bishop led the three men on to the stage at 7.25 p.m, it was the only time that night when everyone in the hall applauded. Giles took his seat and looked down at the packed audience. He estimated that over a thousand members of the public had turned up to watch the jousting.

  Giles knew that each of the three parties had been issued with 200 tickets for their supporters, which left some 400 undecided votes to be played for; just about his majority at the last election.

  At 7.30 p.m., the bishop opened proceedings. He introduced the three candidates, then invited Major Fisher to deliver his opening address.

  Fisher made his way slowly to the front of the stage, placed his prepared speech on the lectern and tapped the microphone. He delivered his words nervously, keeping his head down, clearly fearful of losing his place.

  When the bishop rang the bell to indicate that he had one minute left, Fisher began to speed up, which caused him to stumble over his words. Giles could have told him it was a golden rule that if you have been allocated eight minutes, you prepare a seven-minute speech. It’s far better to end slightly early than to be stopped in the middle of your peroration. Despite this, when Fisher returned to his seat he was rewarded with prolonged applause from his supporters.

  Giles was surprised when Reg Ellsworthy rose to present the Liberal case. He didn’t have a prepared speech, or even a list of headings to remind him what subjects he should concentrate on. Instead, he chatted about local issues, and when the one-minute bell went, he stopped in the middle of a sentence and returned to his seat. Ellsworthy had achieved something Giles would have thought impossible; he’d made Fisher look good. Nevertheless, a fifth of those assembled still cheered their champion.

  Giles rose to a warm reception from his two hundred supporters, although large sections of the crowd sat on their hands. Something he’d become familiar with whenever he addressed the government benches. He stood by the side of the lectern, only occasionally glancing at his notes.

  He began by describing the Conservatives’ failures in office, and outlining what the Labour Party’s policies would be should it form the next government. He then touched on local issues, and even managed a dig about pavement politics at the expense of the Liberals, which brought laughter from the packed hall. By the time he’d come to the end of his speech, at least half the audience were applauding. If the meeting had ended then, there would have been only one winner.

  ‘The candidates will now take questions from the floor,’ announced the bishop, ‘and I hope this will be done in a respectful and orderly manner.’

  Thirty of Giles’s supporters leapt up and threw their hands in the air, all of them with well-prepared questions calculated to assist their candidate and undermine the other two. The only problem was that sixty other equally determined hands also shot up at the same time.

  The bishop was astute enough to have identified where the three different blocks of supporters were sitting, and skilfully selected non-partisan members of the general public who wanted to know such things as where the candidates stood on the introduction of parking meters in Bristol, which gave the Liberal candidate a chance to shine; the end of rationing, which they all approved of; and the proposed extension of the electrification of the railways, which didn’t advance anyone’s cause.

  But Giles knew that eventually an arrow would be shot in his direction, and he would have to make sure it didn’t hit the target. Finally he heard the bow twang.

  ‘Could Sir Giles explain why he visited Cambridge more times during the last parliament than he did his own constituency?’ asked a tall, thin, middle-aged man, whom Giles thought he recognized.

  Giles sat still for a moment while he composed himself. He was just about to rise from his place when Fisher shot up, clearly not surprised by the question, while assuming everyone present knew exactly what the questioner was alluding to.

  ‘Let me assure everyone in this hall,’ he said, ‘that I will be spending far more time in Bristol than in any other city, whatever the distractions.’

  Giles looked down to see rows of blank faces. It seemed the audience had no idea what Fisher was talking about.

  The Liberal candidate rose next. He clearly missed the point, because all he had to say was, ‘Being an Oxford man, I never visit the other place unless I have to.’

  A few people laughed.

  Giles’s two opponents had supplied him with the ammunition to fire back. He stood and turned to face Fisher.

  ‘I feel bound to ask Major Fisher, if he intends to spend more time in Bristol than in any other city, does that mean that were he to win next Thursday, he won’t be going up to London to take his seat