Heads You Win Read online

  “Never lasted for about a week, sir. Much to her dismay I’ll be standing for president again next term.”

  “But being practical for a moment,” said Dangerfield, “if you were to take up Mr. Agnelli’s offer, where would you and Charlie live?”

  “My mother has recently bought a large flat in Fulham, with more than enough room for the three of us.”

  “Enough for four, possibly five?” said Dangerfield, raising an eyebrow.

  “Both of us feel we should be established in our careers before we think about starting a family. Once Charlie has her PhD, she hopes to find a job that will make it possible for us to earn enough for two, never mind three, or four. Only my mother disagrees with me.”

  “I look forward to meeting her. She sounds quite formidable. But tell me, how does she feel about her only son getting married at such a young age?”

  “She adores Charlie, and doesn’t approve of us living in sin.”

  “Ah, so that’s where you’ve inherited those old-fashioned values.”

  * * *

  “It would help if you knew which party you belonged to,” said Ben. “Although I’m confident you can still win as an independent, it would make my life a lot easier if you joined either the Tories or the Labour Party. Preferably the Tories.”

  “That’s the problem,” said Sasha. “I still don’t know which party I support. By nature I believe in free enterprise, and less state intervention, not more. But as an immigrant, I feel more at home with the philosophy of the Labour Party. The only thing I’m certain of is that I’m not a Liberal.”

  “Well, don’t tell anyone that, until the last vote has been cast. As an independent, you’ll need the support of voters from all three parties.”

  “Do you have any beliefs or convictions?” asked Sasha.

  “One can’t afford such luxuries until after you’ve won the election.”

  “Spoken like a true Tory,” said Alex.

  * * *

  “I’m glad we’re spending the weekend with my parents,” said Charlie, “because I know my father has something he wants to ask your advice about.”

  “What could I possibly advise him on? I know nothing about antiques, and he’s considered a leader in the field.”

  “I’m just as interested to find out as you are. But I did warn him that you don’t know the difference between Chippendale and Conran.”

  “I know which one I can afford,” said Sasha.

  “You should read more Oscar Wilde,” said Charlie, “and less Maynard Keynes. By the way, will your mother be joining us? You know how my parents are looking forward to meeting her.”

  “She plans to come on Saturday morning. Which should give me enough time to warn them that she’s already chosen the names of our first three children.”

  “Have you warned her that that might not be for some time?”

  * * *

  When Ted Heath sat down at the end of the debate, Sasha was no nearer to deciding which party he felt more in sympathy with. The Prime Minister’s speech had been competent and workmanlike, but lacked passion, even though he was speaking on a subject he felt passionately about. Despite the recent success of his campaign to secure Britain’s membership in the Common Market, some people were unable to stifle the occasional yawn, including one or two of his own supporters.

  Michael Foot, who opposed the motion on behalf of the Labour Party, was in a different class altogether. His brilliant oratory mesmerized the undergraduates, although he clearly didn’t have the same detailed knowledge of the subject as the proposer of the motion.

  Sasha, like Heath, believed in a stronger Europe as a counterforce to the communist bloc, so he ignored Ben’s advice and voted for the motion, not the man.

  “I thought Heath was brilliant,” said Ben as they left the building following the post-debate dinner.

  “No, you didn’t,” said Sasha. “He may have known the subject backward, but Foot was by far the more persuasive of the two.”

  “But who would you rather have running the country?” demanded Ben. “A brilliant orator or a—”

  “A grocer?” said Sasha. “The jury’s still out, so I’ll stand as an independent.”

  “Then we’ve got a busy weekend ahead of us.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Delivering your manifesto to every college, putting up posters on all the noticeboards, and when no one’s looking, removing your rivals’.”

  “You can forget that, Ben. As you well know, it’s against Union rules to take down or deface your opponents’ posters. If you were stupid enough to do that, I could be disqualified. And I wouldn’t put it past Fiona to produce a photograph of you caught in the act, because nothing would give her greater pleasure than to see me fail a second time.”

  “Then we’ll have to be satisfied with putting your posters on top of your opponents’.”

  “Ben, you’re not listening, and what’s worse, I won’t be around to keep an eye on you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Charlie and I are spending the weekend with her parents to celebrate our engagement, and my mother will be meeting them for the first time.”

  “Where’s this historic meeting taking place?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve only experienced your mother’s cooking once, and I can’t wait to be invited to sample it a second time.”

  “You won’t have long to wait, because you’re going to be best man at our wedding.”

  Sasha enjoyed the rare experience of his closest friend being lost for words.

  * * *

  “Call me Mike,” said Mr. Dangerfield.

  “That may take a bit of getting used to, sir,” said Sasha, as his host closed the study door and ushered him to a seat by the fire.

  “I’m glad to be able to have a moment alone with you, Sasha, because I need to seek your advice.”

  “I hope it’s nothing to do with antiques, sir, because I’ve only recently learned how old a piece has to be before it can even be described as an antique.”

  “No, it doesn’t concern an antique, but a client of mine who may be in possession of what we in the trade call a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.” Sasha was intrigued, but said nothing. “I recently had a visit from a Russian countess, who offered to sell me a family heirloom that, if it’s genuine, would set the antique world alight.” Mr. Dangerfield rose from his chair, crossed the room, and bent down in front of a large safe. He turned the dial first one way, and then the other, before he pulled open its heavy door, reached inside, and extracted a red velvet box that he placed on the table between them. “Open it, Sasha. Because I can assure you, you won’t need any knowledge of antiques to realize you’re in the presence of genius.”

  Sasha tentatively flicked up the clasp and opened the box to reveal a large golden egg encrusted with diamonds and pearls. His mouth fell open, but no words followed.

  “And that’s only the wrapping,” said Mr. Dangerfield. He leaned forward and split the egg open to reveal an exquisite jade palace, surrounded by a moat of blue diamonds.

  “Wow,” Sasha managed.

  “I agree. But is it, as the countess claims, an original Fabergé, or a brilliant copy?”

  “I have no idea,” said Sasha.

  “I didn’t think you would. But after meeting her, you might be able to tell me if the countess is an original or a fake.”

  “The Anastasia problem,” said Sasha.

  “In one. I’ve already visited the British Museum, the V&A, and the Soviet Embassy, and there’s no doubt that the original egg was owned by a Count Molenski. But is the countess really his daughter, or just an accomplished actress trying to palm me off with a copy?”

  “I can’t wait to meet her,” said Sasha, unable to take his eyes off the egg.

  “And even if she convinces you she’s the real thing,” said Dangerfield, “why would she have chosen me, a small trader from Guildford, when she could have gone to any number of leadi