Sons of Fortune Read online

  “Then let’s hope I didn’t hold up a proposal.”

  “Far from it. What you did was to make sure I reach the courting stage. Don’t imagine that it was coincidental that Mrs. Alexander came and sat next to you when coffee was being served in the drawing room.”

  Annie gave out a slight moan, and Fletcher looked anxiously across. “Oh, my God,” she said, “the contractions have begun.”

  “But you’ve still got another ten weeks,” said Fletcher. “Just relax and I’ll have you back home and tucked up in no time.”

  Annie groaned again, a little louder. “Don’t bother with going home,” she said, “get me to a hospital.”

  Speeding across Westville, Fletcher checked the names on the street corners and tried to work out which would be the best route to Yale—New Haven Hospital, when he spotted a taxi stand on the far side of the road. He swung the car sharply across and pulled up alongside the front cab. He wound down the window, and shouted, “My wife’s gone into labor, which is the quickest route to Yale—New Haven?”

  “Follow me,” shouted the cab driver and shot off in front of them.

  Fletcher tried to keep up with the taxi as he nipped in and out of the traffic, with a palm pressed down on the horn, while flashing his lights, as he took a route Fletcher didn’t even know existed. Annie clutched her stomach, as the groans became louder and louder.

  “Don’t worry, my darling, we’re nearly there,” he said, as he jumped another red light to make sure he didn’t lose contact with the cab.

  When the two cars finally reached the hospital, Fletcher was surprised to see a doctor and nurse standing next to a gurney by an open door, obviously expecting them. As the cab driver jumped out, he gave the nurse a thumbs-up sign, and Fletcher guessed that he must have asked his dispatcher to call ahead; he hoped he had enough money on him to pay the fare, not to mention a large tip for the man’s initiative.

  Fletcher jumped out of the car, and ran around to help Annie, but the cab driver beat him to it. They took an elbow each and helped to lift her out of the cab and gently onto the gurney. The nurse began to unbutton Annie’s dress even before she was wheeled through the open door. Fletcher removed his wallet, turned to the taxi driver and said, “Thank you, you couldn’t have been more helpful. How much do I owe you?”

  “Not a cent, it’s on me,” the taxi driver replied.

  “But…” began Fletcher

  “If I told my wife I’d charged you, she’d kill me. Good luck,” he shouted and without another word walked back to his cab.

  “Thank you,” Fletcher repeated before he dashed into the hospital. He quickly caught up with his wife and took her hand. “It’s going to be just fine, honey,” he assured her.

  The orderly asked Annie a series of questions, all of which received a monosyllabic yes in reply. His inquiries complete, he rang through to the operating room to alert Dr. Redpath and the waiting team that they were less than a minute away. The slow, vast elevator lurched to a halt on the fifth floor. Annie was wheeled quickly down the corridor, Fletcher trotting by her side, clinging to her outstretched hand. He could see two nurses in the distance holding open double doors so that the gurney would never lose its momentum.

  Annie continued to hold on to Fletcher’s hand as she was lifted onto the operating table. Three more people came bursting into the room, their faces hidden behind masks. The first checked the instruments laid out on the table, the second prepared an oxygen mask, while the third tried to ask Annie more questions; although she was now screaming with pain. Fletcher never let go of his wife’s hand, until an older man came through the door. He pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and said, “Are we all ready?” even before he’d had a chance to check the patient.

  “Yes, Dr. Redpath,” replied the nurse.

  “Good,” he said and turning to Fletcher added, “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave, Mr. Davenport. We’ll call for you just as soon as the baby has been delivered.”

  Fletcher kissed his wife on the forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.

  22

  Nat woke at five on the day of the election, only to discover that Su Ling was already in the shower. He checked the schedule on the bedside table. Full team meeting at seven, followed by an hour and a half outside the dining hall to meet and greet voters as they went in and out of breakfast.

  “Come and join me,” shouted Su Ling, “we haven’t any time to waste.” She was right, because they arrived at the team meeting only moments before the clock on the bell tower struck seven times. Every other member of the team was already present, and Tom, who had come over from Yale for the day, was passing on the experience of his own recent election. Su Ling and Nat took the two empty seats on each side of their unofficial chief of staff, who continued the briefing as if they weren’t there.

  “No one stops, even to draw breath, until one minute past six when the last vote will have been cast. Now I suggest that the candidate and Su Ling are outside the dining hall between seven thirty and eight thirty while the rest of you go into breakfast.”

  “We’re expected to go on eating that garbage for an hour?” said Joe.

  “No, I don’t want you to eat anything, Joe, I need you moving from table to table, never two of you at the same table, and remember that Elliot’s team will probably be carrying out exactly the same exercise, so don’t waste any time asking for their vote. OK, let’s go.”

  Fourteen people ran out of the room and across the lawn, disappearing through the swing doors and into the dining hall, leaving Nat and Su Ling to hang around near the entrance.

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for student president, and I hope you’ll be able to support me in today’s election.”

  Two sleepy-eyed students said, “Fine, man, you’ve already wrapped up the gay vote.”

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for student president, and I hope you’ll be able to support me…”

  “Yes, I know who you are, but how can you possibly understand what it’s like to survive on a student loan, when you earn an extra four hundred dollars a month?” came back the sharp reply.

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright, I’m running for student president and…”

  “I won’t be voting for either of you,” said another student, as he pushed through the swing doors.

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for…”

  “Sorry, just visiting from another campus, so I don’t have a vote.”

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright and I’m…”

  “Good luck, but I’m only voting for you because of your girlfriend, I think she’s terrific.”

  “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright…”

  “And I’m a member of Ralph Elliot’s team, and we’re going to kick your butt.”

  “Hi, I’m Nat…”

  Nine hours later, Nat could only wonder how many times he had delivered that line, and how many hands he’d shaken. All he knew for certain was that he had lost his voice and was sure his fingers would fall off. At one minute past six, he turned to Tom and said, “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright and…”

  “Forget it,” said Tom with a laugh, “I’m the president of Yale, and all I know is if it wasn’t for Ralph Elliot you’d have my job.”

  “What have you planned for me now,” asked Nat, “because my schedule ends at six, so I don’t have a clue what to do next.”

  “Typical of every candidate,” said Tom, “but I thought the three of us could have a relaxed dinner at Mario’s.”

  “What about the rest of the team?” asked Su Ling.

  “Joe, Chris, Sue and Tim are acting as observers at the count over in the Commons, while the others are getting a well-earned rest. As the count begins at seven and should take at least a couple of hours, I’ve suggested that everybody be there by eight thirty.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Nat. “I could eat a horse.”

  Mario guided the three of them to their table in the corner,