First Among Equals Read online

  “So?” said Andrew.

  “So I’m going to cover the political pages with the worst shots I can find of Boyle and fill up inch after inch with the sayings of Lomax. They’ll both get equal coverage while at the same time they’ll lose votes.”

  “They’ll suss it out and complain to the editor.”

  “I doubt it,” said Stuart. “I have yet to meet a politician who complained about having his photo in the paper, or one who was angered by seeing his mad views aired to a larger audience than he could have hoped to influence in the past.”

  “And what do you propose to do about me?”

  “That’s a problem,” admitted Stuart, laughing. “Perhaps I’ll leave the columns blank. That’s one way you can’t lose votes.”

  Whenever Andrew carried out a door-to-door canvass he found a clear division between those who still backed him and those who thought he had been disloyal to the Labour party. As the canvass returns came in and the colors were put out on the trestle tables in the new party headquarters it became clear from even a cursory glance that it was going to be his toughest election yet.

  Andrew had experienced some dirty campaigns over the years, especially when he had been up against the Scottish Nationalists, but after only a few days he had sweet memories of Jock McPherson who was Little Red Riding Hood compared with Boyle. Andrew could just about tolerate hearing that he had been thrown out of the Labour party because he was such a lazy member, even that he had left them in the lurch because he had been told he could never hope to be a minister again, but when it was repeated to him that the Boyle camp were spreading a rumor that Louise had lost her voice because, when she had her baby, it turned out to be black he was furious.

  If Andrew had seen Boyle that day he would undoubtedly have hit him. Sir Duncan counseled restraint, pointing out that any other action could only harm Louise and Clarissa. Andrew took a deep breath and said nothing.

  With a week to go a local opinion poll in the Scotsman showed Boyle leading by thirty-five percent to Andrew’s thirty-two. The Conservatives had nineteen percent but fourteen percent remained undecided. Jock McPherson had kept his word: no Scottish Nationalist candidate had entered the lists.

  On the Friday before the election McPherson went one better by issuing a statement advising his supporters to back Andrew Fraser.

  When Andrew phoned to thank him, he said, “I’m returning a favor.”

  “l don’t remember ever doing you a favor,” said Andrew.

  “You certainly did, remembering you’re an Edinburgh man. One mention to the press of my offer of the leadership of the Scottish Nationalists and I’d have been sunk down the nearest pothole.”

  With five days to go Alliance supporters from the two Edinburgh constituencies which were not fielding an SDP candidate swarmed in to help Andrew, and he began to believe the canvass returns that were now showing he could win. With two days to go the Scotsman proclaimed it was thirty-nine percent to thirty-eight percent in Boyle’s favor, but also went on to point out that the Labour party would have a better-oiled machine to depend on when it came to polling day.

  In his eve-of-poll message Andrew issued a clear statement on why his views differed from those of his opponent in the Labour party, and how he saw the future of Britain if the Alliance gained enough seats to hold the balance of power. He reminded voters that without exception the national opinion polls showed the SDP now running neck and neck with Labour.

  Frank Boyle also put out an eve-of-poll message, delivered to every house in the constituency, showing a picture of Andrew holding Clarissa in his arms under the caption “Does your member tell you the whole truth?” There was no mention of Louise or Clarissa in the text but the innuendo could not have been clearer. Andrew didn’t see the sheet until the morning of polling day by which time he knew there was nothing effective he could do to refute Boyle’s implied slur. Issuing a writ that could not be dealt with until weeks after the election was over could only prove impotent. He either won the day or he lost it.

  To that end, he and Louise never stopped working from seven that morning until ten at night. Helpers arrived from the most unexpected places, as if to prove the Scotsman wrong about the Labour party machine, but Andrew couldn’t help noticing that there were red rosettes everywhere he went.

  Toward the end of the day even Sir Duncan joined him and began chauffeuring SDP voters to the polls in his Rolls Royce.

  “We’ve faced the fact that our candidate has lost so now I’ve come to help you,” he told Andrew bluntly.

  As the city hall clock struck ten Andrew sat down on the steps of the last polling station. He knew there was nothing he could do now. He had done everything possible, only avoiding members of the House of Lords and lunatics—neither of which group was entitled to vote.

  An old lady was coming out of the polling station with a smile on her face.

  “Hello, Mrs. Bloxham,” said Andrew. “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, Andrew.” She smiled. “I nearly forgot to vote and that would never have done.”

  He raised his tired head.

  “Now don’t fret yourself, laddie,” she continued, “I never failed to vote for the winner in fifty-two years and that’s longer than you’ve lived.” She chuckled and left him sitting on the steps.

  Andrew somehow picked himself up and made his way through the dark cobbled streets to his election headquarters. They cheered him as he entered the room, and the chairman offered him a “wee dram of whisky.”

  “To hell with a wee dram,” said Andrew. “Just keep pouring.”

  He tried to get round the room to thank everyone before Hamish Ramsey told him it was time to go over to the city hall for the count. A small band of supporters accompanied the Frasers to the city hall to witness the proceedings. As he entered the hall the first person he saw was Boyle, who had a big smile on his face. Andrew was not discouraged by the smile as he watched the little slips of paper pour out of the boxes. Boyle had yet to learn that the first boxes to be counted were always from the inner wards, where most of the committed Socialists lived.

  As both men walked round the tables, the little piles began to be checked—first in tens, then hundreds, until they were finally placed in thousands and handed over to the Sheriff. As the night drew on Boyle’s smile turned to a grin, from a grin to a poker face, and finally to a look of anxiety as the piles grew closer and closer in size.

  For over three hours the process of emptying the boxes continued and the scrutineers checked each little white slip before handing in their own records. At one twenty-two in the morning the Sheriff added up the list of numbers in front of him and asked the three candidates to join him.

  He told them the result.

  Frank Boyle smiled once again. Andrew showed no emotion, but called for a recount.

  For over an hour, he paced nervously around the room as the scrutineers checked and double-checked each pile: a change here, a mistake there, a lost vote discovered and, on one occasion, the name on the top of a pile of one hundred votes was not the same as the ninety-nine beneath it. At last the scrutineers handed back their figures. Once again the Sheriff added up the columns of numbers and asked the candidates to join him.

  This time Andrew smiled while Boyle looked surprised and demanded another recount. The Sheriff acquiesced, but said it must be the last time. Both candidates agreed in the absence of their Conservative rival, who was sleeping soundly in a corner, secure in the knowledge that no amount of recounting would alter his position in the contest.

  Once again the piles were checked and double-checked and five mistakes were discovered in the 42,588 votes cast. At three-twenty a.m., with counters and checkers falling asleep at their tables, the Sheriff once more asked the two candidates to join him. They were both stunned when they heard the result and the Sheriff informed them that there would be a further recount in the morning after his staff had managed to get some sleep.

  All the voting papers were then plac