Fletcher couldn’t always be certain when Lucy was kidding and when she was serious, but as she had asked to see him in his office and not to mention the meeting to Annie, he had to assume she was in earnest. “What’s the problem?” he asked quietly, looking across the desk at her.
Lucy didn’t meet his stare. She bowed her head and said, “I’m pregnant.”
Fletcher didn’t reply immediately as he tried to take in his daughter’s confession. “Is George the father?” he eventually asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“And are you going to marry him?”
Lucy thought about the question for some time before replying. “No,” she said. “I adore George, but I don’t love him.”
“But you were willing to let him make love to you.”
“That’s not fair,” said Lucy. “It was the Saturday night after the election for president, and I’m afraid we both had a little too much to drink. To be honest, I was sick of being described by everyone in my class as the virgin president. And if I had to lose my virginity, I couldn’t think of anyone nicer than George, especially after he admitted that he was also a virgin. In the end I’m not sure who seduced whom.”
“How does George feel about all this? After all, it’s his child as well as yours and he struck me as rather a serious young man, especially when it came to his feelings for you.”
“He doesn’t know yet.”
“You haven’t told him?” said Fletcher in disbelief.
“No.”
“How about your mother?”
“No,” she repeated. “The only person I’ve shared this with is you.” This time she did look her father in the eye, before adding, “Let’s face it, Dad, Mom was probably still a virgin on the day you married her.”
“And so was I,” said Fletcher, “but you’re going to have to let her know before it becomes obvious to everyone.”
“Not if I were to have an abortion.”
Again, Fletcher remained silent for some time, before saying, “Is that what you really want?”
“Yes, Dad, but please don’t tell Mom, because she wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m not sure I do myself,” said Fletcher.
“Are you pro-women’s choice for everyone except your daughter?” asked Lucy.
“It won’t last,” said Nat, staring at the headline in the Hartford Courant.
“What won’t?” said Su Ling as she poured him another coffee.
“My seven-point lead in the polls. In a few weeks’ time the electorate won’t even remember which one of us was on trial.”
“I guess she’ll still remember,” said Su Ling quietly as she glanced over her husband’s shoulder at a photograph of Rebecca Elliot walking down the courtroom steps, every hair no longer in place. “Why did she ever marry him?” she said almost to herself.
“It wasn’t me who married Rebecca,” said Nat. “Let’s face it, if Elliot hadn’t copied my thesis and prevented me going to Yale, to start with we would never have met,” said Nat, taking his wife’s hand.
“I just wish I’d been able to have more children,” said Su Ling, her voice still subdued. “I miss Luke so much.”
“I know,” said Nat, “but I’ll never regret running up that particular hill, at that particular time, on that particular day.”
“And I’m glad I took the wrong path,” said Su Ling, “because I couldn’t love you any more. But I’d have willingly given up my life if it would have meant saving Luke’s.”
“I suspect that would be true of most parents,” said Nat, looking at his wife, “and you could certainly include your mother, who sacrificed everything for you, and doesn’t deserve to have been treated so cruelly.”
“Don’t worry about my mother,” said Su Ling, snapping out of her maudlin mood. “I went to see her yesterday only to find the shop packed with dirty old men bringing in their even dirtier laundry, secretly hoping that she’s running a massage parlor upstairs.”
Nat burst out laughing. “And to think we kept it secret for all those years. I would certainly never have believed that the day would come when I would be able to laugh about it.”
“She says if you become governor, she’s going to open a string of shops right across the state. Her advertising slogan will be ‘we wash your dirty linen in public.’”
“I always knew that there was some overriding reason I still needed to be governor,” said Nat as he rose from the table.
“And who has the privilege of your company today?” asked Su Ling.
“The good folk of New Canaan,” said Nat.
“So when will you be home?”
“Just after midnight would be my guess.”
“Wake me,” she said.
“Hi, Lucy,” said Jimmy as he strolled into her father’s office. “Is the great man free?”
“Yes, he is,” said Lucy as she rose from her chair.
Jimmy glanced back as she slipped out of the room. Was it his imagination or had she been crying? Fletcher didn’t speak until she’d closed the door. “Good morning, Jimmy,” he said as he pushed the paper to one side, leaving the photograph of Rebecca staring up at him.
“Do you think they’ll arrest her?” asked Jimmy.
Fletcher glanced back down at the photograph of Rebecca. “I don’t think they’ve been left with much choice, but if I were sitting on a jury I would acquit, because I found her story totally credible.”
“Yes, but then you know what Elliot was capable of. A jury doesn’t.”
“But I can hear him saying, If you won’t do it, then I’ll have to kill you, and don’t think I wouldn’t.”
“I wonder if you would have remained at Alexander Dupont and Bell if Elliot hadn’t joined the firm.”
“One of those twists of fate,” said Fletcher, as if his mind were on something else. “So what have you got lined up for me?”
“We’re going to spend the day in Madison.”
“Is Madison worth a whole day?” asked Fletcher, “when it’s such a solid Republican district?”
“Which is precisely why I’m getting it out of the way while there’s still a few weeks to go,” said Jimmy, “though ironically their votes have never influenced the outcome of the election.”
“A vote’s a vote,” said Fletcher.
“Not in this particular case,” said Jimmy, “because while the rest of the state now votes electronically, Madison remains the single exception. They are among the last districts in the country who still prefer to mark their ballots with a pencil.”
“But that doesn’t stop their votes from being valid,” insisted Fletcher.
“True, but in the past those votes have proved irrelevant, because they don’t begin the count until the morning after the election, when the overall result has already been declared. It’s a bit of a farce, but one of those traditions that the good burgers of Madison are unwilling to sacrifice on the altar of modern technology.”
“And you still want me to spend a whole day there?”
“Yes, because if the majority were less than five thousand, suddenly Madison would become the most important town in the state.”
“Do you think it could be that close while Bush still has a record lead in the polls?”
“Still is the operative word, because Clinton’s chipping away at that lead every day, so who knows who’ll end up in the White House, or in the governor’s mansion for that matter?”
Fletcher didn’t comment.
“You seem a little preoccupied this morning,” said Jimmy. “Anything else on your mind that you want to discuss with me?”
“It looks as if Nat’s going to win by a mile,” said Julia from behind the morning paper.
“A British prime minister once said that ‘a week’s a long time in politics,’ and we’ve still got several more of them left before the first vote is cast,” Tom reminded his wife.
“If Nat becomes governor, you’ll miss all the excitement. After all you two have been thr
ough, returning to Fairchild’s may turn out to be something of an anticlimax.”
“The truth is that I lost any interest in banking the day Russell’s was taken over.”
“But you’re about to become chairman of the biggest bank in the state.”
“Not if Nat wins the election, I won’t,” said Tom.
Julia pushed the paper aside. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Nat has asked me to be his chief of staff if he becomes governor.”
“Then who will take over as chairman of the bank?”
“You, of course,” said Tom. “Everyone knows you’d be the best person for the job.”
“But Fairchild’s would never appoint a woman as chairman, they’re far too traditional.”
“We’re living in the last decade of the twentieth century, Julia, and thanks to you, nearly half our customers are women. And as for the board, not to mention the staff, in my absence most of them think you already are the chairman.”
“But if Nat were to lose, he’ll quite rightly expect to return to Fairchild’s as chairman, with you as his deputy, in which case the question becomes somewhat academic.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Tom, “don’t forget that Jimmy Overman, Connecticut’s senior senator, has already announced that he’ll not be running for reelection next year, in which case Nat would be the obvious choice to replace him. Whichever one of them becomes governor, I feel sure the other will be going to Washington as the state’s senator.” He paused, “I suspect it will only be a matter of time before Nat and Fletcher run against each other for president.”
“Do you believe I can do the job?” asked Julia quietly.
“No,” said Tom, “you have to be born in America before you can run for president.”
“I didn’t mean president, you idiot, but chairman of Fairchild’s.”
“I knew that the day we met,” said Tom. “My only fear was that you wouldn’t consider I was good enough to be your husband.”
“Oh, men are so slow on the uptake,” said Julia. “I made up my mind that I was going to marry you the night we met at Su Ling and Nat’s dinner party.” Tom’s mouth opened and then closed.
“How different my life would have been if the other Julia Kirkbridge had come to the same conclusion,” she added.
“Not to mention mine,” said Tom.
50
Fletcher stared down at the cheering crowd and waved enthusiastically back at them. He had made seven speeches in Madison that day—on street corners, in market places, outside a library—but even he had been surprised by his reception at the final meeting in the town hall that night.
COME AND HEAR THE WINNER was printed in bold red and blue letters on a massive banner that stretched from one side of the stage to the other. Fletcher had smiled when the local chairman told him that Paul Holbourn, the independent mayor of Madison, had left the banner in place after Nat had spoken at the town hall earlier that week. Holbourn had been the mayor for fourteen years, and didn’t keep getting reelected because he squandered the taxpayers’ money.
When Fletcher sat down at the end of his speech, he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body, and the standing ovation that followed was not the usual stage-managed affair, where a bunch of well-placed party hacks leap up the moment the candidate has delivered his last line. On this occasion, the public were on their feet at the same time as the hacks. He only wished Annie could have been there to witness it.
When the chairman held up Fletcher’s hand and shouted into the microphone, “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the next governor of Connecticut,” Fletcher believed it for the first time. Clinton was neck and neck with Bush in the national polls and Perot’s independent candidacy was further chipping away at the Republican’s support. It was creating a domino effect for Fletcher. He only hoped that four weeks was enough time to make up the four-point deficit in the polls.
It was another half hour before the hall was cleared, and by then Fletcher had shaken every proffered hand. A satisfied chairman accompanied him back to the parking lot.
“You don’t have a driver?” he said, sounding a little surprised.
“Lucy took the night off to see My Cousin Vinny, Annie’s attending some charity meeting, Jimmy’s chairing a fund-raiser, and as it was less than fifty miles, I felt I could just about manage that by myself,” explained Fletcher as he jumped behind the wheel.
He drove away from the town hall on a high, and began to relax for the first time that day. But he’d only driven a few hundred yards before his thoughts returned to Lucy, as they had done whenever he was alone. He faced a considerable dilemma. Should he should tell Annie that their daughter was pregnant?
Nat was having a private dinner with four local industrialists that night. Between them they were in a position to make a significant contribution to the campaign coffers, so he didn’t hurry them. During the evening they had left him no doubt what they expected from a Republican governor, and although they didn’t always go along with some of Nat’s more liberal ideas, a Democrat wasn’t moving into the governor’s mansion if they had anything to do with it.
It was well past midnight when Ed Chambers of Chambers Foods suggested that perhaps the candidate should be allowed to go home and get a good night’s sleep. Nat couldn’t remember when he’d last had one of those.
This was the usual cue for Tom to stand up, agree with whoever had made the suggestion, and then go off in search of Nat’s coat. Nat would then look as if he were being dragged away, shaking hands with his hosts before telling them that he couldn’t hope to win the election without their support. Flattering though the sentiment might sound, on this occasion it also had the merit of being true.
All four men accompanied Nat back to his car, and as Tom drove down the long winding drive from Ed Chambers’s home, Nat tuned in to the late news. Fletcher’s speech to the citizens of Madison was the fourth item, and the local reporter was highlighting some of the points he’d made about neighborhood watch schemes, an idea Nat had been promoting for months. Nat began to grumble about such blatant plagiarism until Tom reminded him that he’d also stolen some of Fletcher’s innovations on education reform.
Nat switched off the news when the weather forecaster returned to warn them about patchy ice on the roads. Within minutes Nat had fallen asleep, a trick Tom had often wished he could emulate, because the moment Nat woke, he was always backfiring on all cylinders. Tom was also looking forward to a decent night’s sleep. They didn’t have any official function before ten the following morning, when they would attend the first of seven religious services, ending the day with evensong at St. Joseph’s Cathedral.
He knew that Fletcher Davenport would be covering roughly the same circuit in another part of the state. By the end of the campaign, there wouldn’t be a religious gathering where they hadn’t knelt down, taken off their shoes, or covered their heads in order to prove that they were both God-fearing citizens. Even if it wasn’t necessarily their own particular God being revered, they had at least demonstrated willingness to stand, sit and kneel in His presence.
Tom decided not to switch on the one o’clock news, as he could see no purpose in waking Nat only to hear a regurgitation of what they had listened to thirty minutes before.
They both missed the newsflash.
An ambulance was on the scene within minutes, and the first thing the paramedics did was to call in the fire department. The driver was pinned against the steering wheel, they reported, and there was no way of prying open his door without the use of an acetylene torch. They would have to work quickly if they hoped to get the injured man out of the wreck alive.
It wasn’t until the police had checked the license plate on their computer back at headquarters that they realized who it was trapped behind the wheel. As they felt it was unlikely that the senator had been drinking, they assumed he must have fallen asleep. There were no skid marks on the road and no other vehicles involved.
The paramedics radioed ahead to the hospital, and when they learned the identity of the victim the duty physician decided to page Ben Renwick. Remembering his seniority, Renwick didn’t expect to be woken if there was another surgeon available to do the job.
“How many other people in the car?” was Dr. Renwick’s first question.
“Only the senator,” came back the immediate reply.
“What the hell was he doing driving himself at that time of night?” muttered Renwick rhetorically. “What is the extent of his injuries?”
“Several broken bones, including at least three ribs and the left ankle,” said the duty physician, “but I’m more worried about the loss of blood. It took the fire boys nearly an hour to cut him out of the wreck.”
“OK, make sure my team is scrubbed up and ready by the time I arrive. I’ll call Mrs. Davenport.” He hesitated for a moment. “Come to think of it,” he said, “I’ll call both Mrs. Davenports.”
Annie was standing in the biting wind by the hospital emergency entrance when she saw the ambulance speeding toward her. It was the accompanying police squad cars that made her think that it had to be her husband. Although Fletcher was still unconscious, they allowed her to clutch his limp hand as they wheeled him through to the operating room. When Annie first saw the condition Fletcher was in, she didn’t believe anyone could save him.
Why had she attended that charity meeting when she should have been in Madison with her husband? Whenever she was with Fletcher, she always drove him home. Why had she ignored his protestations when he’d insisted that he’d enjoy the drive—it would give him some time to think, and in any case, it was such a short distance, he’d added. He’d only been five miles from home when he’d driven off the road.
Ruth Davenport arrived at the hospital a few moments later, and immediately set about finding out as much as she could. Once she had spoken to the duty administrator, Ruth was able to reassure Annie of one thing. “Fletcher couldn’t be in better hands than Ben Renwick. He’s quite simply the best in the state.” What she didn’t tell her daughter-in-law was that they only got him out of bed when the odds of pulling a patient through were low. Ben Renwick wasn’t a betting man.