When Alf, Sasha and Charlie entered the main room, they were greeted by rows and rows of long tables, where volunteers were placing ballot papers into separate piles, while others were counting them, first in tens then in hundreds and finally thousands.
They spent the next couple of hours walking around the room, discreetly checking the piles. Alf told Sasha more than once that he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. When the town clerk, as returning officer, announced the result just after 3 a.m., a gasp went up from the Conservative ranks, while the Labour Party workers began applauding and slapping Sasha on the back.
Alf wrote down the figures on the back of a cigarette packet and stared at them in disbelief.
Roger Gilchrist (Lib) 2,709
Fiona Hunter (Con) 14,146
Screaming Lord Sutch (Ind) 728
Sasha Karpenko (Lab) 11,365
Janet Brealey (Ind) 37
‘I therefore declare that Fiona Hunter has been duly elected as the Member of Parliament for the constituency of Merrifield,’ announced the town clerk.
Fiona stepped up to the microphone to make her acceptance speech. She began by thanking her party workers and went on to say how much she was looking forward to representing the citizens of Merrifield in the House of Commons, but never once mentioned the names of her opponents. When she stepped aside to allow Sasha to take her place, she received less than enthusiastic applause.
Sasha followed and accepted defeat graciously, congratulating his opponent on her well-run campaign, and wishing her success as Member of Parliament. Once all five candidates had delivered their speeches, Sasha left the stage to rejoin his team, who were celebrating as if they’d won by a landslide.
‘You’ve cut their majority from 12,214 to less than 3,000,’ said Alf. ‘That will look very good on your CV, and God help whoever follows you as our candidate at the general election.’
‘Won’t you want me to stand again?’ asked Sasha.
‘No, we won’t expect you to do that,’ said Alf. ‘Not least because I have a feeling you’ll be offered several winnable seats before then, possibly even a safe Labour one.’
‘I’ve loved every moment of these last three weeks,’ said Sasha.
‘Well, you don’t have to be bonkers to be the Labour candidate in a seat like Merrifield,’ said Alf, ‘but it certainly helps. My final responsibility as chairman is to make sure you catch the last train back to Victoria.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s the first train to Victoria,’ said Charlie.
As they walked onto the platform for the last time, Alf kissed Charlie on both cheeks, then shook hands warmly with Sasha.
‘You were a fine candidate, sir,’ he said. ‘I hope I live long enough to see you take your seat at the Cabinet table.’
The four of them met once a quarter. It wasn’t formal enough to be described as a board meeting, or casual enough to be thought of as a family get-together. The meeting always took place around a table in the alcove of Elena One at four o’clock on a Monday afternoon. Late enough for all the lunch guests to have departed, and early enough to be finished before the first dinner booking arrived.
Sasha always chaired the meeting, while Charlie acted as secretary, preparing the agenda and taking the minutes. Elena, as head chef, and the countess as a fifty per cent shareholder, made up the quartet.
As they all saw each other regularly, it was rare for anything on the agenda to take them by surprise. A barman had stolen one bottle of whisky too many and finally had to be sacked. Elena reluctantly had to change her baker when too many customers rejected the contents of the bread baskets. She had once told Catering Monthly that you can produce an award-winning meal only for it to be ruined by a stale bread roll or a lukewarm cup of coffee.
Any other business, the last item on the agenda, usually consisted of agreeing on a date for the next meeting. But not today.
‘I picked up a piece of information yesterday,’ said Sasha, ‘that I thought I ought to share with you.’ The other three became unusually attentive. ‘Luini’s are about to announce that they’ll be closing their doors after forty-seven years. It seems young Tony Luini isn’t a chip off the old block, and since his father’s death, they’ve been steadily losing customers. So the family are putting the restaurant up for sale. Tony approached me and asked if we might be interested.’
‘What exactly is he selling?’ asked Elena. ‘Because there’ll be little or no goodwill.’
‘A fourteen-year lease with an option to renew.’
‘Rent and rates?’ asked Charlie.
‘The rent is £32,000 per year, payable to the Grosvenor Estate, and the rates are around £20,000.’
‘How far away is it from Elena One and Two?’ asked the countess, ever practical.
‘Just over a mile,’ said Sasha. ‘About ten minutes in a taxi.’
‘If it’s not raining,’ said Charlie.
‘My father,’ said the countess, ‘used to say never spread your assets too thin. And as we only have one irreplaceable asset, I think Elena’s opinion is the one that matters. Especially if you were thinking of naming the restaurant Elena Three.’
‘Agreed,’ said Charlie. ‘And there’s another factor we should take into consideration. If Sasha were to become an MP at the next election, he’ll find it hard to keep an eye on two restaurants, let alone three.’
‘Especially if I were selected for a northern seat,’ said Sasha. ‘I’d have to spend half my life in a train or car. I’ve just been invited to attend an interview for Wandsworth Central, but it’s such a safe Labour seat I’ll be lucky to get shortlisted.’
‘May I suggest,’ said the countess, ‘that we all have lunch at Luini’s during the week, and then Elena can let us know if the idea is worth pursuing. Because without her particular brand of magic, we would be wasting our time.’
‘Agreed,’ said Sasha. ‘And on that note, I declare the meeting closed.’
The two of them walked down the town hall steps, holding hands.
‘Just smile,’ said Sasha. ‘Don’t say anything until we’re in the car.’
He opened the car door and waited for Charlie to get in.
‘You haven’t done that for a while,’ teased Charlie, as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Sasha waved to Bill Samuel, the local party chairman, before he put the car into first gear. He didn’t speak until he’d eased away from the pavement and joined the early evening traffic.
‘Well, how do you think it went?’ he asked as they headed towards the river.
‘You couldn’t have done much better,’ said Charlie. ‘I’m confident you’ll be their candidate by this time next week.’
‘A week’s a long time in politics, as Harold Wilson once reminded us,’ said Sasha. ‘So I’m not going to take anything for granted.’
‘They all but selected you tonight,’ said Charlie.
‘How can you possibly know that?’
‘The chairman’s wife, Jackie, told me you got 149 votes, and the other two shortlisted candidates got 151 between them. If you’d only got two more votes, she said they would have selected you this evening. So by this time next week!’
‘One of the safest seats in the country,’ said Sasha. ‘Less than twenty minutes from the House of Commons and only fifteen from our home in Fulham. What more could a man ask for?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ said Charlie.
Sasha slammed on the brakes. There was a cacophony of angry horns coming from behind him, but he ignored them, as he took Charlie in his arms and said, ‘That’s wonderful news, darling. But we must make sure the committee know before they meet next week. Perhaps you should give your new friend Jackie Samuel a call.’