‘At last a real piece of news,’ said Tom, ‘but I can’t work out who it helps, because the turnout in Connecticut was fifty-one per cent, a couple of points above the national average.’ Nat nodded, turning his attention back to the screen. The words ‘too close to call’ were still being relayed from every corner of the state.
When Nat heard the name Bristol, he pushed aside his steak. ‘And now we go over to our eyewitness correspondent for the latest update,’ said the newsreader.
‘Dan, we’re expecting a result here at any moment, and it should be the first real sign of just how close this gubernatorial race really is. If the Democrats win by... hold on, the result is coming over on my earpiece... the Democrats have taken Bristol.’ Lucy leapt out of her chair, but Fletcher didn’t move as he waited for the details to be flashed across the bottom of the screen. ‘Fletcher Davenport 8,604 votes, Nat Cartwright 8,379,’ said the reporter.
‘Three per cent. Who’s due up next?’
‘Probably Waterbury,’ said Tom, ‘where we should do well because...’
‘And Waterbury has gone to the Republicans, by just over five thousand votes, putting Nat Cartwright into the lead.’
Both candidates spent the rest of the evening leaping up, sitting down and then leaping back up again as the lead changed hands sixteen times during the next two hours, by which time even the commentators had run out of hyperboles. But somewhere in between the results flooding in, the local anchor man found time to announce that President Bush had phoned Governor Clinton in Arkansas to concede. He had offered his congratulations and best wishes to the president-elect. Does this herald a new Kennedy era? the politicos were asking... ‘But now back to the race for governor of Connecticut, and here’s one for the statistics buffs, the position at the moment is that the Democrats lead the Republicans by 1,170,141 to 1,168,872, an overall lead for Senator Davenport of 1,269. As that is less than one per cent, an automatic recount would have to take place. And if that isn’t enough,’ continued the commentator, ‘we face an added complication because the district of Madison maintains its age-old tradition of not counting its votes until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’
Paul Holbourn, the mayor of Madison, was next up on the screen. The septuagenarian politician invited everyone to visit this picturesque seaside town, which would decide who would be the next governor of the state.
‘How do you read it?’ asked Nat, as Tom continued to enter numbers into his calculator. ‘Fletcher leads at the moment by 1,269 and at the last election, the Republicans took Madison by 1,312.’
‘Then we must be favourites?’ ventured Nat.
‘I wish it was that easy,’ said Tom, ‘because there’s a further complication we have to consider.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘The present governor of the state was born and raised in Madison, so there could be a considerable personal vote somewhere in there.’
‘I should have gone to Madison one more time,’ said Nat.
‘You visited the place twice, which was once more than Fletcher managed.’
‘I ought to call him,’ said Nat, ‘and make it clear that I’m not conceding.’
Tom nodded his agreement as Nat walked over to the phone. He didn’t have to look up the senator’s private number because he had dialled it every evening during the trial.
‘Hi,’ said a voice, ‘this is the governor’s residence.’
‘Not yet it isn’t,’ said Nat firmly.
‘Hello, Mr Cartwright,’ said Lucy, ‘were you hoping to speak to the governor?’
‘No, I wanted to speak to your father.’
‘Why, are you conceding?’
‘No, I’ll leave him to do that in person tomorrow, when, if you behave yourself, I’ll be offering you a job.’
Fletcher grabbed the telephone, ‘I’m sorry about that, Nat,’ he said, ‘I presume you’re calling to say all bets are off until tomorrow when we meet at high noon?’
‘Yes, and now you mention it, I’m planning to play Gary Cooper,’ said Nat.
‘Then I’ll see you on Main Street, sheriff.’
‘Just be thankful it’s not Ralph Elliot you’re up against.’
‘Why?’ asked Fletcher.
‘Because right now he would be in Madison filling up ballot boxes with extra votes.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference,’ said Fletcher.
‘Why not?’ asked Nat.
‘Because if Elliot had been my opponent, I would have already won by a landslide.’
Book seven
Numbers
54
It took Nat about an hour to drive to Madison, and when he reached the outskirts of the town, he could have been forgiven for thinking the little borough had been chosen as the venue for the seventh game in the world series.
The highway was filled with cars festooned with emblems of red, white and blue, with donkeys and elephants staring blankly out of numerous back windows. When he took the turn-off for Madison, population 12,372, half the vehicles left the motorway like steel filings drawn towards a magnet.
‘If you take away those who are too young to vote, I presume the turnout should be around five thousand,’ said Nat.
‘Not necessarily. I suspect it will prove to be a little higher than that,’ Tom replied. ‘Don’t forget Madison is where retired people come to visit their parents, so you won’t find it full of youth clubs and discos.’
‘Then that should benefit us,’ said Nat.
‘I’ve given up predicting,’ said Tom with a sigh.
No signpost was needed to guide them to the town hall, as everyone seemed to be heading in the same direction, confident that the person in front of them knew exactly where they were going. By the time Nat’s little motorcade arrived in the centre of the town, they were being overtaken by mothers pushing strollers. When they turned into Main Street, they were continually held up by pedestrians spilling on to the road. When Nat’s car was overtaken by a man in a wheelchair, he decided the time had come to get out and walk. This slowed his progress down even more, because the moment he was recognized, people rushed up to shake him by the hand, and several asked if he would mind posing for a photograph with his wife.
‘I’m glad to see that your re-election campaign has already begun,’ teased Tom.
‘Let’s get elected first,’ said Nat as they reached the town hall. He climbed the steps, continuing to shake hands with all the well wishers as if it were the day before the election, rather than the day after. He couldn’t help wondering if that would change when he came back down the steps and the same people knew the result. Tom spotted the mayor standing on the top step, looking out for him.
‘Paul Holbourn,’ whispered Tom. ‘He’s served three terms and at the age of seventy-seven has just won his fourth election unopposed.’
‘Good to see you again, Nat,’ said the mayor, as if they were old friends, though in fact they had only met on one previous occasion.
‘And it’s good to see you too, sir,’ said Nat, clutching the mayor’s out stretched hand. ‘Congratulations on your re-election — unopposed, I’m told.’
‘Thank you,’ said the mayor. ‘Fletcher arrived a few minutes ago, and is waiting in my office, so perhaps we ought to go and join him.’ As they walked into the building, Holbourn said, ‘I just wanted to spend a few moments taking you both through the way we do things in Madison.’
‘That’s fine by me,’ said Nat, knowing that it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference if it wasn’t.