Nat took a little time getting used to the new routine, and being reminded by Tom that you can’t bark out instructions to volunteers, and you must always thank them, however little they’ve done and however badly they’ve done it. But even with six speeches and a dozen meetings a day, the learning curve proved steep.
It quickly became clear that Elliot had been out on the stump for several weeks, hoping his early groundwork would give him an unassailable advantage. Nat soon realized that although the first caucus in Ipswich would only yield seventeen electoral votes, its importance was disproportionate to the numbers involved, as in New Hampshire at a presidential election. He visited every one of the caucus voters and never left in any doubt that Elliot had been there before him. Although his rival had already locked up several delegates, there remained a few waverers who were undecided or simply didn’t trust the man.
As the days slipped by, Nat discovered that he was always expected to be in two places at once because the primary in Chelsea was only two days after the caucus in Ipswich. Elliot was now spending most of his time in Chelsea, as he considered he’d already wrapped up the Ipswich caucus.
Nat returned to Ipswich on the night of the caucus vote, to hear the local chairman announce that Elliot had captured ten of the votes while he had secured seven. Elliot’s team, while claiming it as a clear-cut victory, were unable to hide their disappointment. As soon as he’d heard the result, Nat ran to his car and Tom had him back in Chelsea by midnight.
To his surprise, the local papers discounted the result in Ipswich, saying that Chelsea, with an electorate of over eleven thousand, would be much more of an indicator as to how the public felt about the two men rather than reading anything into the views of a handful of party apparatchiks. And Nat certainly felt more relaxed out on the streets, in the shopping malls, at the factory gates, and in the schools and clubs than he had been in smoke-filled rooms listening to people who believed it was their ‘God-given right’ to select the candidate.
After a couple of weeks of pressing the flesh, Nat told Tom that he was very encouraged by how many voters were saying they would support him. But was Elliot receiving the same response, he wondered.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Tom as they drove off to yet another meeting, ‘but I can tell you that we are fast running out of money. If we’re soundly beaten tomorrow, we may have to withdraw from the race, having taken part in one of the shortest campaigns in history. We could of course let the world know that Bush is backing you, because that would be sure to swing a few votes.’
‘No,’ said Nat firmly. ‘That was a private call, not an endorsement.’
‘But Elliot never stops talking about his trip to the White House with his old friend, George, as if it was a dinner for two.’
‘And how do you feel the rest of the Republican delegation feel about that?’
‘That’s far too subtle for the average voter,’ suggested Tom.
‘Never underestimate them,’ said Nat.
Nat couldn’t recall much about the day of the Chelsea primary, except that he never stopped moving. When it was announced just after midnight that Elliot had won by 6,109 votes to 5,302 for Cartwright, Nat’s only question was, ‘Can we afford to go on now that Elliot has gained a twenty-seven to ten lead among the delegates?’
‘The patient is still breathing,’ Tom replied, ‘but only just, so it’s on to Hartford, and if Elliot wins that one as well, we won’t be able to stop his bandwagon rolling all over us. Just be thankful you have a day job to go back to,’ he added with a smile.
Mrs Hunter, who had only picked up two electoral college votes, conceded defeat and said she was withdrawing from the race and would be announcing in the near future which candidate she would be supporting.
Nat enjoyed returning to his home town, where the people in the streets treated him as a friend. Tom knew how much effort had to be put into Hartford, not only because it was their last chance, but as the state capital it carried the most electoral votes, nineteen in all, with the prehistoric rule of winner takes all, so if Nat topped the poll, he would go into the lead, 29:27. If he lost, he could unpack his bags and stay at home.
During the campaign, the candidates were invited to attend several functions together, but whenever they did, they rarely acknowledged each other’s presence, and certainly never stopped for a chat.
With three days to go to the primary, a poll in the Hartford Courant put Nat two points ahead of his rival, and they reported that Mrs Barbara Hunter was throwing her support behind Cartwright. This was exactly the boost Nat’s campaign needed. The following morning, he noticed that far more workers were not with him on the street, and many more passers-by came up to shake him by the hand.
He was in Robinson’s Mall when the message came through from Murray Goldblatz, ‘I need to see you urgently.’ Murray was not a man to use the word urgent unless that was exactly what he meant. Nat left his team to go on canvassing, assuring them that he would return shortly. They didn’t see him again that day.
When Nat arrived at the bank, the receptionist told him that the chairman was in the boardroom with Mr and Mrs Russell. Nat walked in and took his usual place opposite Murray, but the expressions on the faces of his three colleagues didn’t harbour glad tidings. Murray came quickly to the point. ‘I understand that you have a town meeting tonight which both you and Elliot will be addressing?’
‘Yes,’ said Nat, ‘it’s the last major event before the vote tomorrow.’
‘I have a spy in the Elliot camp,’ said Murray, ‘and she tells me that they have a question planned for tonight that will derail your campaign, but she can’t find out what it is, and daren’t be too inquisitive, in case they become suspicious. Do you have any idea what it might be?’
‘No I don’t,’ said Nat.
‘Perhaps he’s found out about Julia,’ said Tom quietly.
‘Julia?’ said Murray sounding puzzled.
‘No, not my wife,’ said Tom. ‘The first Mrs Kirkbridge.’
‘I had no idea there was a first Mrs Kirkbridge,’ said Murray.
‘No reason you should,’ said Tom. ‘But I’ve always dreaded the thought that the truth might come out.’ Murray listened attentively as Tom recalled how he’d met the woman who passed herself off as Julia Kirkbridge, and how she had signed the bank’s cheque and then removed all the money from her account.
‘Where is that cheque now?’ asked Murray.
‘Somewhere in the bowels of City Hall, would be my guess.’
‘Then we must assume that Elliot’s got his hands on it, but were you technically breaking the law?’
‘No, but we didn’t keep to our written agreement with the council,’ said Tom.
‘And the Cedar Wood project went on to be a huge success, making everyone involved a handsome return,’ added Nat.
‘So,’ said Murray, ‘we are left with a choice. You either make a clean breast of it and prepare a statement this afternoon, or wait until the bomb drops tonight and hope you have an answer to every question that’s thrown at you.’
‘What do you recommend?’ said Nat.
‘I would do nothing. First, my informant could be wrong, and second, the Cedar Wood project may not be the curved ball, in which case you will have opened that can of worms unnecessarily.’
‘But what else could it be?’ asked Nat.
‘Rebecca?’ said Tom.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Nat.
‘That you made her pregnant and forced her to have an abortion.’