Heads You Win

by Jeffrey Archer

  As she sat in the back of the taxi, Elena thought about the countess, whom she hadn’t seen recently. Her unsocial hours at the restaurant meant that she had little time for a private life, so the invitation to tea was a pleasant break from her normal routine. And she was looking forward to seeing the new apartment.

  When the taxi drew up outside number 43 Lowndes Square, Elena gave the cabbie a handsome tip. She had never forgotten Mr. Agnelli telling her, you can hardly expect to be tipped yourself, if you’re not generous to those who give you service.

  She checked the four names printed neatly beside the doorbells, before pressing the button for the top floor.

  “Please come up,” said a voice that was obviously expecting her.

  A buzzer sounded, and Elena pushed open the door and made her way to the lift. When she stepped out on the fourth floor, she saw a maid standing by an open door.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Karpenko. Let me take you through to the countess.”

  Elena tried not to stare at the photographs of the tsar and tsarina on holiday with the countess’s family on the Black Sea, as she was taken through to a drawing room full of the most beautiful antique furniture. A marble bust of Tsar Nicholas II rested on the center of the mantelpiece.

  “How kind of you to take the time in your busy life to visit me,” said the countess, waving her guest to a large comfortable chair opposite her. “There’s so much we have to talk about. But first, some tea.”

  Elena was pleased to find the countess was now living in luxury, compared with the cramped basement flat in Pimlico.

  “And how is Sasha?” was the countess’s first question.

  “When he’s not working in the restaurant, he’s studying accountancy and business management at the LSE, which can only benefit our burgeoning business.”

  “Not burgeoning for much longer, I’m told. When I last saw Sasha, he mentioned rumors that—”

  “But only rumors, countess,” said Elena, “although Gino’s sure he spotted two of the judges having lunch at the restaurant quite recently. But we’ve heard nothing definite.”

  “I’ll keep my fingers crossed,” said the countess as the maid returned bearing a large silver tray laden with tea, biscuits, and a chocolate cake, which she placed in the center of the table.

  “Milk, no sugar, if I remember correctly,” said the countess as she began to pour.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sasha also tells me he’s considering standing for the local council. I hear a vacancy has arisen recently.”

  “Yes, he’s been shortlisted for the seat, but he’s not confident they’ll select him.”

  “Be assured, Elena, Fulham Council will be nothing more than a stepping stone on his inevitable path to the House of Commons.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Oh yes. Sasha has all the qualities and failings necessary to make an excellent Member of Parliament. He’s bright, resourceful, cunning, and not averse to taking the occasional risk if he believes the cause is worth it.”

  “But don’t forget he’s an immigrant,” said Elena.

  “Which may even be an advantage in the modern Labour Party.”

  “Don’t let him know,” said Elena, “but I’ve always voted Conservative.”

  “Me too,” admitted the countess. “But in my case I don’t think it would come as much of a surprise. Enough of Sasha, how is Charlie getting on at the Courtauld?”

  “She’s almost completed her thesis on ‘Krøyer: The Unknown Master.’ So it won’t be too long until she’s Dr. Karpenko.”

  “And are there any signs of—”

  “Unfortunately not. It appears that the modern generation think it’s important to establish a career before you have children. In my day…”

  “I do believe, Elena, you are more old-fashioned than I am.”

  “Sasha certainly thinks so.”

  “My dear, I can assure you, he admires you above all women,” said the countess, offering her guest a slice of Black Forest gateau. She paused and took a sip of tea, before saying, “Now, I must confess, Elena, that I had an ulterior motive for asking to see you.”

  Elena put down her fork and listened carefully.

  “The truth is, I have a secret I want to share with you.” She paused for effect. “Thanks to Mr. Dangerfield’s diligence and expertise, and your son’s ingenuity, I received far more for my egg than I had originally thought possible.”

  “I had no idea Sasha was involved,” said Elena.

  “Oh yes, he played a crucial role, for which I will be eternally grateful. Not only did the sale allow me to purchase a short lease on this charming flat, but also to buy several fine pieces of furniture from a certain antique dealer from Guildford.” Elena smiled. “However, I still have the problem of how to invest the rest of the money, because there is a considerable amount left over. My father used to say, always invest in people you can trust, and you won’t go far wrong. So I’ve decided to invest in you.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” said Elena.

  “For the past month, I’ve been negotiating the purchase of a freehold property in the Fulham Road.”

  Elena’s hand was shaking so much she spilled her tea. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “It’s of no importance,” said the countess, “compared to finding out if you would feel comfortable with the idea of running two restaurants at the same time.”

  “I’d have to talk to Sasha before I can make a decision.”

  “No, I’m afraid you can’t,” said the countess firmly. “In fact, you must never mention our conversation to Sasha, for reasons I will explain. The seller I’ve had to deal with is a Mr. Maurice Tremlett, so you can’t say anything to Sasha as I got the strong impression that he and your son are not on good terms. He is clearly envious of the success you’ve made of Elena’s.”

  “It goes back a lot further than that,” said Elena, “to the days when they were at school together, and Sasha was the First Eleven goalkeeper.”

  “No doubt Tremlett was relegated to the Second Eleven, which doesn’t surprise me, as that’s exactly what I intend to do with him, once the contract has been signed. During our negotiations Tremlett asked me twice, if not three times, if I was a front for Mr. Karpenko, and I was able to truthfully say no. So please don’t say anything to Sasha until I’ve put down the deposit. If Tremlett were to find out what I was up to, I’ve no doubt the deal would be off. Now, I have to ask again, Elena, do you think you can run two establishments at the same time?”

  “I’ve run that restaurant once already, so it shouldn’t be difficult to get it back up to scratch, especially as I’m already employing the only good kitchen staff and waiters they ever had.”

  “And you’re confident you could do that while running Elena’s at the same time?”

  “It will just be a hundred and thirty covers instead of seventy. Of course I may have to build a bridge or dig a tunnel under the Fulham Road between Elena One and Elena Two.”

  “Then that’s settled,” said the countess.

  “Can I ask what you’ll expect in return for your investment?”

  “I would become a fifty-fifty partner in the new restaurant, and be allowed to dine at either establishment whenever I wish, at no charge. There are several Russian émigrés in London who appreciate fine cooking, Elena, but no longer experience it as regularly as they used to. However, you have my word that I will only bring them along one at a time.”

  “In that case you must have your own table at both restaurants,” said Elena, “which no one else will be allowed to book. So when can I tell Sasha?”

  “Not until the contract has been signed and the ink is dry, because I must tell you, Elena, if Mr. Maurice Tremlett had been born in the Soviet Union, he would undoubtedly be working for the KGB.”

  Elena shuddered, but couldn’t disagree. “Thank you for tea,” she said, “and, more important, thank you for your confidence in me. Now I must get back to the
restaurant, as I like to be in the kitchen a full hour before the first customer arrives.”

  “What a good investment I’m about to make,” said the countess. “And I have one more request of you before you leave.”

  “Anything, countess.”

  “That in future, you’ll call me Natasha.” Elena looked uncertain. “If you don’t, I’ll make it a condition of the contract.”

  27

  SASHA

  London

  “Do we know anything about them?” asked Elena. “The name Rycroft doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  “Only that the lady who called, a Mrs. Audrey Campion, told me there would be three of them traveling up from Surrey to discuss a private matter.”

  “Then it’s probably a special birthday or anniversary party of some kind that they wish to celebrate. What time are you expecting them?”

  “In about ten minutes,” said Sasha, glancing at his watch. “Do you want to join us for the meeting, Mama?”

  “No, thank you,” said Elena. “You’re so much better at these things than I am. Just be sure to check both diaries.”

  “I already have,” said Sasha. “Elena One is fully booked for March the thirteenth.”

  “And Elena Two?”

  “If it’s for twenty or less, we could just about manage it.”

  “It seems as if you have everything covered, so I’ll get back to work. I need to discuss today’s specials with the sous-chef.”

  Sasha smiled, well aware that his mother would do almost anything to avoid having to deal directly with customers, but was transformed the moment she entered the kitchen. How different she was from him. He avoided the kitchen at all costs, so the division of labor suited them both ideally.

  Sasha was considering which menu options he should offer when the front door bell rang.

  He sat down at the popular alcove table at the back of the room as Gino opened the door to let the three of them in. As he accompanied them over to the table, Sasha tried, as he always did, to assess his potential customers.

  From their ages, they could have been father, mother, and son, but not from their pedigrees. He rose to greet them, taking a closer look at the younger man, whom he could have sworn he’d seen somewhere before.

  “Good morning, I’m Sasha Karpenko.”

  “Alf Rycroft,” the older man replied, shaking him firmly by the hand.

  “And I’m Mrs. Campion,” said the woman. “You’ll remember I called you,” she added, sounding as if she was used to getting her own way.

  “Indeed I do.”

  “Hi,” said the younger man, “I’m—”

  And then Sasha remembered. “Nice to see you again, Michael. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you. And touched that you remember me. But then, I told Alf and Audrey on the journey up to London how you demolished the entire Oxford chess team single-handed, so perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised that you could recall my name.”

  “So what are you up to now?” asked Sasha. “Didn’t you read Jurisprudence?”

  A waiter appeared, and once they’d ordered coffee, Michael answered Sasha’s question.

  “I’m a solicitor in Merrifield. But that isn’t the reason we wanted to see you.”

  “Of course not. So let me start by asking what sort of party you had in mind.”

  “The Labour Party,” said Alf.

  Sasha looked puzzled.

  “Allow me to explain,” said Audrey Campion, in the same no-nonsense voice. “As I’m sure you know, until recently the Member of Parliament for Merrifield was Sir Max Hunter.”

  “Fiona’s father,” said Sasha. “How could I possibly forget? I saw that he died of a heart attack while out fox hunting.”

  “That’s correct. But what you won’t know is that last night the local Conservative Association selected his daughter to fight the by-election.”

  Sasha remained silent for some time before muttering, “So Fiona will be the first of my contemporaries to sit on the green benches.”

  “You can hardly be surprised by that,” said Michael, “because we all assumed it would be either you or her who would be the first to climb the greasy pole.”

  “But I still don’t understand why you’ve come all this way to tell me something I can read about in tomorrow’s papers.”

  “I’m the association chairman of the Merrifield Labour Party,” said Alf Rycroft. “And Audrey is the party agent.”

  “Unpaid, I might add,” she said firmly.

  “And my committee,” continued Alf, “couldn’t think of anyone better qualified to take on Miss Hunter.”

  “But surely it would be wiser to select someone with more experience, who has at least some knowledge of the constituency.”

  “We don’t have the time to go through the normal selection procedure,” said Alf. “We assumed the Conservatives would at least have the decency to wait until Sir Max was buried before they announced the date of the by-election, but they took advantage of the fact that we don’t have a candidate in place.”

  “How typical of Fiona,” said Sasha as the waiter returned with their coffee, which allowed him a moment to gather his thoughts. “I’m flattered,” he said once the waiter had left, “but my problem is I simply don’t have the time…”

  “The by-election will be held three weeks from today, on Thursday, March the thirteenth,” said Alf. “And as Sir Max had a majority of twelve thousand two hundred and fourteen, you have absolutely no chance of winning.”

  “Then why should I waste my time?”

  “Because,” said Mrs. Campion, “if you were to reduce the majority in a Tory stronghold, it would look good on your CV when you eventually apply for a seat that you might actually win.”

  “But you’re a local man, Michael, why don’t you stand?”

  “Because Fiona Hunter always terrified the life out of me, but if she discovered that you’re the Labour candidate, she’ll be the one who’s on the back foot for a change. Besides which, you know more about her than any of us.”

  “I’ll need a little time to think about it,” said Sasha. “How long have I got?”

  “Ten minutes,” said Alf.

  * * *

  “The motion before the association is that Sasha Konstantinovitch Karpenko be selected as the Labour Party candidate for the constituency of Merrifield. Those in favor?” said the chairman, looking around the assembled gathering. Twenty-three hands shot up. “Those against?” Not a single hand was raised. “Then I declare the motion carried unanimously,” Alf Rycroft announced to as loud an ovation as twenty-three people could manage.

  By the time Sasha boarded the last train back to London, he knew all twenty-three of their names, and not one of them thought he had a chance of winning.

  “Another woman?” said Charlie as he crept into the bedroom just after midnight, determined not to wake her.

  “Just over twenty-eight thousand of them,” said Sasha, as he placed his head on the pillow and explained why he’d traveled down to Merrifield that morning and returned in the evening as the Labour candidate for a by-election. “So you won’t be seeing much of me during the next three weeks.”

  “Congratulations, darling,” said Charlie. She switched on the bedside light, and threw her arms around him. “What do you know about your opponent?”

  “Everything.”

  “How come?”

  “It’s Fiona Hunter.”

  Charlie caught her breath and sat bolt upright before saying, “You have to beat her this time.”

  “Not possible, I’m afraid. They don’t count the Conservative votes in Merrifield, they weigh them.”

  “Not this time, they won’t,” said Charlie, “because I’ll be on that train with you tomorrow morning, so she’ll have to beat both of us.”

  “But you’ve got your thesis to finish.”

  “I handed it in last week.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  “I wanted to wait until I hear
d the result.” She leaned across and kissed her husband. “Sleep well, my darling,” she said, before placing her head back on the pillow. “You must be exhausted.”

  But Sasha couldn’t sleep, as his mind was racing with all that had happened in such a short space of time. He’d thought he was preparing for a party booking, and had ended up being booked by a party.

  * * *

  Sasha and Charlie caught the 6:52 from Victoria to Merrifield the following morning, and arrived at the local Labour Party headquarters just before 8 a.m.

  The chairman was sitting outside in his Ford Allegro waiting for them.

  “Jump in,” he said, once Sasha had introduced his wife. “Nice to meet you, Charlie, but we’ve no time to waste.” He put the car into first gear, set off at a leisurely speed, and gave a running commentary as they drove down the high street and out into the countryside.

  “There are twenty-six villages in the Merrifield constituency. They’re the people who give the Tories their majority, and Fiona Hunter has a branch office in every one of them.”

  “How about us?” asked Charlie.

  “We have one branch office,” said Alf, “and the chap who runs it is seventy-nine. But the town of Roxton, with its population of sixteen thousand and a paper mill, guarantees that we never lose our deposit.”

  “Any good news?” asked Sasha.

  “Not a lot,” admitted Alf. “Although Sir Max wasn’t universally popular in the constituency, he built a reputation for having the ear of the minister, and being able to get things done. He had a gift for finding out what was about to happen, and then taking the credit for it. Classic example, the building of a new hospital, which was part of the last Labour government’s long-term infrastructure program, but just happened to be completed during a Conservative administration. By the time the health minister opened the hospital, you’d have thought it was Sir Max’s idea in the first place, and he’d personally laid the first brick.”

  “A gift his daughter has inherited,” said Charlie, with some feeling. “So how’s she going down?”

  “They like her,” admitted Alf, “but then they’ve known her since the days when she was wheeled around the constituency in a pram. Rumor has it that her first words were ‘Vote Hunter!,’ and it wouldn’t surprise me if Sir Max had left her the constituency in his will. It doesn’t help our cause that the same name will appear on the ballot paper.”