Sons of Fortune

by Jeffrey Archer

  “But they might not come.”

  “I’ve checked the guest list, and they’ve accepted.”

  Fletcher suddenly remembered the trade-off he’d agreed on with the senator. “How far have you got with your homework?”

  “Haven’t even started,” admitted Jimmy.

  “Jimmy, if you don’t get a pass grade next term, Mr. Haskins will put you on probation and then I won’t be able to help.”

  “I know, but I’m also aware of the deal you struck with my father.”

  “Then if I’m to keep it, we’ll have to start work first thing tomorrow. We’ll begin by doing two hours every morning.”

  “Yes sir,” said Jimmy, snapping to attention. “But before we worry about tomorrow, perhaps you should get changed,” said Jimmy.

  Fletcher had packed half a dozen shirts and a couple pairs of slacks, but still hadn’t a clue what to wear on his first date. He was about to seek his friend’s advice, when Jimmy said, “Once you’ve unpacked why don’t you come down and join us in the living room? The bathroom’s at the end of the hall.”

  Fletcher changed quickly into the shirt and slacks he’d bought the previous day at a local tailor his father had recommended. He checked himself in the long mirror. He had no idea how he looked, because he’d never taken any interest in clothes before. Act casual, look sharp, he’d heard a disc jockey telling his radio audience, but what did that mean? He’d worry about it later. As Fletcher walked downstairs, he could hear voices coming from the front room, one of which he didn’t recognize.

  “Mom, you remember Fletcher,” Jimmy said as his friend strolled into the room.

  “Yes, of course I do. My husband never stops telling everyone about the fascinating conversation the two of you had at the Taft game.”

  “That’s kind of him to remember,” said Fletcher, not looking at her.

  “And I know he’s looking forward to seeing you again.”

  “That’s kind of him,” said Fletcher a second time.

  “And this is my kid sister, Annie,” said Jimmy.

  Annie blushed, and not only because she hated being described by Jimmy as his kid sister: his friend hadn’t taken his eyes off her from the moment he’d walked into the room.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Coulter, how nice to meet you and your husband, and this must be your daughter Diane, if I remember correctly.” Mr. and Mrs. Coulter were impressed because they had never met the senator before, and not only had their son scored the winning touchdown against Hotchkiss, but they were registered Republicans. “Now, Diane,” continued the senator, “I have someone I want you to meet.” Harry Gates’s eyes swept the room searching for Fletcher, who had been standing by his side only a moment before. “Strange,” he said, “but you mustn’t leave without meeting him. Otherwise I won’t have kept my end of the bargain,” he added without explanation.

  “Where’s Fletcher disappeared off to?” Harry Gates asked his son once the Coulters had joined the other guests.

  “If you can spot Annie, you won’t find Fletcher behind; he hasn’t left her side since he arrived in Hartford. In fact I’m thinking of buying him a dog leash and calling him Fletch.”

  “Is that right?” said the senator. “I hope he doesn’t think that releases him from our deal.”

  “No, he doesn’t,” said Jimmy. “In fact we studied Romeo and Juliet for two hours this morning, and guess who he sees himself as.”

  The senator smiled. “And which part do you imagine fits your character?” he asked.

  “I think I’m Mercutio.”

  “No,” said Harry Gates, “you can only be Mercutio if he starts to chase Diane.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Ask Fletcher. He’ll explain it to you.” Jimmy left his father to walk across and join his friend.

  “I don’t know what you see in her,” said Jimmy.

  “She’s got everything you haven’t,” said Fletcher smiling. “She’s bright, pretty, fun to be with and…”

  “Are you sure we’re talking about my sister?”

  “Yes, which is why you’re the one who has to wear glasses.”

  “By the way, Diane Coulter has just turned up with her parents. Dad wants to know if you’re still hoping to meet her.”

  “Not particularly, she’s gone from A to Z, so she’s now a natural for you.”

  “No thanks,” said Jimmy, “I don’t need your cast-offs. By the way, I told Dad about Romeo and Juliet, and said I saw myself as Mercutio.”

  “Only if I start to date Dan Coulter’s sister, but I’m no longer interested in the daughter of that house.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “I’ll explain tomorrow morning,” said Fletcher, as Jimmy’s sister reappeared carrying two Dr. Peppers. Annie scowled at her brother, and he quickly disappeared.

  For some time, neither of them spoke, until Annie said, “Would you like me to show you the Senate Chamber?”

  “Sure, that would be great,” said Fletcher. She turned and began walking toward the door, with Fletcher following a pace behind.

  “Do you see what I see?” said Harry Gates, turning to his wife as Fletcher and his daughter disappeared out of the room.

  “I certainly do,” replied Martha Gates, “but I shouldn’t get too worried about it, as I doubt if either of them is capable of seducing the other.”

  “It didn’t stop me trying at that age, as I feel sure you remember.”

  “Typical politician. That’s another story you’ve embellished over the years. Because if I remember correctly, it was me who seduced you.”

  “This is the Senate Chamber,” said Annie as they looked down from the gallery onto a semicircle of blue leather chairs.

  “It’s very impressive,” said Fletcher.

  “Daddy says you’ll end up here one day, or perhaps go even further.” Fletcher didn’t reply, because he had no idea what exams you had to pass to become a politician. “I heard him tell my mother he’d never met a more brilliant boy.”

  “Well, you know what they say about politicians,” said Fletcher.

  “Yes, I do, but I can always tell when Daddy doesn’t mean it because he smiles at the same time, and this time he didn’t smile.”

  “Where does your father sit?” asked Fletcher trying to change the subject.

  “As the majority leader, he sits third along from the left in the front row,” she said pointing down, “but I’d better not tell you too much because I know he’s looking forward to showing you around the Capitol himself.” He felt her hand touch his.

  “Sorry,” he said, quickly removing his hand, thinking it had been a mistake.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. She took his hand again, this time holding on to it.

  “Don’t you think we ought to go back and join the party?” asked Fletcher. “Otherwise they might start to wonder where we are.”

  “I suppose so,” said Annie, but she didn’t move. “Fletcher, have you ever kissed a girl?” she asked quietly.

  “No, I haven’t,” he admitted, turning scarlet.

  “Would you like to?”

  “Yes, I would,” he said.

  “Would you like to kiss me?”

  He nodded and then turned and watched as Annie closed her eyes and pursed her lips. He checked to make sure that all the doors were closed, before he leaned forward and kissed her gently on the mouth. Once he’d stopped, she opened her eyes.

  “Do you know what a French kiss is?” she asked.

  “No, I don’t,” said Fletcher.

  “No, neither do I,” admitted Annie. “If you find out, will you tell me?”

  “Yes, I will,” said Fletcher.

  Book Two

  Exodus

  10

  “Are you going to run for president?” asked Jimmy.

  “Haven’t decided yet,” Fletcher replied.

  “Everyone assumes you will.”

  “That’s one of the problems.”

&nbs
p; “My father wants you to.”

  “But my mother doesn’t,” said Fletcher.

  “Why not?” asked Jimmy.

  “She thinks I should spend my final year concentrating on getting a place at Yale.”

  “But if you become student president, it will only assist your application. It’s me who’s going to find it a struggle.”

  “I’m sure your father has several markers to call in,” said Fletcher with a grin.

  “What does Annie think?” asked Jimmy, ignoring the comment.

  “She’s happy to go along with whatever I decide.”

  “Then perhaps I should be the deciding factor.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “If you hope to win, you’ll have to appoint me as your campaign manager.”

  “That should certainly lengthen the odds,” said Fletcher. Jimmy picked up a cushion from the sofa and threw it at his friend. “In fact, if you really want to guarantee my victory,” added Fletcher as he caught it, “you should volunteer your services as campaign manager for my closest rival.”

  Their sparring was interrupted when Jimmy’s father walked into the room. “Fletcher, could you spare me a moment?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Perhaps we could have a chat in my study.” Fletcher quickly rose and followed the senator out of the room. He looked back at Jimmy, but his friend just shrugged his shoulders. He wondered if he had done something wrong.

  “Have a seat,” said Harry Gates as he took his place behind the desk. He paused before he added, “Fletcher, I need a favor.”

  “Anything, sir. I’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

  “You’ve more than honored our agreement,” said the senator. “For the past three years, Jimmy has somehow kept his place in the top stream, and he wouldn’t have had a prayer without your continued vigilance.”

  “That’s kind of you to say so, but…”

  “It’s no more than the truth, but all I want for the boy now is to see that he has a fair shot at getting into Yale.”

  “But how can I help when I’m not even certain of a place myself?”

  The senator ignored the comment. “Pork barrel politics, my boy.”

  “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

  “If you become student government president, as I’m confident you will, the first thing you’ll have to do is appoint a vice-president.” Fletcher nodded. “And that could just tip the balance for Jimmy when the admissions office at Yale decides who gets those last few places.”

  “And it’s just tipped the balance for me, sir.”

  “Thank you, Fletcher, I appreciate that, but please don’t let Jimmy know that we’ve had this conversation.”

  As soon as he woke the following morning, Fletcher went next door and sat on the end of Jimmy’s bed. “This had better be good,” said Jimmy, “because I was dreaming about Daisy Hollingsworth.”

  “Dream on,” said Fletcher, “half the football team are in love with her.”

  “So why did you wake me?”

  “I’ve decided to run for president, and I don’t need a campaign manager who lies in bed all morning.”

  “Was it something my father said?”

  “Indirectly.” He paused. “So who do you think will be my main rival?”

  “Steve Rodgers,” said Jimmy without hesitation.

  “Why Steve?”

  “He’s a three-letter man, so they’ll try to run him as the popular jock up against the austere academic. You know, Kennedy against Stevenson.”

  “I had no idea you knew what the word austere meant.”

  “No more jokes, Fletcher,” said Jimmy as he rolled off the bed. “If you’re going to beat Rodgers, you’ll have to be prepared for anything and everything they throw at you. I think we ought to begin by having a breakfast meeting with Dad; he always has breakfast meetings before he starts a campaign.”

  “I lost my first campaign,” said Senator Gates, when he heard Fletcher’s news, “so let’s be sure that you don’t make the same mistakes. For a start, who’s your campaign manager?”

  “Jimmy, of course.”

  “Never ‘of course’ only select someone who you are convinced can do the job, even if you’re not close friends.”

  “I’m convinced he can do the job,” said Fletcher.

  “Good. Now, Jimmy, you will be of no value to the candidate”—it was the first time Fletcher thought of himself as the candidate—“unless you’re always open and frank with Fletcher, however unpleasant it might be.” Jimmy nodded. “Who’s your main rival?”

  “Steve Rodgers.”

  “What do we know about him?”

  “A nice enough guy, but not a lot between his ears,” said Jimmy.

  “Except a good-looking face,” said Fletcher.

  “And several touchdowns last season, if I remember correctly,” added the senator. “So now we know who the enemy is, let’s start working on our friends. First, you must pick an inner circle—six, eight at most. They only need two qualities, energy and loyalty—if they’ve got brains as well, that’s a bonus. How long is the campaign?”

  “Just over a week. School reassembles at nine o’clock on Monday, and the vote takes place on the Tuesday morning of the following week.”

  “Don’t think week,” said the senator, “think hours, 192 of them, because every hour will count.”

  Jimmy began making notes.

  “So who’s allowed to vote?” was the senator’s next question.

  “Every student.”

  “Then make sure you spend as much time with the boys in the lower grades as with your contemporaries. They’ll be flattered that you’re taking so much interest in them. And, Jimmy, get your hands on an up-to-date list of the voters, so that you can be certain to make contact with every one of them before election day. And don’t forget, new boys will vote for the last person who speaks to them.”

  “There are 380 students,” said Jimmy, unfolding a large sheet of paper on the floor, “I’ve marked the ones we already know in red, everyone I feel confident will support Fletcher in blue, new boys in yellow and left the rest blank.”

  “And if you’re in any doubt,” said the senator, “leave them blank, and don’t forget younger brothers.”

  “Younger brothers?” said Fletcher.

  “I’ve marked them in green,” said Jimmy. “Every one of our supporters who has a brother in a lower grade will be appointed a rep. Their only job will be signing up support in their class and reporting back to their brothers.”

  Fletcher looked on with admiration. “I’m not sure it shouldn’t be you who’s running for president,” he said. “You’re a natural.”

  “No, I’m a natural campaign manager,” said Jimmy, “it’s you who should be president.”

  Although the senator agreed with his son’s assessment, he didn’t offer an opinion.

  “How do you think it’s going?” asked Fletcher as they walked around the lake.

  “Can’t be sure,” Jimmy replied. “A lot of the upper-mids are telling both camps that they’ll be supporting their candidate, simply because they want to be seen backing the winner. Just be thankful that the vote isn’t on Saturday evening,” Jimmy added.

  “Why?” asked Fletcher.

  “Because we play Kent on Saturday afternoon, and if Steve Rodgers scores the winning touchdown, we could kiss goodbye to any chance of you becoming president. It’s just a pity it’s a home game. If you’d been born a year earlier or a year later, it would have been an away match, and the impact would have been negligible. But as it is, every voter will be in the stadium watching the encounter, so pray we lose, or at least that Rodgers has a bad game.”

  By two o’clock on Saturday, Fletcher was seated in the stand, prepared for four quarters that would make up the longest hour of his life. But even he couldn’t have predicted the outcome.

  “I’m not sure how it will affect the vote,” said Jimmy,
as the two of them ran toward the exit to join up with the rest of the team. “At least Steve Rodgers can’t shake hands with everyone as they leave the stadium.”

  “I wonder how long he’ll be in the hospital.” Fletcher said.

  “Three days is all we need,” said Jimmy. Fletcher laughed.

  Fletcher was delighted to find that his team were already well spread out by the time he joined them, and several boys came up to say they would be supporting him, although it still felt close. He never moved beyond the main exit as he continued to shake hands with any boy over the age of fourteen and under the age of eighteen, including, he suspected, a few supporters from the visiting team. Fletcher and Jimmy didn’t leave until they were sure the stadium was empty of everyone except the groundsmen.

  As they walked back to their rooms, Jimmy admitted that no one could have predicted a tie, or that Rodgers would have been on his way to the local hospital before the end of the first quarter. “If the vote was tonight he’d win on sympathy. If no one sees him again before Tuesday at nine o’clock, you’ll be the president.”

  “Doesn’t ability to do the job come into the equation?”

  “Of course not, you fool,” said Jimmy. “This is politics.”

  Fletcher was invited to read the lesson in chapel that Sunday morning, making it abundantly clear who the principal would have voted for. During lunch, he and Jimmy visited every dorm, to ask the boys how they felt about the food. “A sure vote winner,” the senator had assured them, “even if you can’t do anything about it.” That evening, they climbed into bed exhausted. Jimmy set the alarm for five thirty. Fletcher groaned.

  “A master stroke,” said Jimmy as they stood outside assembly the following morning waiting for the boys to go off to their classrooms.

  “Brilliant,” admitted Fletcher.

  “I’m afraid so,” said Jimmy. “Not that I can complain, because I would have recommended that you do exactly the same thing, given the circumstances.”

  The two of them stared across at Steve Rodgers, who was standing on crutches by the exit to the hall allowing the boys to sign their autographs on his plastered leg.