“Mr. Sasha Karpenko,” called Mr. Speaker Thomas. The House fell silent, as is the tradition when a member delivers his or her maiden speech.
“Mr. Speaker, may I begin by saying what an honor it is for this Russian immigrant to become a member of the British House of Commons. If you had told me, just twelve years ago when I was a schoolboy in Leningrad, that I would be sitting on these benches before my thirtieth birthday, only my mother would have believed it, especially as I had already told my closest school friend that I was going to be the first democratically elected president of Russia.”
This statement was greeted by loud cheers from both sides of the House.
“Mr. Speaker, I have the privilege of representing the constituents of Merrifield in the county of Kent, who in their wisdom decided to replace a Conservative woman with a Labour man.” He looked across the floor at the Prime Minister seated on the front bench opposite, and said, “That’s something my party intends to repeat at the next general election.”
Margaret Thatcher gave a slight bow, while those seated on the opposition benches roared their approval.
“My opponent, Ms. Fiona Hunter, served in this House for three years, and will be sadly missed in Merrifield—by the Conservatives. I have no doubt she will eventually return to the benches opposite, but not in my constituency.” Hear, hears erupted from those around him, and when Sasha looked up from his notes, there wasn’t any doubt that he had captured the attention of the whole House.
“Some members on both sides of the House must wonder where my true allegiance lies. Westminster? Leningrad? Merrifield? Or Moscow? I’ll tell you where it lies. It lies with any citizen of any country who believes that the power of democracy is sacred and the right to live in a free society universal.
“Mr. Speaker, I have no time for political labels such as ‘left’ or ‘right.’ I am an admirer of both Winston Churchill and Clement Attlee, and the heroes of my university days were Aneurin Bevan and Iain Macleod. With them in mind, I will always attempt to judge every argument on its merits, and every member on the sincerity of his or her views, even when I profoundly disagree with them. I may occasionally shout from the highest mountain, but I hope I will have the good grace to occasionally dwell in the valleys and listen.
“The chief whip’s first words to me when I arrived in this place made me feel like Shakespeare’s whining schoolboy, with his satchel and shining morning face, creeping like snail unwilling to school.” Laughter arose from both sides of the House. “Ah, I can see I’m not the first,” he said. This was received by cheers, with only the Labour chief whip remaining silent. “He advised me to speak only on subjects about which I know a great deal … so you won’t be hearing from me much in the future.”
Sasha waited for the laughter to die down before he began his peroration.
“What a compliment it is to the citizens of Merrifield that they could elect a Russian immigrant to sit on these hallowed benches, where he is able to express his opinions on any subject without fear or favor. Does anyone in this chamber believe that an Englishman could take his place in the Kremlin on equal terms? No, of course they don’t. But I only hope I live long enough to see you all proved wrong.”
He sat down to resounding cheers from both sides of the House. To everyone’s surprise, a bespectacled man with a shock of white hair rose from his place on the front bench.
“The leader of the opposition,” said the Speaker.
“Mr. Speaker, I rise to congratulate the honorable member for Merrifield on a remarkable maiden speech.” Hear, hears echoed around the chamber. “However, I feel I should point out to him that many of those sitting on the benches opposite already think I am the member for Moscow.” Cheers and jeers filled the air. “Nevertheless, I’m sure I speak for the whole House when I say we all look forward to the honorable member’s next contribution.”
Sasha looked up at the visitors’ gallery to see Charlie, his mother, Alf, and the countess, all looking down at him with unabashed pride. But it was not until he read The Times’ leader the following morning that the impact he had made in those few short minutes began to sink in.
It would have been better if Mr. Sasha Karpenko MP had never left the Soviet Union, as he might have played an important role in helping that country embrace the values of democracy.
* * *
“I’m to blame,” said Sasha. “I should have realized it was a step too far.”
“No one’s to blame,” said Elena. “We took a vote and only the countess expressed her reservations.”
“I just thought it might be a little too much for Elena to cope with,” said the countess.
“And you were proved right,” said Sasha, “because, I must warn you, the latest figures don’t make pleasant reading.”
The rest of the board braced themselves.
“Elena Three has made a loss for the seventh quarter in a row. Even though I’m a born optimist, this is a trend I can’t see us reversing.”
“What is the financial impact on the business?” asked the countess.
“If you put together the purchase price of the lease, the original set-up costs, and the losses we’ve sustained so far”—Sasha paused as he added up the figures—“we’re down a little over one hundred eighty-three thousand pounds.”
Charlie was the first to speak. “Can we survive such a setback?”
“I believe we can,” said Sasha, “but it will be a close-run thing.”
“What’s the bank’s attitude?” asked Elena.
“They’re still willing to back us if we agree to close Elena’s Three immediately, and concentrate our attention on Elena’s One and Two. Although they’re both still making a profit, they’re also suffering from some of the consequences of my decision.”
“Well, let’s look on the bright side,” said Elena. “At least you’ve got your parliamentary salary to fall back on.”
“Not for much longer, I fear,” said Sasha, “because if Margaret Thatcher retains her lead in the polls, it will be very hard for me to hold on to Merrifield at the next election.”
“Isn’t there a personal vote, if your constituents feel you’ve done a good job?” asked the countess.
“Rarely worth more than a few hundred votes, and usually reserved for rebels who’ve voted against their own party. And if the company were to go bankrupt, I’d have to resign and leave Fiona to march back onto the field in triumph.”
“One should never forget,” said the countess, “you have to climb a ladder to success, but failure is a lift going down.”
“Then we’ll just have to start climbing again,” said Elena.
* * *
Sasha realized that if Elena’s was to survive, his biggest problem would be the taxman. Should the Inland Revenue demand their pound of flesh, the company would have to go into receivership, and dispose of its assets. And if Elena’s One and Two were to suddenly come on the market, everyone in business would know it was a fire sale.
Sasha knew if that was the outcome, he would have to abandon his political career and look for a job. What a complete fool he’d made of himself, just when he thought nothing could derail him.
There was no one else to blame, so he decided to face the problem head-on. He phoned the Inland Revenue and made an appointment to see his case officer, Mr. Dark. Even the name filled him with foreboding. He could already visualize the damn man. Short, bald, overweight, coming to the end of an undistinguished career of pen-pushing, who enjoyed nothing more than depositing lives into an out-tray. He probably voted Conservative, and wouldn’t be able to resist saying how sorry he was, but he had a job to do, and there couldn’t be any exceptions.
* * *
Sasha parked his Mini in Tynsdale Street, fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, crossed the road, and entered a soulless-looking red-brick building. The royal crest hung above the entrance, and might as well have read, ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. He gave his name to the lady on the reception desk.
>
“Mr. Dark is expecting you,” she said ominously. “His office is on the thirteenth floor.”
Where else? thought Sasha.
Even the lift seemed reluctant to make the upward journey, before disgorging its only visitor. Sasha stepped out into a gray pictureless corridor, and went in search of Mr. Dark’s office.
He knocked on the door and entered a room with no windows and a desk covered in red files. Behind the desk—first surprise—sat a man of his own age who greeted him with a warm smile—second surprise. He stood up, and shook hands with Sasha.
“Would you like a cup of tea, Mr. Karpenko?”
An Englishman’s idea of putting you at ease before adding a teaspoonful of cyanide.
“No, thank you,” said Sasha, wanting the executioner to get on with his job.
“Can’t say I blame you,” said Dark, before sitting down. “I know you’re a busy man, Mr. Karpenko, so I’ll try not to waste too much of your time.” He opened the top file and studied the contents for a few moments, reminding himself of the salient points. “I’ve studied your tax returns for the past five years,” Dark continued, “and after a long chat to your bank manager, which you authorized”—Sasha nodded—“I think we may have found a solution to your problem.”
Sasha continued to stare at the man, wondering what the next surprise would be.
“You currently owe the Inland Revenue one hundred and twenty-six thousand pounds, which your company is clearly unable to pay at the present time. However, contrary to public opinion, we tax collectors get our kicks out of saving companies, not closing them. After all, it’s our only hope of getting any of our money back.”
Sasha wanted to laugh, but somehow resisted the temptation.
“With that in mind, Mr. Karpenko, we will allow you a year’s grace, during which time you will not have to pay any tax. After that, we will require you to return the full amount”—he checked the figure—“of one hundred twenty-six thousand pounds over a period of four years. However, if the company should make a profit during that time, every penny will come to the Inland Revenue.” He paused before looking across his desk at Sasha and adding firmly, “I accept that the next five years are not going to be easy for you and your family, but if you feel unable to accept this offer, we will be left with no choice but to take possession of all your assets, as the taxman is always paid in full before any other creditors.” He paused again, and looked up at his visitor. “You may wish to spend a few days considering your position, Mr. Karpenko, before you make a final decision.”
“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Dark,” said Sasha. “I accept your terms, and am most grateful to you for giving me a second chance.”
“I applaud your decision. So many of my clients go bankrupt, and then open a new business the following day, not bothering about their debts, or anyone else’s problems.” Mr. Dark opened a second file and extracted another document. “Then all that is left for you to do, Mr. Karpenko, is to sign here, here, and here.” He even offered Sasha a biro.
“Thank you,” said Sasha, wondering if he was about to wake up.
Once Sasha had signed the agreement, Mr. Dark rose from behind his desk and shook hands with him for a second time.
“I have no politics, Mr. Karpenko,” said Dark as he accompanied Sasha out of the room and back down the corridor to the lift, “but if I lived in Merrifield, I would vote for you, and although I have only dined at Elena’s on one occasion, I enjoyed the experience immensely.”
“You must come again,” said Sasha, as the lift door opened and he stepped inside.
“Not until you’ve paid off your debt in full, Mr. Karpenko.”
The lift door closed.
* * *
Sasha’s prospects of retaining his seat didn’t improve following Mrs. Thatcher’s much vaunted triumph in the Falklands, and Michael Foot’s stubborn refusal to occupy the center ground.
But then he had a stroke of luck that can change the career of any politician. Sir Michael Forrester died of a heart attack, triggering a by-election in the neighboring constituency of Endlesby. The chance of representing a safe Tory seat for the rest of her life was too tempting for Fiona Hunter, and few people were surprised when she allowed her name to go forward as the prospective candidate. After all, she claimed, Endlesby was half of her old constituency.
Fiona won the by-election by over ten thousand votes, and returned to take her place on the green benches, where Sasha assumed their rivalry would continue. Sasha’s second piece of luck came when the Merrifield Conservative Association quarreled among themselves as to who should be their candidate at the next general election, and ended up selecting a local councilor who divided opinion even in his own party.
After the general election, Margaret Thatcher returned to the Commons with an overwhelming majority, despite being spurned by the voters of Merrifield, who decided to hold on to their member, if only by a majority of ninety-one. But as Alf pointed out to Sasha, it was Winston Churchill who said, “One is quite enough, dear boy.”
* * *
Neil Kinnock, the new leader of the Labour Party, invited Sasha to join the opposition front bench as a junior spokesman in the foreign affairs team, with special responsibilities for the Eastern Bloc countries.
Sasha’s reputation inside and outside Parliament grew, and members on both sides of the House became aware that whenever he rose to take his place at the dispatch box, the ill-prepared lived to regret it.
Fiona was made an undersecretary of state at the Foreign Office, and looked set for a long parliamentary career. However, it was another newly elected Conservative member who caused Sasha to jump with joy—if only in the privacy of his own home.
Sasha accepted that there would be no love lost when they faced each other across the floor of the House, but that wouldn’t stop him sharing the occasional half pint in Annie’s Bar with The Hon. Member Ben Cohen MP.
37
SASHA
London and Moscow
When the government announced they would be sending an all-party delegation to Moscow to discuss Anglo-Russian relations following the election of Mikhail Gorbachev as General Secretary, no one was surprised that Sasha was chosen to represent the Labour Party.
However, Sasha was not amused to discover that the Conservatives had invited Fiona Hunter to lead the delegation. Was it simply because nothing gave her greater pleasure than to oppose Sasha given any opportunity?
“How long will you be away with that dreadful woman?” Charlie asked when Sasha told her the news.
“Three, four days at most, and we won’t exactly have any time for socializing.”
“Don’t relax, even for a moment, because nothing would give Fiona greater pleasure than to derail your career.”
“I think she’s more interested in promoting her own at the moment. She’s hoping to become a minister of state in the next reshuffle,” Sasha said as he came out of the bathroom.
“Don’t you believe it,” said Charlie. “And before you desert me, have you given any more thought to names for our child, who should be joining us in about six weeks’ time?”
“If it’s a boy, I’ve already chosen his name,” said Sasha, placing his ear against Charlie’s stomach.
“Do I get a vote, or is this a three-line whip?” she asked.
“One line. You can choose between Konstantin, Sergei, and Nicholas.”
“Konstantin,” said Charlie without hesitation.
* * *
Fiona boarded the BA jet bound for Moscow accompanied by a small cadre of civil servants. They took their places at the front of the aircraft while Sasha sat alone near the back. He wished he was leading the delegation, and not just a shadow.
Once the seatbelt signs had been switched off, he leaned back, closed his eyes, and began to think about returning to the Soviet Union for the first time in nearly twenty years. How would the country have changed? Was Vladimir now a senior officer in the KGB? Was Polyakov still stationed in Le
ningrad? Was his uncle Kolya the docks convener, and would he be allowed to see him?
When the plane touched down at Sheremetyevo airport four hours later, Sasha glanced out of the window to see a small delegation waiting on the runway to greet them. Fiona was first off the plane, making the most of the photo opportunity she hoped would be picked up by the press back home.
She walked slowly down the steps, waving at a group of local people gathered behind a metal barrier, but they didn’t return her greeting. It wasn’t until Sasha appeared that they suddenly burst into spontaneous applause and began waving. He walked uncertainly toward them, unable to believe the welcome was meant for him until one of them held up a placard with the word KARPENKO scrawled on it. Fiona couldn’t hide her displeasure as an embassy official stepped forward to greet her.
Several bunches of flowers were thrust into Sasha’s arms, as he walked across to join them. He then tried to answer the multitude of questions being thrown at him in his native tongue.
“Will you come back to lead our country?”
“When will we be allowed contested elections?”
“What chance of a free and fair election next time?”
“I’m flattered you even know my name,” said Sasha to a young woman who couldn’t have been born when he’d escaped from the Soviet Union.
He glanced around to see Fiona being whisked away in the ambassador’s limousine, a Union Jack fluttering from its front wing.
“Can I get a bus into the city?” he asked.
“Any one of us would be proud to drive you to your hotel,” said a young man standing at the front of the crowd. “My name is Fyodor,” he said, “and we wondered if you’d be willing to address a meeting this evening. That seems to be the only time you’ll be free before the conference opens tomorrow.”
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