by Mike Price
He called out to the young man. “Have you anything more modern? These all seem to be very old or conversions of old houses.”
“Certainly, sir. We have a development at the top of the High Street. They have just been built and there are two and three bed flats available.” He walked over collecting the particulars from a stand at the side of the office.
The development was indeed modern and the artist’s drawings showed that even one of the bedrooms had an en-suite bathroom. That’s more like it, he thought.
“Can I view one of these?”
“Certainly, sir, we can go now if you like, it’s literally five minutes’ walk away.”
Martin nodded his agreement, and the agent, stopping only to speak to a young lady in the rear office to tell her that he was popping out and would she hold the fort, picked up a bunch of keys and ushered Martin to the door. It was indeed only five minutes and Martin was impressed when he saw the new development sitting at the end of a parade of shops opposite the town’s main hotel. From the outside, with its location to shops and restaurants, it seemed perfect.
The agent let them in to the main entrance and they took the lift to the second floor, then along a gallery. He opened the door and Martin followed him in.
“This is the show apartment the developer had furnished. It is a two bed, and there is only this and a three bed left. I have to say, they have all been sold very quickly, it’s a most popular development.”
Martin was not listening to the sales patter. He would make up his own mind. He followed the agent as he showed him the main bathroom, the double bedroom with en-suite shower/toilet, the single bedroom and the main living room, with a kitchen area in one corner completely fitted out with fridge, oven and hob, it even had a built in microwave. A dining table with four chairs was situated in the corner next to the kitchen area. The lounge part consisted of a sofa and easy chair, with a flat screen television on one end wall, and there was a full-length set of sliding doors, which opened up onto a small patio. Martin walked across the room and unlocked the patio doors. He stepped onto the balcony. The view took in all of the High Street. This place is ideal, he thought.
“How much is this one?” He asked.
“Two hundred and ninety-five thousand.”
“Does that include the furniture and fittings?”
“I’d have to check, but I’m sure something could be agreed.”
Martin had made up his mind.
“Tell the developer I’ll give him a cheque for three hundred thousand if he throws in the furniture and fittings, or if he prefers, I will arrange a banker’s draft, but I want to do the deal today. Can you contact him on a Saturday?”
The agent was taken aback; no one in his memory had ever offered cash for a property! If he had known just what Martin was worth, he would not have been at all surprised.
They closed the flat and walked back to the estate agent’s office. Once there, he quickly contacted the developer and within an hour, the deal had been done, subject to all the legal documentation. Martin left particulars of his solicitor and shook the agent’s hand before leaving. As he walked to the car, he had a smile of satisfaction playing on his lips. That had been a good day’s work, he was sure the full committee would be impressed when he came for his second interview and told them that he had a dwelling in the town, so he could be close to his constituents.
As he pulled out of the car park to head back to London, still mentally congratulating himself on what he had accomplished, his mind moved to the next stage of his strategy. Having become engaged to Maddy, he wanted to get married as soon as possible. Giles had impressed on him the importance of having a suitable wife who would be acceptable to the local party. Maddy certainly filled the bill, not only was she attractive, but also intelligent, and her father was a baronet to boot, so the sooner they were married, the better.
On the way back down the MI, he put his foot down and felt the power of the Ferrari throw him back in his seat, as the needle quickly swung towards the hundred miles an hour mark. He let the car take control for a few miles before relaxing his foot from the throttle to cruise at a more sedate ninety. If he got a ticket at that speed, at least it would only be a fine and three points on his license, over a hundred could cost him a ban and any adverse publicity right now could be disastrous. Before he knew it, he was on the Edgeware Road heading for the City.
Once back at his flat, he called Maddy.
“How did it go?” she asked as soon as she picked up the phone.
“Well… at least I think so”
“Did you get the job or not?”
“It’s not a job! It’s a nomination. The problem is they have twelve candidates who they are then cutting down to a short list of three, who then have to go before the whole committee before they finally decide who they want as their candidate.”
“You mean you’ve got to go back again?” she sounded incredulous.
“Yes, but I’m sure it will be okay. Oh and I’ve bought an apartment in Kenilworth.” He tried to sound as matter of fact as possible.
“Why on earth have you done that for?”
“Because Giles told me that the constituents like their MPs to live in the area, so it’s a commitment.” He really didn’t want to discuss the matter; as far as he was concerned, it made sense. If he ever got fed up with politics in the future, he could sell the property and make a profit. Even though property prices had fallen latterly he knew, in the long term, they would rise and he was in it for the long term.
She could tell by the tone of his voice that there was no point in pursuing the subject. In the short time that she had known him, she had learnt that once he had made up his mind on something, he acted immediately and, in truth, that was one of the qualities that had attracted her in the first place, that and the fact that he was a millionaire!
“See you later, darling, pick me up about seven, okay?”
“Fine,” he replied, pleased that she had not questioned him anymore.
Chapter Twelve
Nearly two weeks later, on the Wednesday, he arrived home from the office earlier than usual as he was impatient to read his post. Sure enough, the letter he had been waiting for was amongst the usual collection of junk mail and bills lying on the mat. He checked the postmark, Kenilworth and walked into the kitchen clutching the bundle of letters. He put them on the table, and opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of champagne. A mini celebration, he thought. He set the glass and bottle down then reached for the letter, sliding his thumb into the flap of the envelope he roughly tore it open. He pulled out the letter and read its contents… and then he re-read it.
It must be a mistake! He read it for a third time as though by re-reading it then it would somehow change.
"Dear Martin,
A meeting was held on Monday to decide on the short list of prospective candidates for the constituency of Kenilworth and Southam.
It is with regret that I have to inform you that you were not successful in this case. May I take this opportunity to thank you for the interest you have shown in applying for the vacancy and wish you well for the future.
Yours sincerely,
David Smythe.
Chairman"
He felt numb. How could this have happened? He went over in his mind the interview with Smythe. He was sure that it had gone well and hadn’t he winked conspiratorially at him at the end of it?
He decided to phone Giles and see if he knew anything. He rang his office. Fortunately, he was still at his desk.
“Giles, I’ve just received a letter from Kenilworth and you’ll never believe…”
Giles cut in, “I know, they emailed me with their decision yesterday. I’ve been expecting your call.”
“But why, I don’t understand, I thought it would be a formality, what did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, fundamentally, they just felt you were a bit too flash for them. I think the Ferrari was the decider. The trouble with some of those boys
from the sticks is that they are basically jealous of anyone who is overtly successful. It’s the politics of envy I’m afraid.”
“But I thought that was the cornerstone of Conservatism, to encourage upward mobility. Damn it, Giles, I made my money by bloody hard work, nobody left it to me.” He was getting angry now.
“Calm down, old man, I’m sure we can find you something else, maybe not for the next election, but long term.”
“I don’t want to wait five bloody years.” His temper was near to boiling.
“It will soon pass and we can get you into a safe seat as well.”
Martin could detect the patronising tone in his voice. Giles was really not that interested, he could tell and that made him even angrier.
“Just fuck off, Giles, and stick your precious party up your arse.” He slammed the receiver down not waiting for a reply. He was shaking with rage and stood for a moment gripping the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His knuckles were white when he finally calmed down. He poured himself a large whisky and sat in the kitchen staring into space.
He sat there for a few moments still unable to accept that he had been turned down. It was the first time in his life that things had not gone to plan. The realisation that he had also bought a property in Kenilworth suddenly dawned on him. What on earth had possessed him to buy the apartment before he had been chosen? Because he had expected to be chosen.
He phoned Maddy and gave her the news.
“Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Never mind, you can forget about stupid politics and concentrate on making money. Would you like me to come round and console you?”
He knew exactly what her kind of consolation involved and right now, that was the last thing he wanted!
“I’m fine, think I’ll have an early night if you don’t mind. By the way, I told Giles to fuck off and stick his bloody Conservative party up his arse.” He felt good just repeating the words.
“I’d better not tell Daddy, he won’t be impressed.” He could hear the laughter in her voice. Politics had never been of interest to Maddy.
He hung up and looked into his glass, it was empty. Pouring himself another large one, he went into the sitting room and switched on his iPod. The room was filled with ‘The ride of the Valkeries’ which he turned up even louder… and fuck the neighbours, he thought.
Chapter Thirteen
Martin had taken Maddy’s advice and thrown himself back into his business. It was a difficult time in the City, the credit crunch was biting hard and the papers were depicting anyone involved in banking or finance as pariahs, but life went on and deals were still being done. He had scaled back his operations but still had that knack of being ahead of the game.
He and Maddy got married in the September, and honeymooned in Mauritius. He had deliberately chosen Mauritius as he knew it would be hot and had hoped that it would curb Maddy’s carnal instincts. To a degree it had been successful, she was more than happy to lie in the sun displaying her range of designer swimwear… which never got wet. Nevertheless, he did not escape scot-free and her sexual appetite had to be satisfied. It wasn’t that he found her undesirable, it was just his sex drive was at the opposite end of the scale to hers.
Once back in England, she had let her flat and moved into his, and it had not taken her long to change the décor and furnishings, so that it no longer bore any resemblance to the bachelor flat of old. The next thing on her list was a house in the country!
Martin was happy to let her make her plans. Getting married had strangely been good for his business as he was now invited to more and more dinner parties where he could grow his circle of clients. Many of the husbands gravitated towards Maddy, who always wore a low cut dress, often to the chagrin of the wives who were mostly older anyway. Martin was not at all jealous and, oddly, took it as a complement to him as if they were admiring his taste as you would a work of art.
All thoughts of entering politics had been pushed to the back of his mind that is until the Daily Telegraph broke the expenses scandal story. Martin was horrified as, day after day, another MP was shown to be manipulating the system by either claiming for ‘duck houses’, or flipping homes where they had received tax payers’ money to pay for the mortgage on a second home, then selling it for a vast profit and not paying any capital gains tax. All this at a time when the country was on the verge of financial meltdown.
The more the system was exposed, the angrier Martin became. These were the very people that ordinary citizens had trusted with their votes to work for them not themselves and it wasn’t just one party, they were all at it. Conservative, Labour, Liberal all had their rotten apples. There had to be a general election by June 2010, that would surely sort them out he thought, and that’s when it hit him. He would stand as an Independent candidate in Kenilworth on an anti-sleaze ticket. That would show those pompous Tory bastards. If nothing else, he would split the Tory vote. Having made up his mind, he set about putting his plans into action. He would need an agent, someone local, who could give him background on the area and could keep him informed on what the other parties were up to once the election was announced and under way. He decided to put an advert in the local paper, The Coventry Evening Telegraph, and see what sort of response he got. What he definitely did not want was someone who had previously worked for another party. He realised that he would not be getting experience, but he wanted someone who felt as passionately as he did. He took a note pad from his desk and drafted a sample ad to put into the situations vacant page.
“Part-time position as a political agent for an Independent candidate for the next General Election. Must have no previous party loyalties. Must feel strongly about combating sleaze in politics. Experience not required, but enthusiasm a must. Preferably living in Kenilworth. Salary and hours by negotiation. Please apply in writing in the first instance to PO Box 14.”
Satisfied with the draft, he rewrote it on his computer and emailed it to the newspaper, along with details of his credit card for the payment. He had booked it to run for seven days.
Let’s see what that turns up, he thought.
The first advertisement was due to appear in that Friday’s issue; he would now have to be patient and wait for any replies.
Maddy did not hide her disapproval. She had been quietly pleased when he was turned down by the Tories. The thought of being just an ordinary MP’s wife did not excite her as much as being the wife of a millionaire, and all the parties and functions she attended. If there was one thing she loved more than anything else, it was being the centre of attention and being surrounded by men. Very early on in her marriage, she had discovered that Martin was nowhere near as sexual as she was and for a while, she had become moody. This led to a number of rows with Martin, which he always managed to diffuse with yet another expensive present. But there were only so many diamonds a girl could wear and in the end, they were no replacement for what she really wanted!
It had not been long before a ‘replacement’ came along in the shape of a young, Australian personal trainer.
She did not open the shop on a Monday and, until her marriage, had tended to use the time to keep her flat clean and generally take things easy. Since moving into Martin’s flat, there was no need for her to perform mundane domestic chores, as a cleaner came in every morning for two hours to take care of everything on that front. With the constant round of parties and the increase in her alcohol consumption as a result, she had noticed that one or two of her dresses had been feeling tighter. Her looks were important to her, for business reasons as well as keeping the admiring glances coming. The solution was to join a gym and luckily, there was one within walking distance of the flat.
She had been a member only two weeks when Peter, who had been watching her on the running machine, came up and introduced himself. He was blond with a body builder’s physic and strong aquiline features. He was just twenty-four.
She had jumped slightly when he spoke, her mind concentrating on the pedometer on the machine, sweat ru
nning down her face.
“Can I help you, madam?” his Australian drawl surprising her.
“Oh… I was just trying to lose a bit of weight,” she mumbled, feeling embarrassed by her sweaty straggly appearance.
He had seen her coming into the gym and had noticed the expensive jewellery.
“If you want to lose weight, and may I say you look in excellent shape, then just running on a treadmill is not the answer, you need a proper programme of exercises. I’m a personal trainer and could easily devious the right programme to tune your body and make you look even more beautiful than you do already.”
She was sold! If there was one thing that appealed to Maddy, it was flattery. The following Monday, she started having one-to-one sessions with Peter.
On the third week, Maddy asked him if they could break up their usual routine by going for a jog. The weather, although fairly cold, was dry and even the sun was trying to break through. Peter was happy to go along with the idea, so they put on tracksuits and set off from the gym.
Peter had suggested a circular route that took in side roads, keeping them away from the choking fumes of the buses and taxis. They were on the return leg of the journey when Maddy pulled up complaining of stitch and asking him to rest for a moment.
“My flat’s just round the corner; can we stop off and get a glass of water?”
“No problem.”
They continued their jog until they reached the flat.
“I’ll wait here for you, shall I?” he said.
“No, come on up.”
They went into the flat, the cleaner had finished her work for the day and it was empty. Peter followed her through into the kitchen where she poured two glasses of water.