Best Kept Secret

they’re going to support the other side.’
    A young volunteer ran up and handed Griff a piece of paper. ‘What should I do about this one?’ he asked.
    Griff read the message and said, ‘Tell him to bugger off. He’s a well-known Tory who’s just trying to waste your time. By the way,’ he said turning back to Harry and
Emma, ‘if anyone keeps you on the doorstep for more than sixty seconds, saying they need to be convinced, or want to discuss Labour Party policy in greater detail or would like to know more
about the candidate, they’re also Tories trying to waste your time. Bid them good morning and move on. Good luck. Report back to me when you’ve completed a full canvass.’

    ‘Good morning, my name is Ross Buchanan, and I’m chairman of the Barrington Shipping Group. I would like to welcome you all to the company’s Annual General
Meeting. You will have found on your chairs a copy of the company’s annual report. I would like to draw your attention to a few highlights. This year the annual profits have risen from
£108,000 to £122,000, an improvement of twelve per cent. We have appointed architects to design our first luxury liner, and expect them to present their recommendations within the next
six months.
    ‘Let me assure all our shareholders that we will not go ahead with this project until we are convinced it is a viable proposition. With that in mind I am happy to announce that we will be
increasing our shareholders’ dividend this year to five per cent. I have no reason to believe that the company’s growth will not be sustained, or even improved on, during the coming
year.’
    A round of applause allowed Buchanan to turn a page of his speech and check what he would be saying next. When he looked up, he noticed a couple of financial journalists scurrying out of the
room to make sure they caught the first editions of their evening papers, aware that the chairman had already highlighted the main points, and would now take shareholders slowly through the
details.
    After Buchanan had come to the end of his speech, he and Ray Compton took questions for forty minutes. When the meeting finally came to a close, the chairman noted with some satisfaction that
most of the chattering shareholders were leaving with smiles on their faces.
    As Buchanan left the stage of the hotel’s conference room, his secretary rushed up and said, ‘You have an urgent call from Hong Kong, and the hotel operator is waiting to put it
through to your room.’

    When Harry and Emma arrived back at Labour Party HQ, having completed their first canvass returns, they were exhausted.
    ‘How did you get on?’ asked Griff, checking their clipboards with a professional eye.
    ‘Not bad,’ said Harry. ‘If the Woodbine estate is anything to go by, we’re home and dry.’
    ‘I wish,’ said Griff. ‘That estate should be rock-solid Labour, but tomorrow I’ll let you loose on Arcadia Avenue, and then you’ll really find out what we’re
up against. Before you go home, put your best reply of the day up on the notice board. The winner gets a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray.’
    Emma grinned. ‘One woman said to me, “My husband votes Tory, but I always support Sir Giles. Whatever you do, please don’t let him know.”’
    Griff smiled. ‘That’s not uncommon,’ he said. ‘And, Emma, don’t forget, your most important job is to make sure the candidate is fed and gets a good night’s
sleep.’
    ‘And what about me?’ said Harry, as Giles came bouncing into the room.
    ‘I’m not interested in you,’ Griff replied. ‘It’s not your name on the ballot paper.’
    ‘How many meetings have I got this evening?’ was Giles’s first question.
    ‘Three,’ said Griff, without needing to refer to any notes. ‘Hammond Street YMCA, seven o’clock, the Cannon Road snooker club at eight, and the Working Men’s Club
at nine. Make sure you’re not late for any of them, and that you’re safely tucked up in bed before midnight.’
    ‘I wonder when Griff goes to bed,’ said Emma after he had hurried off to deal with the latest crisis.
    ‘He doesn’t,’ whispered Giles. ‘He’s a vampire.’

    When Ross Buchanan walked into his hotel room, the phone was ringing. He strode across and grabbed the handset.
    ‘Your call from Hong Kong is on the line, sir.’
    ‘Good afternoon, Mr Buchanan,’ said a Scottish voice down the crackling line. ‘It’s Sandy McBride. I thought I’d ring and let you know