On Saturday, he put on his county tie and went to watch Gloucestershire play Middlesex at Nevil Road, but only stayed for about an hour. After walking slowly around the boundary perimeter, making sure all five thousand spectators had seen him, he made his way back to the constituency headquarters on Park Street.

On Sunday, he attended matins, communion, and evensong in three different churches, but during each sermon his thoughts often strayed back to the debate, testing out arguments, phrases, even pauses …

“In the name of the Father…”

By Wednesday, Griff’s polling was showing that Giles was still a couple of points behind, but Seb reminded him, so was Kennedy before his debate with Nixon.

Every detail of the encounter had been analyzed at length. What he should wear, when he should have a haircut, not to shave until an hour before he walked on to the stage, and, if he was offered the choice, to speak last.

“Who’s chairing the debate?” asked Seb.

“Andy Nash, the editor of the Evening News. We want to win votes, he wants to sell newspapers. Everyone has an angle,” said Griff.

“And be sure you’re in bed before midnight,” said Emma. “You’re going to need a good night’s sleep.”

Giles did get to bed before midnight, but he didn’t sleep as he went over his speech again and again, rehearsing answers to all of Seb’s questions. His concentration wasn’t helped by Karin regularly barging into his thoughts. He was up by six, and outside Temple Meads station half an hour later, megaphone in hand once again, ready to face the early morning commuters.

“Good morning, my name is Giles Barrington…”

“Good luck tonight, Sir Giles, I’ll be there to support you.”

“I don’t live in your constituency, sorry.”

“Where do you stand on flogging?”

“I think I’ll give the Liberals a go this time.”

“Don’t have a spare fag, do you, guv?”

“Good morning…”

Chapter 21

21

GRIFF PICKED Giles up from Barrington Hall just before six. This was one meeting he couldn’t afford to be late for.

Giles was wearing a charcoal-gray single-breasted suit, a cream shirt, and a Bristol Grammar School tie. He suspected that Fisher would be wearing his usual blue pinstriped double-breasted suit, a white shirt with a starched collar, and his regimental tie.

Giles was so nervous that he hardly spoke on the journey to the Hippodrome, and Griff remained accommodatingly quiet. He knew the candidate was silently rehearsing his speech.

Thirty minutes later, they pulled up outside the stage door where Giles had once hung around after a matinee of Pride and Prejudice to get Celia Johnson’s autograph. Griff accompanied his candidate backstage where they were met by Andy Nash, who would be chairing the debate. He looked relieved to see them.