"No way," said Fletcher, "only the senator should occupy that spot. No, we'll park down one of the side streets." Fletcher glanced out of the window to see dozens of people walking up City Hall steps.

"Where are they going?" asked Annie. "They can't all be close relations of Mrs. Hunter."

Fletcher laughed. "No, they're not, but the public are allowed to watch the count from the gallery.

It's evidently an old Hartford tradition," he added as Annie finally found a parking space some distance from City Hall.

Fletcher and Annie held hands as they joined the crowds heading into the hall. Over the years, he had watched countless politicians and their wives holding hands on election day, and often wondered how many performed the ritual simply for the cameras. He squeezed Annie's hand as they strolled up the steps trying to look relaxed.

"Do you feel confident, Mr. Davenport?"asked a local newscaster, thrusting a microphone into his face.

"No," said Fletcher honestly. "Nervous as hell."

"Do you think you've beaten Mrs. Hunter?"

tried the reporter again.

"I'll be happy to answer that question in a couple of hours' time."

"Do you believe it's been a clean fight?"

"You'd be a better judge of that than me," said Fletcher as he and Annie reached the top step and walked into the building.

As they entered the hall, there was a ripple of applause from some of those seated in the gallery.

Fletcher glanced up, smiled and waved, trying to look confident, even though he didn't feel it.

When he glanced back down, the first face he saw was Harry's. He looked pensive.

How different City Hall felt from the day of the debate. All the chairs had been replaced by a horseshoe of long tables. In the center stood Mr.

Cooke, who had presided over seven previous elections. This would be his last, as he was due to retire at the end of the year.

One of his officials was checking the black boxes, which were lined up on the floor inside the horseshoe. Mr. Cooke had made it clear during the briefing he had given both candidates the previous day that the count would not begin until all forty-eight ballot boxes had arrived from their polling stations and had been authenticated. As the poll closed at 8 P.m. this procedure usually took about an hour.

A second ripple of applause broke out, and Fletcher glanced around to see Barbara Hunter enter the room, also displaying a smile of confidence as she waved to her supporters in the gallery.

Once all forty-eight boxes had been checked, their seals were broken by the officials and the votes emptied onto the tables ready for counting. Seated on either side of the horseshoe were the hundred or so counters. Each group consisted of one representative from the Republicanparty, one from the Democrats and a neutral observer standing a pace behind them. If an observer was unhappy about anything once the counting had begun, he or she would raise a hand and Mr. Cooke or one of his officials would go to that table immediately.

Once the votes had been emptied onto the tables, they were separated into three piles-a Republican pile, a Democratic pile and a third, smaller pile of disputed ballot papers.

Most of the constituencies around the nation now carried out this entire process by machine, but not Hartford, although everyone knew that would change the moment Mr. Cooke retired.

Fletcher began walking around the room, watching as the different piles grew. Jimmy carried out the same exercise, but strolled in the opposite direction. Harry didn't move as he watched the boxes being unsealed, his eyes rarely straying from what was taking place inside the horseshoe. Once all the boxes had been emptied, Mr. Cooke asked his officials to count the votes and place them in piles of one hundred.

"This is where the observer becomes important,"

Harry explained as Fletcher came to a halt by his side. "He has to be sure that no ballot is counted twice, or two aren't stuck together." Fletcher nodded, and continued his perambulation, occasionally stopping to watch a particular count, one moment feeling confident, the next depressed, until Jimmy pointed out that the boxes came from different districts and he could never be sure which ones had come from a Republican stronghold and which from a Democratic area.

"What happens next?" asked Fletcher, aware that Jimmy was attending his fourth count.

"Arthur Cooke will add up all the ballots and announce how many people have voted, and calculate what percentage that is of the electorate." Fletcher glanced up at the clock-it was just after eleven, and in the background, he could see Jimmy Carter on the big screen, chatting to his brother Billy. The early polls suggested that the Democrats werereturning to the White House for the OF first time in eight years. Would he be going to the Senate for the first time?

Fletcher turned his attention back to Mr.

Cooke, who appeared to be in no hurry as he went about his official business. His pace did not reflect the heartbeat of either candidate.

Once he had gathered up all the sheets, he went into a huddle with his officials, and transferred his findings onto a calculator, his only concession to the 1970's. This was followed by the pressing of buttons, nods and mutters, before two numbers were written neatly on a separate piece of paper.

He then walked across the floor and up onto the stage at a stately pace. He tapped the microphone, which was enough to bring silence, as the crowd was impatient to hear his words.

"God damn it," said Harry, "it's been over an hour already. Why doesn't Arthur get on with it?"

"Calm down," said Martha, "and try to remember that you're no longer the candidate."

"The number of people who cast votes in the election for the Senate is 42,429, which is a turnout of 52.9%." Mr. Cooke left the stage without another word, and returned to the center of the horseshoe.

His team then proceeded to check the piles of one hundreds, but it was another forty-two minutes before the chief executive climbed back onto the stage.

This time he didn't need to tap the microphone. "I have to inform you," he said, "that there are seventy-seven disputed ballots, and I will now invite the two candidates to join me in the center of the room so that they can decide which ones should be considered valid."

Harry ran for the first time that day and grabbed Fletcher before he joined Mr. Cooke in the horseshoe. "That means that whichever one of you is in the lead, it must be by less than seventy-seven votes, otherwise Cooke wouldn't be bothering to go through thiswhole rigmarole of seeking your opinions."

Fletcher nodded his agreement. "So you must select someone to check over those crucial votes for you."

"That's not a difficult choice," Fletcher replied, "I select you."

"I don't think so," said Harry, "because that will put Mrs. Hunter on her guard, and for this little exercise you'll need someone whom she won't feel threatened by."

"Then how about Jimmy?"

"Good idea, because she's bound to think that she can get the better of him."

"Not a hope," said Jimmy as he appeared by Fletcher's side.

"I may need you to," said Harry mysteriously.

"Why?" asked Jimmy.

"It's just a hunch," replied Harry, "no more, but once it comes to deciding those few precious votes, Mr. Cooke will be the man to watch, not Barbara Hunter."

"But he won't try anything with four of us standing over him," said Jimmy, "not to mention all those staring down from the gallery."

"And he wouldn't dream of doing so," said Harry.

"He's one of the most punctilious officials I've ever dealt with, but he detests Mrs.

Hunter.8I "For any particular reason?" asked Fletcher.

"She's been on the phone to him every day since this campaign began, demanding statistics on everything from housing to hospitals, even legal opinions on planning permits, so my bet is he'll not relish the idea of her becoming a member of the Senate.

He's got quite enough to be worrying about without the likes of Barbara Hunter taking up every spare moment of his time."

"But, as you said, there's nothing he can do."

"Nothing that's illegal," said Harry. "But should there be any disagreement over a vote, he will be asked to arbitrate, so whatever he recommends, just say "Yes, Mr. Cooke,"even if you think at the time it favors Mrs.

Hunter."

"I think I understand," said Fletcher.

"I'm damned if I do," said Jimmy.

Su Ling checked the dining-room table. When the front doorbell rang, she didn't bother to call up for Nat, because she knew he was rereading The Cat in the Hat.

"Read it again, Dad," Luke always demanded when they reached the last page. Su Ling opened the door to find Tom clutching a bunch of parrot tulips.

She gave him a big hug, as if nothing had happened since they last met. "Will you marry me?"

asked Tom.

"If you can cook, read The Cat in the Hat, answer the door and set the table all at the same time I'll give serious consideration to your proposal." Su Ling took the flowers. "Thank you, Tom," she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "They'll look beautiful on the dining table." Su Ling smiled, "I'm so sorry about Julia Kirk-bridge, or whatever her real name was."

"Never mention that woman to me again," said Tom.

"In future, our dinners will just be the three of us, a menage a trois; sadly without the menage."

"Not tonight," said Su Ling. "Didn't Nat tell you? He's invited a business colleague to join us.

I assumed you knew all about it and I, as usual, was the only person he informed at the last minute."

"He didn't mention anything about it to me," said Tom as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," said Nat, as he came bounding down the stairs.

"Now, promise me you won't talk shop all evening, because I want to hear all about your trip to London ..."

"How nice to see you again," said Nat.

"It was just a short break," said Tom.

"Let me take your coat," said Nat."Yes, but did you manage to see any theater?"

"dis. yes, I saw Judi.." began Tom as Nat ushered his guest into the living room.

"Let me first introduce you to my wife, Su Ling. Darling, this is Julia Kirkbridge, who, as I'm sure you know, is our partner in the Cedar Wood project."

"How nice to meet you, Mrs. Cartwright."

Su Ling recovered more quickly than Tom.

"Please call me Su Ling."

"Thank you, and you must call me Julia."

"Julia, this is my chairman, Tom Russell, who I know has been looking forward to meeting you."

"Good evening, Mr. Russell. After all Nat has told me about you, I've been looking forward to meeting you too." Tom shook her hand, but couldn't think of anything to say.

"A glass of champagne, I think, to celebrate the signing of the contract."

"The contract?" mumbled Tom.

"What a nice idea," said Julia. Nat opened the bottle and poured three glasses, while Su Ling disappeared into the kitchen. Tom continued to stare at the second Mrs. Kirkbridge as Nat handed them both a glass of champagne.

"To the Cedar Wood project," said Nat, raising his glass.

Tom just managed to get out the words, "The Cedar Wood project."

Su Ling reappeared, smiled at her husband, and said, "Perhaps you'd like to bring our guests in for dinner?"

"Now, I think it's only fair, Julia, that I should explain to my wife and Tom that you and I have no secrets."

Julia smiled. "None that I can think of, Nat, especially after signing a confidentiality agreement concerning the details of the Cedar Wood transaction."

"Yes, and I think it should stay that way," said Nat, smiling across at her, as Su Ling placed the first course on the table.

"Mrs. Kirkbridge," said Tom, not touching hislobster bisque.

"Please call me Julia; after all we have known each other for some time."

"Have we?" said Tom, "I don't.."

"That's not very flattering, Tom," said Mrs.

Kirkbridge, "after all, it was only a few weeks ago, when I was out jogging that you invited me for a drink and then to dinner at the Cascade the following evening. That's when I first told you about my interest in the Cedar Wood project."

Tom turned to Nat. "This is all very clever, but you seem to have forgotten that Mr. Cooke, the auctioneer, and our chief teller, have all come into contact with the original Mrs. Kirkbridge."

"The first Mrs. Kirkbridge, yes, but not the original," said Nat. "And I have already given that problem some considerable thought. There is no reason why Mr. Cooke should ever meet Julia, as he retires in a few months' time. As for the auctioneer, it was you who did the bidding, not Julia, and you needn't worry about Ray because I'm going to move him to the Newington branch.

"But what about the New York end?" said Tom.

"They know nothing," said Julia, "other than that I have closed a very advantageous deal." She paused. "This is lovely lobster bisque, Su Ling. It's always been my favorite."

"Thank you," said Su Ling as she cleared away the soup bowls and returned to the kitchen.

"And, Tom, can I just say while Su Ling is out of the room, that I would prefer to forget any other little indiscretions that are rumored to have taken place during the past month."