The throng in the Assembly Hall of Stewart's-Melville College was far more attentive, and appreciative, than any that ever gathered there for morning prayers. It was, also, significantly larger.
The majority of the listeners were ladies, but there were a substantial number of men present. This pleased John Torrance as he looked down from the platform, particularly since he knew that the Liverpool versus Manchester United match which was on live television that evening represented a substantial counter-attraction.
He was pleased too with the age-spread of the people in the hall; but most of all, he was delighted by his candidate's confident, assertive and thoroughly pleasant performance.
As they had done at her adoption meeting, her audience rose spontaneously to their feet in applause as Leona finished her speech. As on that earlier occasion, she allowed them to express their enthusiasm for a few minutes before settling them and sending them home with her thanks and a few words of encouragement, to make them feel certain that a vote for her in seventeen days' time would not be wasted.
`Leona,' said Alison Higgins, greeting her friend as she stepped down from the stage, 'no one could have done better than that. Not Roly, not Andrew Hardy, not any of them. That was a terrific start.'
`Thanks,' said the little woman brightly, gathering up her notes and shoving them untidily into her briefcase. 'Now all I have to do is keep up that sort of momentum for two and a half weeks.'
And you will, my dear,' said John Torrance, coming down the steps behind her. Higgins turned to look at him, urbane and handsome in his dark blue tailoring, and felt a crush coming on.
The Vice-chairman linked arms with the ladies, and walked them through the departing crowds towards the exit. As they went, they returned the nods and smiles of Leona's potential constituents.
`Where's Marsh? I didn't see him around,' said Alison, as they neared the double doors leading to the school's wide, floodlit yard. They were standing open.
`He nipped out halfway through the speech,' said Torrance. `To count the collection, I expect. I imagine that he's taking down the posters now, and tidying up the hall. That's the Agent's lot. Anyway,' he went on, I'm glad that Marshall isn't around, or our worthy but tedious Chairman and her husband, because I want to be very rude.'
`Do you indeed?' said Leona, smiling.
`Yes, I do. To celebrate our first meeting, I would like to invite the candidate to join me in a little supper at Rafaelli's. You too, Superintendent, of course.'
`That would be lovely,' said Leona, 'but I have to go home for Mark.'
`No, you don't,' said Alison, at once. 'I'll go back and relieve Maggie. This nice man wants to feed you, dear, and you've bloody well earned it! So go, or else. Here, gimme the keys of your car. We came in it together, after all. I'll take it home and John can drop you later.'
The Candidate sighed. 'I don't seem to have a choice, do I?' She fished the keys of her Alfa Romeo 164 from her bag and handed them over.
`Cheers,' said Higgins. 'See you later.' She turned and walked smartly off through the double doors and turned right, to the spot where Leona had parked earlier. They would have followed her at once, to Torrance's Jaguar which was parked alongside, had they not been stopped by two elderly fur-wearing, pearl-strung ladies who had sat in the front row during the meeting, hanging on the Candidate's every word.
Andy Martin, Adam Arrow and Neil Mcllhenney saw them, bent in conversation, as they strode into the yard, between the heavy iron gates. They saw Alison Higgins climb into the driver's seat of the black Alfa and pull on the seat belt. And to the right of the double door they saw Marsh Elliot running towards his brown Rover 820 SDi, registration number L