Vaulting Ambition
The hot, sunny day outside did nothing but add a lot of salt to Lord Christoph Flooding’s intense wound. The Progressive party had won a landslide general election victory, and former Shadow Justice Secretary David Blair was now Prime Minister. In Ardenvale, Joseph Benson had managed to keep hold of his seat comfortably.
As for Christoph, his United Kingdom Reformation Party won precisely zero seats and lost all the ones it already had.
He was back to being a nobody, living alone in a large mansion separated from civilisation by miles of sweeping parkland, with no one but his household staff to keep him company.
Christoph had been Ardenvale’s MP before himself, serving three times as a representative of both the Progressive and Traditional Parties and as an Independent before dramatically losing his seat at the next election.
He hoped his UKRP would become a serious rival to the two main parties that seemed to have absolute control of the Commons.
But now, all his hopes of a severe revolution had withered away.
“Perhaps I should close this chapter of my life and embark on new endeavours,” Christoph said to his loyal butler, Bert Stevens. “I have often considered joining Team GB as a fencer and competing in the Olympics.”
”You would be an excellent addition to the team, My Lord,” Bert said.
Christoph turned in his chair.
“Then again, my Oxford degree is in Ancient History; it could be time to pursue that in a more professional capacity.”
”You have been meaning to discover the meaning of Stonehenge, my Lord,” Bert said.
Christoph quickly leant forward in his seat, startling his butler.
“Of course! I’ve been meaning to do that for years.”
Christoph was embroiled in a bitter rivalry at university with young archaeology student Henry Anderson, like a British Harrison Ford.
He was determined to discover the meaning of Stonehenge before he did.
The rivalry went from bad to worse when Henry started dating Christoph’s ex-girlfriend, eventually marrying her and conceiving a daughter.
Conveniently for Christoph, Henry was mysteriously murdered when the child was ten, giving Christoph more time to discover the true meaning of the iconic stone circle.
Christoph put those plans on hold in favour of a career in politics, but his new situation might finally be his chance to discover the secrets of the stone circle.
”I could publish my findings in a book instead of my Memoirs,” Christoph said. “Or, I could publish my Memoirs and intersperse the meaning of Stonehenge somewhere within its pages.”
”I would certainly buy the book, my Lord,” Bert said. “Whichever one you decide to publish.”
Christoph slumped in his seat, deep in thought.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
He picked it up and examined it.
The call was from Sir Peter Asquith, an old acquaintance from his days in Oxford’s infamous Bullingdon Club. He was most recently a Traditional MP before losing his seat in the election.
“Get me a bitter shandy, would you, Bert?” Christoph said.
”Of course, my Lord, as you wish.” With that, Bert bowed his head and swiftly vacated the room.
Christoph answered the call.
“Peter, my good friend! How long it’s been,” Christoph said.
“Indeed, Flooding,” Sir Peter said. “I believe commiserations are in order.”
”Don’t remind me,” Christoph said.
”I admit I was planning on offering you my support by defecting to the Reformation Party but eventually felt it was inappropriate.”
”There would have been no point anyway,” Christoph said. “You would have lost either way.”
”That is precisely why I’m calling you,” Sir Peter said. “It’s time for an upheaval in the Commons.”
Christoph leaned back in his chair and sighed.
”It’s too late for that. My party has all but ceased to exist.”
”Then I propose we form a new one as alumni of the Bullingdon Club.”
Sir Peter’s idea piqued Christoph’s interest; maybe he didn’t need to leave politics after all.
“I’m listening,” Christoph said.
”I’ve had the idea that we could create a part that puts our fascist sentiments firmly at the forefront, with you as the leader,” Sir Peter said.
Christoph reached for the copy of Mein Kampf sitting on the table before him and flicked through it.
”I would be more than happy to work with you in a subservient capacity, Lord Flooding, as would our other friends in the Bullingdon Club,” Sir Peter said.
Christoph paused momentarily, then placed the book back on the table.
“Very well, I’m in,” Christoph said. “We shall call it the Fascist Party.”
”It’s as good a name as any, Lord Flooding,” Sir Peter said.
“I’m available next weekend for a meeting to set up the party. Until then, good day, Asquith,” Christoph said.
”And you, Christoph,” Sir Peter said before hanging up.
Christoph reclined in his chair. For the first time since losing all his seats, a smile appeared on his face.
Bert entered the room, carrying the bitter shandy.
“Here is your beverage, my Lord,” Bert said.
“Excellent, Bert, bring it here,” Christoph said.
Bert obediently placed the glass and decanter next to Christoph, and Christoph took a sip.
“While you were gone, I made a definite decision regarding my future.”
“Have you, my Lord?” Bert said. “What is it, I may know?”
”I am to remain in politics as the leader of a new party,” Christoph said.
”So you’re not going to discover the meaning of Stonehenge after all, my Lord,” Bert said.
”Not at this time, but eventually, I will be victorious,” Christoph said.
”I’m sure you will be, my Lord,” Bert said. “May I know the name of the party?”
”Never you mind,” Christoph said.
”As you wish, my Lord,” Bert said, silently exiting the room.Christoph cackled as he drank his shandy, reaching again for Mein Kampf.
He opened the book on page one and began reading, smiling deviously throughout.
It had been long since he’d last read it in full, but now was the time to reread it.
For the Fascist Party was born.
The Robinsonverse 