The New Collected Short Stories

by Jeffrey Archer

  Dick returned to the hotel that morning after his final meeting with the minister, having seen him every day for the past week, sometimes publicly, more often privately. It was no different when Chenkov visited London. Neither man trusted the other, but then Dick never felt at ease with anyone who was willing to take a bribe because there was always someone else happy to offer him another percentage point. However, Dick felt more confident this time, as both of them seemed to have signed up for the same retirement policy.

  Dick also helped to cement the relationship with a few added extras that Chenkov quickly became accustomed to. A Rolls-Royce would always pick him up at Heathrow and drive him to the Savoy Hotel. On arrival, he would be shown to his usual riverside suite, and women appeared every evening as regularly as the morning papers. He preferred two of both, one broadsheet, one tabloid.

  When Dick checked out of the St Petersburg hotel half an hour later, the minister’s BMW was parked outside the front door waiting to take him to the airport. As he climbed into the back seat, he was surprised to find Chenkov waiting for him. They had parted after their morning meeting just an hour before.

  ‘Is there a problem, Anatol?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Chenkov. ‘I have just had a call from the Kremlin which I didn’t feel we should discuss over the phone, or even in my office. The President will be visiting St Petersburg on the sixteenth of May and has made it clear that he wishes to preside over the signing ceremony.’

  ‘But that gives us less than three weeks to complete the contract,’ said Dick.

  ‘You assured me at our meeting this morning,’ Chenkov reminded him, ‘that there were only a few is to dot and ts to cross – an expression I’d not come across before – before you’d be able to finalize the contract.’ The minister paused and lit his first cigar of the day before adding, ‘With that in mind, my dear friend, I look forward to seeing you back in St Petersburg in three weeks’ time.’ Chenkov’s statement sounded casual, whereas, in truth, it had taken almost three years for the two men to reach this stage, and now it would only be another three weeks before the deal was finally sealed.

  Dick didn’t respond as he was already thinking about what needed to be done the moment his plane touched down at Heathrow.

  ‘What’s the first thing you’ll do after the deal has been signed?’ asked Chenkov, breaking into his thoughts.

  ‘Put in a tender for the sanitation contract in this city, because whoever gets it would surely make an even larger fortune.’

  The minister looked round sharply. ‘Never raise that subject in public,’ he said gravely. ‘It’s a very sensitive issue.’

  Dick remained silent.

  ‘And take my advice, don’t drink the water. Last year we lost countless numbers of our citizens who contracted . . .’ the minister hesitated, unwilling to add credence to a story that had been splashed across the front pages of every Western paper.

  ‘How many is countless?’ enquired Dick.

  ‘None,’ replied the minister. ‘Or at least that’s the official statistic released by the Ministry of Tourism,’ he added as the car came to a halt on a double red line outside the entrance of Pulkovo II airport. He leant forward. ‘Karl, take Mr Barnsley’s bags to check-in, while I wait here.’

  Dick leant across and shook hands with the minister for the second time that morning. ‘Thank you, Anatol, for everything,’ he said. ‘See you in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘Long life and happiness, my friend,’ said Chenkov as Dick stepped out of the car.

  Dick checked in at the departure desk an hour before boarding was scheduled for his flight to London.

  ‘This is the last call for Flight 902 to London Heathrow,’ came crackling over the tannoy.

  ‘Is there another flight going to London right now?’ asked Dick.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the man behind the check-in desk. ‘Flight 902 has been delayed, but they’re just about to close the gate.’

  ‘Can you get me on it?’ asked Dick, as he slid a thousand-rouble note across the counter.

  Dick’s plane touched down at Heathrow three and a half hours later. Once he’d retrieved his case from the carousel, he pushed his trolley through the Nothing to Declare channel and emerged into the arrivals hall.

  Stan, his driver, was already waiting among a group of chauffeurs, most of whom were holding up name cards. As soon as Stan spotted his boss, he walked quickly across and relieved him of his suitcase and overnight bag.

  ‘Home or the office?’ Stan asked as they walked towards the short-stay carpark.

  Dick checked his watch: just after four. ‘Home,’ he said. ‘I’ll work in the back of the car.’

  Once Dick’s Jaguar had emerged from the carpark to begin the journey to Virginia Water, Dick immediately called his office.

  ‘Richard Barnsley’s office,’ said a voice.

  ‘Hi, Jill, it’s me. I managed to catch an earlier flight, and I’m on my way home. Is there anything I should be worrying about?’

  ‘No, everything’s running smoothly this end,’ Jill replied. ‘We’re all just waiting to find out how things went in St Petersburg.’

  ‘Couldn’t have gone better. The minister wants me back on May sixteenth to sign the contract.’

  ‘But that’s less than three weeks away.’

  ‘Which means we’ll all have to get a move on. So set up a board meeting for early next week, and then make an appointment for me to see Sam Cohen first thing tomorrow morning. I can’t afford any slip-ups at this stage.’

  ‘Can I come to St Petersburg with you?’

  ‘Not this time, Jill, but once the contract has been signed block out ten days in the diary. Then I’ll take you somewhere a little warmer than St Petersburg.’

  Dick sat silently in the back of the car, going over everything that needed to be covered before he returned to St Petersburg. By the time Stan drove through the wrought-iron gates and came to a halt outside the neo-Georgian mansion, Dick knew what had to be done. He jumped out of the car and ran into the house. He left Stan to unload the bags, and his housekeeper to unpack them. Dick was surprised not to find his wife standing on the top step, waiting to greet him, but then he remembered that he’d caught an earlier flight, and Maureen wouldn’t be expecting him back for at least another couple of hours.

  Dick ran upstairs to his bedroom, and quickly stripped off his clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing the warm jets of water to slowly remove the grime of St Petersburg and Aeroflot.

  After he’d put on some casual clothes, Dick checked his appearance in the mirror. At fifty-three, his hair was turning prematurely grey, and although he tried to hold his stomach in, he knew he ought to lose a few pounds, just a couple of notches on his belt – once the deal was signed and he had a little more time, he promised himself.

  He left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. He asked the cook to prepare him a salad, and then strolled into the drawing room, picked up The Times, and glanced at the headlines. A new leader of the Tory Party, a new leader of the Liberal Democrats, and now Gordon Brown had been elected leader of the Labour Party. None of the major political parties would be fighting the next election under the same leader.

  Dick looked up when the phone began to ring. He walked across to his wife’s writing desk and picked up the receiver, to hear Jill’s voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘The board meeting is fixed for next Thursday at ten o’clock, and I’ve also arranged for you to see Sam Cohen in his office at eight tomorrow morning.’ Dick removed a pen from an inside pocket of his blazer. ‘I’ve emailed every member of the board to warn them that it’s a priority,’ she added.

  ‘What time did you say my meeting was with Sam?’

  ‘Eight o’clock at his office. He has to be in court by ten for another client.’

  ‘Fine.’ Dick opened his wife’s drawer and grabbed the first piece of paper a
vailable. He wrote down, Sam, office, 8, Thur board mtg, 10. ‘Well done, Jill,’ he added. ‘Better book me back into the Grand Palace Hotel, and email the minister to warn him what time I’ll be arriving.’

  ‘I already have,’ Jill replied, ‘and I’ve also booked you on a flight to St Petersburg on the Friday afternoon.’

  ‘Well done. See you around ten tomorrow.’ Dick put the phone down, and strolled through to his study, with a large smile on his face. Everything was going to plan.

  When he reached his desk, Dick transferred the details of his appointments to his diary. He was just about to drop the piece of paper into a wastepaper basket when he decided just to check and see if it contained anything important. He unfolded a letter, which he began to read. His smile turned to a frown, long before he’d reached the final paragraph. He started to read the letter, marked private and personal, a second time.

  Dear Mrs Barnsley,

  This is to confirm your appointment at our office on Friday, 30 April, when we will continue our discussions on the matter you raised with me last Tuesday. Remembering the full implications of your decision, I have asked my senior partner to join us on this occasion.

  We both look forward to seeing you on the 30th.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dick immediately picked up the phone on his desk, and dialled Sam Cohen’s number, hoping he hadn’t already left for the day When Sam pick up his private line, all Dick said was, ‘Have you come across a lawyer called Andrew Symonds?’

  ‘Only by reputation,’ said Sam, ‘but then I don’t specialize in divorce.’

  ‘Divorce?’ said Dick, as he heard a car coming up the gravel driveway. He glanced out of the window to see a Volkswagen swing round the circle and come to a halt outside the front door. Dick watched as his wife climbed out of her car. ‘I’ll see you at eight tomorrow, Sam, and the Russian contract won’t be the only thing on the agenda.’

  Dick’s driver dropped him outside Sam Cohen’s office in Lincoln’s Inn Field a few minutes before eight the following morning. The senior partner rose to greet his client as he entered the room. He gestured to a comfortable chair on the other side of the desk.

  Dick had opened his briefcase even before he’d sat down. He took out the letter and passed it across to Sam. The lawyer read it slowly, before placing it on the desk in front of him.

  ‘I’ve thought about the problem overnight,’ said Sam, ‘and I’ve also had a word with Anna Rentoul, our divorce partner. She’s confirmed that Symonds only handles matrimonial disputes, and with that in mind, I’m sorry to say that I’ll have to ask you some fairly personal questions.’

  Dick nodded without comment.

  ‘Have you ever discussed divorce with Maureen?’

  ‘No,’ said Dick firmly. ‘We’ve had rows from time to time, but then what couples who’ve been together for over twenty years haven’t?’

  ‘No more than that?’

  ‘She once threatened to leave me, but I thought that was all in the past.’ Dick paused. ‘I’m only surprised that she hasn’t raised the subject with me, before consulting a lawyer.’

  ‘That’s all too common,’ said Sam. ‘Over half the husbands who are served with a divorce petition claim they never saw it coming.’

  ‘I certainly fall into that category,’ admitted Dick. ‘So what do I do next?’

  ‘Not a lot you can do before she serves the writ, and I can’t see that there’s anything to be gained by raising the subject yourself. After all, nothing may come of it. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare ourselves. Now, what grounds could she have for divorce?’

  ‘None that I can think of.’

  ‘Are you having an affair?’

  ‘No. Well, yes, a fling with my secretary – but it’s not going anywhere. She thinks it’s serious, but I plan to replace her once the pipeline contract is signed.’

  ‘So the deal is still on course?’ said Sam.

  ‘Yes, that’s originally why I needed to see you so urgently,’ replied Dick. ‘I have to be back in St Petersburg for May the sixteenth, when both sides will be signing the contract.’ He paused. ‘And it’s going to be witnessed by President Putin.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Sam. ‘How much will that be worth to you?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’m wondering if you’re not the only person who’s hoping that the deal will go through.’

  ‘Around sixty million –’ Dick hesitated – ‘for the company.’

  ‘And do you still own fifty-one per cent of the shares?’

  ‘Yes, but I could always hide—’

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Sam. ‘You won’t be able to hide anything if Symonds is on the case. He’ll sniff out every last penny, like a pig hunting for truffles. And if the court were to discover that you attempted to deceive them, it would only make the judge more sympathetic to your wife.’ The senior partner paused, looked directly at his client, and repeated, ‘Don’t even think about it.’

  ‘So what should I do?’

  ‘Nothing that will arouse suspicion; go about your business as usual, as if you have no idea what she’s up to. Meanwhile, I’ll fix a consultation with counsel, so at least we’ll be better prepared than Mr Symonds will be anticipating. And one more thing,’ said Sam, once again looking directly at his client, ‘no more extra-marital activities until this problem has been resolved. That’s an order.’

  Dick kept a close eye on his wife during the next few days, but she gave no sign of there being anything untoward. If anything, she showed an unusual interest in how the trip to St Petersburg had gone, and over dinner on Thursday evening even asked if the board had come to a decision.

  ‘They most certainly have,’ Dick replied emphatically. ‘Once Sam had taken the directors through each clause, gone over every detail, and answered all of their questions, they virtually rubber-stamped the contract.’ Dick poured himself a second cup of coffee. He was taken by surprise by his wife’s next question.

  ‘Why don’t I join you when you go to St Petersburg? We could fly out on the Friday,’ she added, ‘and spend the weekend visiting the Hermitage and the Summer Palace. We might even find enough time to see Catherine’s amber collection – something I’ve always wanted to do.’

  Dick didn’t reply immediately, aware that this was not a casual suggestion as it had been years since Maureen had accompanied him on a business trip. Dick’s first reaction was to wonder what she was up to. ‘Let me think about it,’ he eventually responded, leaving his coffee to go cold.

  Dick rang Sam Cohen within minutes of arriving at his office and reported the conversation to his lawyer.

  ‘Symonds must have advised her to witness the signing of the contract,’ suggested Cohen.

  ‘But why?’

  ‘So that Maureen will be able to claim that over the years she has played a leading role in your business success, always being there to support you at those critical moments in your career . . . ’

  ‘Balls,’ said Dick, ‘she’s never taken any interest in how I make my money, only in how she can spend it.’

  ‘ . . . and therefore she must be entitled to fifty per cent of your assets.’

  ‘But that could amount to over thirty million pounds,’ Dick protested.

  ‘Symonds has obviously done his homework.’

  ‘Then I’ll simply tell her that she can’t come on the trip. It’s not appropriate.’

  ‘Which will allow Mr Symonds to change tack. He’ll then portray you as a heartless man, who, the moment you became a success, cut his client out of your life, often travelling abroad, accompanied by a secretary who—’

  ‘OK, OK, I get the picture. So allowing her to come to St Petersburg might well prove to be the lesser of two evils.’

  ‘On the one hand . . . ’ counselled Sam.

  ‘Bloody lawyers,’ said Dick before he could finish the sentence.

  ‘Funny how you only need us when you’re in trouble,
’ Sam rejoined. ‘So let’s make sure that this time we anticipate her next move.’

  ‘And what’s that likely to be?’

  ‘Once she’s got you to St Petersburg, she’ll want to have sex.’

  ‘We haven’t had sex for years.’

  ‘And not because I haven’t wanted to, m’lord.’

  ‘Oh, hell,’ said Dick, ‘I can’t win.’

  ‘You can as long as you don’t follow Lady Longford’s advice – when asked if she had ever considered divorcing Lord Longford, she replied, “Divorce, never, murder, often.”’

  Mr and Mrs Richard Barnsley checked into the Grand Palace Hotel in St Petersburg a fortnight later. A porter placed their bags on a trolley, and then accompanied them to the Tolstoy Suite on the ninth floor.

  ‘Must go to the loo before I burst,’ said Dick as he rushed into the room ahead of his wife. While her husband disappeared into the bathroom, Maureen looked out of the window and admired the golden domes of St Nicholas’s Cathedral.

  Once he’d locked the door, Dick removed the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign that was perched on the washbasin and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Next he unscrewed the tops of the two Evian bottles and poured the contents down the sink. He then refilled both bottles with tap water, before screwing the tops firmly back on and returning them to their place on the corner of the basin. He unlocked the door and strolled out of the bathroom.

  Dick started to unpack his suitcase, but stopped the moment Maureen disappeared into the bathroom. First, he transferred the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign from his back pocket into the side flap of his suitcase. He zipped up the flap, before checking around the room. There was a small bottle of Evian water on each side of the bed, and two large bottles on the table by the window. He grabbed the bottle by his wife’s side of the bed and retreated into the kitchenette at the far end of the room. Dick poured the contents down the sink, and refilled the bottle with tap water. He then returned it to Maureen’s side of the bed. Next, he took the two large bottles from the table by the window and repeated the process.

  By the time his wife had come out of the bathroom, Dick had almost finished unpacking. While Maureen continued to unpack her suitcase, Dick strolled across to his side of the bed and dialled a number he didn’t need to look up. As he waited for the phone to be answered, he opened the bottle of Evian water on his side of the bed, and took a gulp.