To Cut a Long Story Short

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Will you marry me?’ she asked, as she watched him getting dressed at six the next morning.

  ‘But you’re already married,’ Gerald gently reminded her.

  ‘You know perfectly well that it’s a sham, and has been for months. I was swept off my feet by Max’s charm, and behaved like a schoolgirl. Heaven knows I’d read enough novels about marrying on the rebound.’

  ‘I’d marry you tomorrow, old girl, given half the chance,’ Gerald said, smiling. ‘You know I’ve adored you from the first day we met.’

  ‘Although you’re not down on one knee, Gerald, I shall consider that an acceptance,’ said Ruth, laughing. She paused and looked at her lover, standing in the half-light. ‘When I next see Max I’ll ask him for a divorce,’ she added quietly.

  Gerald took off his clothes and climbed back into bed.

  It was to be another month before Max returned to the island, and although he took the late flight, Ruth was waiting for him when he walked in the front door. When he leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, she turned away.

  ‘I want a divorce,’ she said matter-of-factly.

  Max followed her into the drawing room without saying a word. He slumped down into a chair and remained silent for some time. Ruth sat patiently waiting for his response.

  ‘Is there another man?’ he eventually asked.

  Yes,’ she replied.

  ‘Do I know him?’

  Yes.’

  ‘Gerald?’ he asked, looking up at her.

  ‘Yes.’

  Once again Max fell into a morose silence.

  ‘I’ll be only too happy to make it easy for you,’ said Ruth. ‘You can sue me for divorce on the grounds of my adultery with Gerald, and I won’t put up a fight.’

  She was surprised by Max’s response. ‘I’d like a little time to think about it,’ he said. ‘Perhaps it would be sensible for us not to do anything until the boys come home at Christmas.’

  Ruth reluctantly agreed, but was puzzled, because she couldn’t remember when he had last mentioned the boys in her presence.

  Max spent the night in the spare room, and flew back to London the following morning, accompanied by two packed suitcases.

  He didn’t return to Jersey for several weeks, during which time Ruth and Gerald began to plan their future together.

  When the twins returned from university for the Christmas holidays, they sounded neither surprised nor disappointed that their mother would be getting a divorce.

  Max made no attempt to join the family for the festive season, but flew over to Jersey the day after the boys had returned to university. He took a taxi straight to the house, but stayed for only an hour.

  ‘I am willing to agree to a divorce,’ he told Ruth, ‘and I intend to start proceedings just as soon as I return to London.’

  Ruth simply nodded her agreement.

  ‘If you want things to go through quickly and smoothly, I suggest you appoint a London solicitor. That way I won’t have to keep flying back and forth to Jersey, which will only hold things up.’

  Ruth put up no objection to the idea, as she had reached the stage where she didn’t want to place any obstacles in Max’s way.

  A few days after Max had returned to the mainland, Ruth was served with divorce papers from a London law firm she had never heard of. She instructed Angus’s old solicitors in Chancery Lane to handle the proceedings, explaining over the phone to a junior partner that she wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

  ‘Are you hoping for a maintenance settlement of any kind?’ the solicitor asked.

  ‘No,’ said Ruth, trying not to laugh. ‘I don’t want anything other than for the whole matter to be settled quickly, on the grounds of my adultery.’

  ‘If those are your instructions, madam, I’ll draw up the necessary papers and have them ready for you to sign within the next few days.’

  When the decree nisi was served, Gerald suggested they celebrate by taking a holiday. Ruth agreed to the idea, just as long as they didn’t have to go anywhere near Italy.

  ‘Let’s sail around the Greek islands,’ said Gerald. ‘That way there will be less chance of bumping into any of my pupils, not to mention their parents.’ They flew to Athens the next day.

  When they sailed into the harbour at Skyros, Ruth said, ‘I’d never thought I would spend my third wedding anniversary with another man.’

  Gerald took her in his arms. ‘Try to forget Max,’ he said. ‘He’s history.’

  ‘Well, nearly,’ Ruth said. ‘I was rather hoping that the divorce would have been absolute before we left Jersey.’

  ‘Have you any idea what’s caused the hold-up?’ Gerald asked.

  ‘Heaven knows,’ Ruth replied, ‘but whatever it is, Max will have his reasons.’ She paused. ‘You know, I never did get to see his office in Mayfair, or meet any of his colleagues or friends. It’s almost as if it was all a figment of my imagination.’

  ‘Or his,’ said Gerald, putting an arm around her waist. ‘But don’t let’s waste any more time talking about Max. Let’s think about Greeks, and bacchanalian orgies.’

  ‘Is that what you teach those innocent little children in their formative years?’

  ‘No, it’s what they teach me,’ Gerald replied.

  For the next three weeks the two of them sailed around the Greek islands, eating too much moussaka, drinking too much wine, and hoping that too much sex would keep their weight down. By the end of their holiday Gerald was a little too red, and Ruth was dreading being reintroduced to her bathroom scales. The holiday could not have been more fun; not only because Gerald was such a good sailor, but because, as Ruth discovered, even during a storm he could make her laugh.

  Once they were back on Jersey, Gerald drove Ruth to the house. When she opened the front door she was greeted by a pile of letters. She sighed. They could all wait until tomorrow, she decided.

  Ruth spent a restless night tossing and turning. After snatching a few hours’ sleep, she decided that she might as well get up and make herself a cup of tea. She began to thumb through the post, only stopping when she came to a long buff envelope marked ‘Urgent’ and bearing a London postmark.

  She tore it open and extracted a document that brought a smile to her face: ‘A decree absolute has been granted between the aforesaid parties: Max Donald Bennett and Ruth Ethel Bennett.’

  ‘That settles that once and for all,’ she said out loud, and immediately phoned Gerald to tell him the good news.

  ‘Disappointing,’ he said.

  ‘Disappointing?’ she repeated.

  ‘Yes, my darling. You have no idea how much my street cred has risen since the boys at school discovered I’ve been on holiday with a married woman.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Behave yourself, Gerald, and try to get used to the idea of being a respectable married man.’

  ‘Can’t wait,’ he said. ‘But must dash. It’s one thing to be living in sin; it’s quite another to be late for morning prayers.’

  Ruth went up to the bathroom and stood gingerly on the scales. She groaned when she saw where the little indicator finally stopped. She decided she would have to spend at least an hour in the gym that morning. The phone rang just as she was stepping into the bath. She got back out and grabbed a towel, thinking it must be Gerald again.

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bennett,’ said a rather formal voice. How she hated even the sound of that name.

  ‘Good morning,’ she replied.

  ‘It’s Mr Craddock, madam. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the past three weeks.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Ruth, ‘but I only returned from a holiday in Greece last night.’

  ‘Yes, I see. Well, perhaps we could meet as soon as it’s convenient?’ he said, showing no interest in her holiday.

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Craddock. I could pop into your office around twelve, if that would suit you.’

  ‘Any time you decide will suit us, Mrs Bennett,’ said the formal voice.
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  Ruth worked hard in the gym that morning, determined to lose the surplus pounds she had put on in Greece - respectable married woman or not, she still wanted to be slim. By the time she’d come off the running machine, the gym clock was chiming twelve. Despite hurrying through to the locker room and showering and changing as quickly as possible, she was still thirty-five minutes late for Mr Craddock.

  Once again the receptionist ushered her through to the senior partner’s office, without her having to see the inside of a waiting room. As she entered, she found Mr Craddock pacing around the room.

  ‘I’m sorry to have kept you,’ she said, feeling a little guilty, as two of the partners rose from their places at the boardroom table.

  This time Mr Craddock did not suggest a cup of tea, but simply ushered her into a chair at the other end of the table. Once she was seated, he resumed his place, glanced down at a pile of papers lying in front of him and extracted a single sheet.

  ‘Mrs Bennett, we have received a summons from your husband’s solicitors demanding a full settlement following your divorce.’

  ‘But we never discussed a settlement at any time,’ said Ruth in disbelief. ‘It was never part of the deal.’

  ‘That may well be the case,’ said the senior partner, looking down at the papers. ‘But unfortunately, you agreed to the divorce being granted on the grounds of your adultery with a Mr Gerald’ - he checked the name - ‘Prescott, at a time when your husband was working in London.’

  ‘That’s true, but we only agreed to that in order to speed matters up. You see, we both wanted the divorce to go through as quickly as possible.’

  ‘I’m sure that was the case, Mrs Bennett.’

  She would always hate that name.

  ‘However, by agreeing to Mr Bennett’s terms, he became the innocent party in this action.’

  ‘But that is no longer relevant,’ said Ruth, ‘because this morning I received confirmation from my London solicitors that I have been granted a decree absolute.’

  The partner seated on Mr Craddock’s right turned and looked directly at her.

  ‘May I be permitted to ask if it was at Mr Bennett’s suggestion that you instructed a solicitor from the mainland to handle your divorce proceedings?’

  Ah, so that’s what’s behind all this, thought Ruth. They’re just annoyed that I didn’t consult them. ‘Yes,’ she replied firmly. ‘It was simply a matter of convenience, as Max was living in London at the time, and didn’t want to have to keep flying back and forth to the island.’

  ‘It certainly turned out to be most convenient for Mr Bennett,’ said the senior partner. ‘Did your husband ever discuss a financial settlement with you?’

  ‘Never,’ said Ruth even more firmly. ‘He had no idea what I was worth.’

  ‘I have a feeling,’ continued the partner seated on Mr Craddock’s left, ‘that Mr Bennett knew only too well how much you were worth.’

  ‘But that’s not possible,’ insisted Ruth. ‘You see, I never once discussed my finances with him.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he has presented a claim against you, and seems to have made a remarkably accurate assessment of the value of your late husband’s estate.’

  ‘Then you must refuse to pay a penny, because it was never part of our agreement.’

  ‘I accept that what you are telling us is correct, Mrs Bennett. But I fear that as you were the guilty party, we have no defence to offer.’

  ‘How can that be possible?’ demanded Ruth.

  ‘The law of divorce on Jersey is unequivocal on the subject,’ said Mr Craddock. ‘As we would have been happy to advise you, had you consulted us.’

  ‘What law?’ asked Ruth, ignoring the barbed comment.

  ‘Under the law of Jersey, once it has been accepted that one of the parties is innocent in divorce proceedings, that person - whatever their sex - is automatically entitled to one third of the other’s estate.’

  Ruth began trembling. ‘Are there no exceptions?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Mr Craddock.

  Ruth looked up hopefully.

  ‘If you have been married for less than three years, the law does not apply. You were, however, Mrs Bennett, married for three years and eight days.’ He paused, readjusted his spectacles and added, ‘I have a feeling that Mr Bennett was not only aware of exactly how much you were worth, but also knew the laws of divorce as they apply on Jersey.’

  Three months later, after both sides of solicitors had agreed on the value of Ruth Ethel Bennett’s estate, Max Donald Bennett received a cheque for PS6,270,000 in full and final settlement.

  Whenever Ruth looked back on the past three years - and she often did - she came to the conclusion that Max must have planned everything right down to the last detail. Yes, even before they had bumped into each other.

  LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT*

  ANDREW WAS running late, and would have grabbed a taxi if it hadn’t been the rush hour. He entered the crowded Metro and dodged in and out of the hordes of commuters as they headed down the escalator on their way home.

  Andrew wasn’t on his way home. After only four stops he would re-emerge from the bowels of the earth to keep an appointment with Ely Bloom, the Chief Executive of Chase Manhattan in Paris. Although Andrew had never met Bloom, like all his colleagues at the bank, he was well aware of his reputation. He didn’t ‘take a meeting’ with anyone unless there was a good reason.

  Andrew had spent the forty-eight hours since Bloom’s secretary had called to make the appointment trying to work out what that good reason could possibly be. A simple switch from Credit Suisse to Chase seemed the obvious answer - but it was unlikely to be that simple if Bloom was involved. Was he about to make Andrew an offer he couldn’t refuse? Would he expect him to return to New York after he had spent less than two years in Paris? So many questions floated through his mind. He knew he should stop speculating, as they would all be answered at six o’clock. He would have run down the escalator, but it was too crowded.

  Andrew knew he had a few chips stacked on his side of the table - he had headed up the foreign exchange desk at Credit Suisse for almost two years, and it was common knowledge that he was outperforming all of his rivals. The French bankers had simply shrugged their shoulders when they were told of Andrew’s success, while his American rivals just tried to persuade him to leave his present position and join them. Whatever Bloom might offer him, Andrew was confident Credit Suisse would match it. Whenever he had received other approaches during the past twelve months he had dismissed them with the same polite, boyish grin - but he knew that this time would be different. Bloom wasn’t a man who could be bought off with a polite, boyish grin.

  Andrew didn’t want to move banks, as he was well satisfied with the package Credit Suisse had given him - and at his age, what young man wouldn’t enjoy working in Paris? However, it was that time of the year when annual bonuses were being considered, so he was happy to be seen ‘taking a meeting’ with Ely Bloom in the American Bar at the Georges V. It would be only a matter of hours before someone reported the sighting to his superiors.

  When Andrew stepped onto the platform of the Metro, it was so crowded that he wondered if he would be able to get on the first train that pulled into the station. He checked his watch: 5.37. He should still be well in time for the meeting, but as he had no intention of being late for Mr Bloom, he began to slip through any tiny opening or gap that appeared until he found himself at the front of the melee, well placed to climb on board the next train. Even if he didn’t reach an agreement with Mr Bloom, the man was going to be an important figure in the banking world for years to come, so there was no point in turning up late and making a bad impression.

  Andrew waited impatiently for the next train to emerge from the tunnel. He stared across the track at the opposite platform, and tried to concentrate on what questions Bloom might ask.

  What is your present salary?

  Can you break your contract?

  Are you o
n a bonus scheme?

  Are you willing to return to New York?

  The southbound platform was just as crowded as the one he was standing on, and Andrew’s concentration was broken when his eyes settled on a young woman who was glancing at her watch. Perhaps she also had an appointment she couldn’t afford to be late for.

  When she raised her head, he immediately forgot Ely Bloom. He just stared into those deep brown eyes. She remained unaware of her admirer. She must have been about five foot eight, with the most perfect oval face, olive skin that would never require make-up, and a mop of curly black hair that no hairdresser could possibly have permed. I’m on the wrong side of the track, he told himself, and it’s too late to do anything about it.

  She wore a beige-coloured raincoat, the tied belt leaving no question as to how slim and graceful her figure was, and her legs - or as much as he could see of them - completed a perfect package. Better than any Mr Bloom could offer.

  She checked her watch again and then looked up, suddenly aware that he was staring at her.

  He smiled. She blushed and lowered her head just as two trains glided into the station from opposite ends of the platform. Everyone standing behind Andrew pushed forward to claim a place on the waiting train.

  When it pulled out of the station, Andrew was the only person left on the platform. He stared across at the train on the other side, and watched it slowly accelerate out of the station. When it had disappeared into the tunnel, Andrew smiled again. Only one person remained on the opposite platform, and this time she returned his smile.

  You may ask how I know this story to be true. The answer is simple. I was told it at Andrew and Claire’s tenth wedding anniversary earlier this year.

  BOTH SIDES AGAINST THE MIDDLE*