Heads You Win

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Have you moved the Warhol from the Jefferson bedroom?” she asked, still out of breath.

  “What are you talking about?” said Lawrence, putting down his coffee.

  “The Warhol, it’s gone. It’s not there.”

  Lawrence leaped up from his place and walked quickly out of the room. He took the stairs up to the first floor two at a time, before making his way along the landing and into the Jefferson room. He found a bare hook on the wall where the Warhol had once hung.

  “When did you last see it?” he asked as Evelyn stared at the faint outline of where the picture had been.

  “I can’t be sure. I’ve just got so used to it being there. But I do recall seeing it on the night of your party.” A long silence followed before she added, “I feel ashamed, Lawrence, because I think it could be my fault.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I got a little drunk on the night of your party, and allowed someone to join me in my room.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend Alex Karpenko.”

  “Did he stay the night?”

  “Certainly not. He’d left by the time I woke in the morning. I just didn’t think…”

  “You never do,” said Lawrence. “But if anyone’s to blame, it’s me.”

  “Perhaps I should try and contact him, and see if I can get the picture back?”

  “That’s the last thing you should do. If anyone’s going to speak to Alex, it will be me.”

  “Will you have to inform the police?”

  “I don’t have any choice,” said Lawrence. “As you well know, the picture doesn’t belong to me, it’s part of our grandfather’s bequest, and as it’s worth a million, possibly more, I’ll have to report the theft to the police, as well as to the insurance company.”

  “But he saved your life.”

  “Yes, he did. So if he returns the painting immediately, perhaps I won’t press charges.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Evelyn. “He seemed such a nice guy.”

  “You never can tell about anyone, can you?” said Lawrence.

  * * *

  That afternoon, Alex called Evelyn, and the phone was picked up by the butler, who told him Miss Lowell had left the house around eleven, and he couldn’t be sure when she would be returning. She didn’t call back, so Alex rang again in the evening. This time Lawrence answered the phone.

  “What a wonderful party, Lawrence. You’re a great host, and I’m looking forward to seeing you and Evelyn tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming to Boston for the weekend.”

  “Didn’t Evelyn tell you?”

  “Evelyn left this morning for her home in the south of France, and I’m visiting my mother in Nantucket.”

  “But we’d agreed that I should join you both for dinner on Friday evening, and go sailing on Saturday.” There was such a long silence, Alex thought the line must have gone dead. “Are you still there, Lawrence?”

  “I apologize for asking you this, Alex, but when you left the house on Sunday morning, the butler said you were carrying a package under your arm.”

  “A Warhol,” said Alex, without hesitation. “Somewhat reluctantly, I might add. But Evelyn insisted I take it as security.”

  “Security for what?”

  “I loaned her half a million to invest with Todd Halliday, who intends to back my company.”

  “Todd Halliday is her husband, and doesn’t have a penny to his name.”

  “Evelyn is married?”

  “Has been for years,” said Lawrence.

  “But she told me Todd specializes in start-ups.”

  “Todd only specializes in breakdowns that always involve other people’s money,” said Lawrence. “Yours on this occasion.”

  “But Evelyn assured me he was considering investing ten, possibly fifteen million in Elena’s.”

  “I’m not sure Todd could afford to invest ten dollars, let alone ten million, in anything. I hope you haven’t given him any money.”

  “Her,” said Alex. “My check was cashed this morning.” Lawrence was glad Alex couldn’t see the expression on his face.

  “But don’t worry, I still have the Warhol as security,” Alex added.

  Another long silence followed before Lawrence said, “That picture wasn’t hers to give. It’s part of the Lowell family collection, which is held in trust, and always left to the firstborn son, who then passes it on to the next generation. I inherited the collection when my father died a couple of years ago, and although Evelyn is next in line, until I have a son, my father made it clear in his will that if I were to die in Vietnam, the collection was to be bequeathed to the Boston Fine Arts Society, and not a single work was to go to Evelyn.”

  “I’ll return the painting immediately,” said Alex.

  “And I’ll pay you back your half a million dollars,” said Lawrence.

  “No, you will not,” said Alex firmly. “My agreement was with Evelyn, not you. Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt and assume she’s invested my money in a blue-chip company.”

  “The only blue chips that woman ever invests in are to be found in casinos. In future, whenever she comes to stay, I’ll have to nail every picture to the wall. But that doesn’t stop us working as a team just as we’ve done in the past, and see if we can find a way of getting your money back.”

  “I’ll do anything I can to help,” said Alex. “And of course I’ll return the painting. I’m only sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

  “You should have left me to die on the battlefield, Alex. Then you would never have met my sister.”

  “Mea culpa,” said Alex. “Jezebel, Lucrezia Borgia, Mata Hari, and now Evelyn Lowell. She knew a sucker when she saw one.”

  “You’re not the first, and you probably won’t be the last. What’s more, I’m afraid I’ll be away for the next month, as Mother and I always spend August in Europe. Why don’t I send you a check now, and you can return the painting as soon as I get back. Then we can go sailing, and leave Evelyn on dry land.”

  “No,” said Alex. “You can give me the check but only when I return the painting.”

  “If you insist. Just make sure you don’t lose it, because if you do, Evelyn will deny ever having given it to you.”

  “Lawrence, can I ask why you assumed I was the innocent party, and you didn’t immediately take your sister’s side?”

  “Form. When I was nine, Evelyn used to steal my pocket money, and when she was caught red-handed she blamed it on our nanny, who got the sack. And after a string of similar incidents at school, my dear father had to build a new library to prevent her being expelled.”

  “But that doesn’t prove I’m innocent. Don’t forget, I’ve still got a painting that’s worth over a million.”

  “True, but Evelyn made a mistake when she cast you as nanny on this occasion.”

  “How come?”

  “She told me you’d left the house before she woke on the morning after the party, despite the fact that she joined me for breakfast at around eight thirty.”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  “But you hadn’t left, because you asked Caxton to call a cab around that time to take you back to your hotel. Much as I admire your nerve, courage, chutzpah, call it what you will, Alex, even you wouldn’t have the gall to walk out of the house with a Warhol under your arm and expect the butler to hold open the door of a taxi for you.”

  Alex laughed. “So what are you going to do about your sister?”

  “I’ll wait for her to make her next mistake,” said Lawrence, “which, given her past record, shouldn’t be too long.”

  25

  SASHA

  London

  “I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the vicar. “You may kiss the bride.”

  Sasha took Charlie in his arms and kissed her as if they were on a first date. The congregation of nearly a hundred people burst into applause.

  The bride and groom progressed slo
wly down the aisle and out into the churchyard, where a photographer, tripod already set up, awaited them. The first picture he took was of the new Mr. and Mrs. Karpenko, followed by group shots with their parents, the rest of the bride’s family, and finally with the best man and the ushers.

  The newlyweds were then driven back to Barn Cottage in a Rolls-Royce. On the way, Sasha admitted to his wife that he was a little nervous about his speech.

  “I’d be a lot more nervous about Ben’s speech, if I were you,” said Charlie. “When I heard him rehearsing it in the kitchen before supper last night, I felt quite sorry for you.”

  “That bad?” said Sasha. When they arrived back at the house, they were surprised to find Elena already checking the canapés.

  “How did she get here before us?” whispered Charlie as she straightened her husband’s tie, and removed a hair from his jacket.

  “Silly question,” said Sasha, as the guests began to arrive in dribs and drabs before making their way through to the marquee for lunch.

  Sasha quite forgot about the speeches until the plates had been cleared, coffee had been served, and Ben rose to deliver his offering.

  “My lords, ladies and gentlemen,” he began.

  “Where are the lords?” shouted one of the ushers.

  “Just thinking ahead,” said Ben, placing a hand on Sasha’s shoulder.

  “Hear, hear!” cried some of his Cambridge Union contemporaries.

  “You may ask,” said Ben, “how a pathetic illegal immigrant from Leningrad could possibly have captured the heart of a beautiful English girl. Well, he didn’t. The truth is that Charlie, being a good-hearted thing, took pity on him when they first met at a party given at my home to celebrate the end of our school days. Because Charlie is a liberal and therefore a supporter of lost causes, Sasha was in with a chance. But even I didn’t think he’d get that lucky, and end up marrying such a bright and beautiful creature.

  “But there’s a downside, Sasha, that I must warn you about. Charlie was captain of hockey at Fulham High School, and I’m reliably informed that with stick in hand she thought nothing of mowing down any opponent within reach. So stick to chess, old friend. And don’t forget that while the queen can range freely around the board, the king can only move one square at a time.”

  Ben waited for the laughter and applause to die down before he continued. “To say I was proud to be invited to act as Sasha’s best man would be an understatement, because I have known for some time that I was destined to walk in this man’s shadow, and just occasionally be allowed to bask in his limelight. I have watched in awe as he won a scholarship to Cambridge, became president of the Union, captained the varsity chess team, and ended his time at Trinity with a starred first. But put all of those things together, and still they’re nothing compared to capturing the heart of Charlie Dangerfield. Because with her by his side, it will be possible for him to scale even higher mountains. But then, behind every great man … is a surprised mother-in-law.”

  Once again, Ben waited for the laughter to die down before he said, “But I have not entirely given up hope for myself, as none of you can have failed to notice the four beautiful bridesmaids who accompanied Charlie down the aisle. I’ve already asked three of them out.”

  “And all three turned you down!” shouted another usher.

  “True,” said Ben, “but don’t forget there are four, so I still live in hope.”

  “Not if she’s got any sense!”

  “Despite that, I ask you to rise and toast the health of Sasha and Charlie.”

  Everyone stood, raised their glasses, and cried, “Sasha and Charlie!”

  “Would you be kind enough to remain standing,” continued Ben, “so that I can always remind Sasha in the years to come, that when I gave the best man’s speech at his wedding, I received a standing ovation.”

  The applause that followed made Sasha realize just how hard his old friend had worked on the speech that he was now expected to follow. He understood why Charlie had warned him he should be nervous.

  He rose slowly to his feet, aware that his friend had raised the bar.

  “I would like to begin by thanking Mr. and Mrs. Dangerfield, not only for their generosity in being such wonderful hosts, but even more for welcoming this pathetic refugee into their antique English family. This, despite the fact that I have yet to visit Wimbledon, Lord’s, or Twickenham, and don’t know the meaning of foot-fault or leg-before, let alone hooker. Not only that, I’m still not sure if you should pour the milk into a cup before or after the tea. And will I ever get used to warm beer, waiting patiently in queues, and Maypole dancing? Remembering all this, you may well ask how I got so lucky as to marry the quintessential English rose, who blossoms in all seasons.

  “The answer is that there has always been another, equally remarkable, woman in my life. I am referring of course to my mother, Elena, without whom none of this would have been possible.”

  The prolonged applause allowed Sasha to gather his thoughts. “Without her, I would have had no moral compass, no guiding star, no path to follow. I never thought I would meet her equal, but the gods”—he looked up to the sky—“were to prove me wrong, and excelled themselves when they introduced me to Charlie.”

  “It wasn’t the gods,” interrupted Ben, “it was me!” Which was met with raucous laughter.

  “Which reminds me,” continued Sasha, “to warn the fourth bridesmaid, who seems to be a sensible and charming young lady, to emulate her three colleagues and reject Mr. Cohen out of hand. She can do so much better.” Hear, hears echoed around the room. “But I can’t,” concluded Sasha, raising his glass, “so I invite you all to join me in a toast to the bridesmaids.”

  “The bridesmaids!”

  It was some time before the audience resumed their seats.

  Ben leaned across to Sasha. “Well done,” he said. “Especially as you had such an impossible act to follow.” Sasha laughed and raised a glass to his friend. “As soon as you’re back from your honeymoon,” continued Ben, suddenly sounding more sober, “we have to start to plan the next move on your journey to the House of Commons.”

  “That might not be so easy for a pathetic refugee,” said Sasha.

  “Of course it will—especially if you have me as your campaign manager.”

  “But you’re a member of the Conservative Party, Ben, just in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “And will remain so in every other constituency, apart from the one in which you’re standing. With Charlie by your side, nothing can stop you. And I have another little piece of information to share with you before you disappear off to Venice. I know Charlie won’t thank me for discussing business on your wedding day, but a surprise package turned up on my desk yesterday, which could turn out to be an unexpected wedding gift.” Sasha put down his glass. “The freehold for 154 Fulham Road has come on the market.”

  “Tremlett’s restaurant? How come?”

  “As you probably know, it’s been losing money for the past couple of years. I suspect his old man has finally had enough, and decided to cut his losses and sell up.”

  “How much?”

  “Four hundred thousand.”

  Sasha took another sip of champagne. “Way out of our league,” he eventually managed.

  “That’s a pity, because I’ve no doubt your mother would only have to cross the road to turn the place around in no time.”

  “I agree, but it’s still too soon for us.”

  “Well, at least you can be thankful that your greatest rival has bitten the dust. And at that price, it’s unlikely to be another restaurant that will replace it. Help,” he said, “I see a formidable woman bearing down on me, clearly not pleased that I’ve been monopolizing the groom. Forgive me while I disappear!”

  Sasha laughed as his friend leaped up and melted into the crowd. He stood as the elderly lady approached.

  “What a magnificent occasion,” said the countess, sitting down in Ben’s empty chair. “You are indeed
a lucky man. Thank you for inviting me.”

  “We were delighted you could join us,” said Sasha. “My mother was particularly pleased.”

  “She’s even more old-fashioned than I am,” whispered the countess. “But there’s another reason I wanted to speak to you.” Sasha didn’t refill his glass. “As you know, my Fabergé egg comes up for auction at Sotheby’s in September. I wonder if you’d be kind enough to pay me a visit when you return from your honeymoon, as there’s something I need to discuss with you.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” said Sasha. “Any clues?”

  “I think,” said the countess, “that between the two of us we might just be able to defeat both the Russians and the English. But only if you felt able to…”

  “Damned good speech, Sasha. But then, I wouldn’t have expected anything less,” said a voice behind him, who clearly hadn’t left his glass unfilled.

  “Thank you,” said Sasha, trying to recall the name of Charlie’s uncle. By the time the man had moved on, so had the countess. But her instructions couldn’t have been clearer.

  Sasha mingled with the guests while his wife—he wondered how long it would take him to get used to that—went up to her room to change into her going-away outfit. When she reappeared on the staircase forty minutes later, he was reminded of the first moment he’d seen her at Ben’s party nearly four years ago. Did she have any idea how he had prayed that she was heading toward him? Only recently she’d confessed to Ben that she’d been hoping he wouldn’t turn up at the party with another girl.

  It was another half hour before they were able to bid their final farewells and climb into Sasha’s old MG, having abandoned the Rolls-Royce. They arrived at Victoria station only just in time to board the Orient Express for Venice.

  They both burst out laughing when they discovered that their sleeping compartment only had two narrow single beds.

  “We ought to claim half our money back,” said Sasha, as he squeezed in alongside his wife and turned out the light.

  * * *

  “There’s only one thing I insist on,” said Tremlett once his son had fully briefed him on the sale of 154 Fulham Road.