Be Careful What You Wish For

by Jeffrey Archer

  Now that he was back on familiar ground, Cedric relaxed for the first time. Forty minutes later, he had presented his ideas and answered every one of Mr. Morita’s questions. Sebastian felt his boss couldn’t have done much better.

  “May I suggest you draw up a contract, Mr. Hardcastle? I was in no doubt that you were the right man for this job long before I left Tokyo. After your presentation, I am even more convinced. I do have appointments with two other banks, but that is simply to assure my shareholders that I am considering alternatives. Take care of the rin, and the yen will take care of themselves.”

  Both men laughed.

  “If you are free,” said Cedric, “perhaps you would care to join me for lunch? A Japanese restaurant has recently opened in the City, and has received excellent reviews, so I thought—”

  “And you can think again, Mr. Hardcastle, because I didn’t travel six thousand miles in search of a Japanese restaurant. No, I will take you to Rules, and we will enjoy roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, appropriate for a man from Huddersfield, I think.” Both men burst out laughing again.

  When they left the office a few minutes later, Cedric held back and whispered in Sebastian’s ear, “Good thinking, but as there are no tickets available for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady, you’re going to have to spend the rest of the day in the returns queue. Just let’s hope it doesn’t rain, or you’ll be soaked again,” he added before joining Mr. Morita in the corridor.

  Sebastian bowed low as Cedric and his guests stepped into the lift and disappeared down to the ground floor. He hung around on the fifth floor for a few more minutes but didn’t call for the lift until he felt certain they would be well on their way to the restaurant.

  Once Sebastian had left the bank, he hailed a taxi. “Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,” he said, and when they pulled up outside the theater twenty minutes later, the first thing he noticed was just how long the queue for returns was. He paid the cabbie, strolled into the theater and went straight up to the box office.

  “I don’t suppose you have three tickets for tonight?” he pleaded.

  “You suppose correctly, my dear,” said the woman sitting in the booth. “You could of course join the returns queue, but frankly not many of them will get in before Christmas. Someone has to die before this show gets returns.”

  “I don’t care what it costs.”

  “That’s what they all say, dear. We’ve got people in the queue who claim it’s their twenty-first birthday, their fiftieth wedding anniversary … one of them was so desperate he proposed to me.”

  Sebastian walked out of the theater and stood on the pavement. He took one more look at the queue, which seemed to have grown even longer in the past few minutes, and tried to work out what he could possibly do next. He then recalled something he’d once read in one of his father’s novels. He decided he would try to find out if it would work for him as well as it had for William Warwick.

  He jogged down the hill toward the Strand, dodging in and out of the afternoon traffic, arriving back in Savoy Place a few minutes later. He went straight to the front desk and asked the receptionist for the name of the head porter.

  “Albert Southgate,” she replied.

  Sebastian thanked her and strolled across to the concierge’s desk, as if he were a guest.

  “Is Albert around?” he asked the porter.

  “I think he’s gone to lunch, sir, but I’ll just check.” The man disappeared into a back room.

  “Bert, there’s a gentleman asking for you.”

  Sebastian didn’t have long to wait before an older man appeared in a long blue coat adorned with gold braid on the cuffs, shiny gold buttons and two rows of campaign medals, one of which he recognized. He gave Sebastian a wary look, and asked, “How can I help you?”

  “I have a problem,” said Sebastian, still wondering if he could risk it. “My uncle, Sir Giles Barrington, once told me that if I was ever staying at the Savoy and needed anything, to have a word with Albert.”

  “The gentleman what won the MC at Tobruk?”

  “Yes,” said Sebastian, taken by surprise.

  “Not many survived that one. Nasty business. How can I help?”

  “Sir Giles needs three tickets for My Fair Lady.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight.”

  “You must be joking.”

  “And he doesn’t care what it costs.”

  “Hang about. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Sebastian watched as Albert marched out of the hotel, crossed the road and disappeared in the direction of the Theatre Royal. He paced up and down the foyer, occasionally looking anxiously out on to the Strand, but it was another half an hour before the head porter reappeared, clutching an envelope. He walked back into the hotel and handed the envelope to Sebastian.

  “Three house seats, row F, center stalls.”

  “Fantastic. How much do I owe you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sebastian.

  “Box office manager asked to be remembered to Sir Giles—his brother, Sergeant Harris, was killed at Tobruk.”

  Sebastian felt ashamed.

  * * *

  “Well done, Seb, you saved the day. Now the only task you have left today is to make sure the Daimler remains outside the Savoy until we know Mr. Morita and his colleagues are safely tucked up in bed.”

  “But it’s only a couple of hundred yards from the hotel to the theater.”

  “That can be a long way if it’s raining, as your brief encounter with Professor Marsh’s wife should have taught you. Besides, if we don’t make the effort, you can be sure someone else will.”

  * * *

  Sebastian got out of the car and entered the Savoy at 6:30 p.m. He walked across to the lift and waited patiently. Just after seven, Mr. Morita and his two colleagues appeared. Sebastian bowed low and handed them an envelope containing three tickets.

  “Thank you, young man,” said Mr. Morita. They made their way across the foyer, through the swing doors and out of the hotel.

  “The chairman’s car will take you to the Theatre Royal,” said Sebastian as Tom opened the back door of the Daimler.

  “No, thank you,” said Morita, “the walk will do us good.” Without another word, the three men set off in the direction of the theater. Sebastian bowed low once again, before joining Tom in the front of the car.

  “Why don’t you go home?” said Tom. “No need to hang about, and if it starts to rain, I’ll drive up to the theater and pick them up.”

  “But they might want to go to dinner after the show, or to a nightclub. Do you know any nightclubs?”

  “Depends what they’re lookin’ for.”

  “Not that, I suspect. But either way, I’m staying put until, to quote Mr. Hardcastle, they’re safely tucked up in bed.”

  It didn’t rain, not a drop, and by ten o’clock Sebastian knew everything there was to know about Tom’s life, including where he’d been to school, where he’d been billeted during the war and where he’d worked before becoming Mr. Hardcastle’s chauffeur. Tom was chatting about his wife wanting to go to Marbella on their next holiday, when Sebastian said, “Oh, my God,” and slithered down the seat and out of sight as two smartly dressed men walked past the front of the car and strode into the hotel.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Avoiding someone I’d hoped never to see again.”

  “Looks as if the curtain’s come down,” said Tom, as hordes of chattering theatergoers began to pour out on to the Strand. A few minutes later, Sebastian spotted his three charges making their way back to the hotel. Just before Mr. Morita reached the entrance, Sebastian got out of the car and bowed low.

  “I hope you enjoyed the show, Morita-san.”

  “Couldn’t have been better,” Morita responded. “I haven’t laughed so much in years, and the music was wonderful. I will thank Mr. Hardcastle personally when I see him tomorrow morning. Please go home, Mr. Clifton, because
I won’t need the car again tonight. Sorry to have kept you up.”

  “My pleasure, Morita-san,” said Sebastian. He remained on the pavement, and watched the three of them enter the hotel, cross the foyer and head toward the bank of lifts. His heart began to beat faster when he saw two men step forward, bow and then shake hands with Mr. Morita. Sebastian remained rooted to the spot. The two men spoke to Morita for a few moments. He then dismissed his colleagues and accompanied the two men into the American Bar. Sebastian wanted desperately to go into the hotel and take a closer look, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he reluctantly slipped back into the car.

  “Are you all right?” asked Tom. “You’re as white as a sheet.”

  “What time does Mr. Hardcastle go to bed?”

  “Eleven, eleven thirty, depends. But you can always tell if he’s still up, because his study light will be on.”

  Sebastian checked his watch: 10:43 p.m. “Then let’s go and find out if he’s still awake.”

  Tom drove out on to the Strand, crossed Trafalgar Square, continued on down the Mall to Hyde Park Corner and arrived outside 37 Cadogan Place just after eleven. The study light was still burning. No doubt the chairman was triple-checking the contract he was anticipating the Japanese would be signing in the morning.

  Sebastian got slowly out of the car, climbed the steps and rang the front door bell. A few moments later the hall light went on and Cedric opened the door.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, chairman, but we’ve got a problem.”

  17

  “THE FIRST THING you must do is tell your uncle the truth,” said Cedric. “And I mean the whole truth.”

  “I’ll tell him everything as soon as I get back this evening.”

  “It’s important that Sir Giles knows what you did in his name, because he’ll want to write and thank Mr. Harris at the Theatre Royal, as well as the head porter of the Savoy.”

  “Albert Southgate.”

  “And you must write and thank them both as well.”

  “Yes, of course. And I apologize again, sir. I feel I’ve let you down, because the whole exercise has turned out to be a waste of your time.”

  “These experiences are rarely a complete waste of time. Whenever you bid for a new contract, even if you are unsuccessful, you almost always learn something that will stand you in good stead for the next one.”

  “What did I learn?”

  “Japanese for a start, not to mention one or two other things about yourself that I’m sure you’ll benefit from at some later date.”

  “But the amount of time you and your senior staff have spent on this project … along with a great deal of the bank’s money.”

  “It won’t have been any different for Barclays or the Westminster. If you manage a success rate of one in five with projects like this, that’s considered par for the course,” he added as the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up and, after a moment, said, “Yes, send him in.”

  “Shall I leave, sir?”

  “No, stay put. I’d rather like you to meet my son.” The door opened, and in walked a man who could only have been of Cedric Hardcastle’s lineage: an inch taller perhaps, but the same warm smile, broad shoulders and almost bald dome, although with a slightly thicker semi-circle of hair sprouting from ear to ear, making him look like a seventeenth-century friar. And, as Sebastian was about to discover, the same incisive mind.

  “Good morning, Pop, good to see you.” And the same Yorkshire accent.

  “Arnold, this is Sebastian Clifton, who’s been assisting me with the Sony negotiations.”

  “I’m glad to meet you, sir,” said Sebastian as they shook hands.

  “I’m a huge admirer of your—”

  “—my father’s books?”

  “No, can’t say I’ve ever read one. Have quite enough of detectives during the day without reading about them at night.”

  “My mother, then, the first woman chairman of a public company?”

  “No, it’s your sister, Jessica, that I’m in awe of. What a talent,” he added, nodding toward the drawing of his father on the wall. “So what’s she up to now?”

  “She’s just enrolled at the Slade in Bloomsbury, and is about to begin her first year.”

  “Then I feel sorry for the other poor sods in her year.”

  “Why?”

  “They’ll either love her or hate her, because they’re about to discover they’re just not in her class. But back to more mundane matters,” Arnold said, turning to his father. “I’ve prepared three copies of the contract, as agreed by both parties, and once you’ve signed them, you’ll have ninety days to raise the ten million loan for a five-year period at a rate of two and a quarter percent. The quarter being your fee on the transaction. I should also mention—”

  “Don’t bother,” said Cedric, “because I have a feeling we’re no longer in the running for this one.”

  “But when I spoke to you last night, Pop, you sounded quite bullish.”

  “Let’s just say that circumstances have changed since then, and leave it at that,” said Cedric.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” said Arnold. He gathered up the contracts, and was just about to put them back in his briefcase, when he saw it for the first time.

  “I’ve never thought of you as an aesthete, Pop, but this is quite superb,” he said, carefully picking up the Japanese vase from his father’s desk. He studied the piece more closely before checking the bottom. “And by one of Japan’s national treasures, no less.”

  “Not you as well,” said Cedric.

  “Shoji Hamada,” said Sebastian.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “I didn’t,” said Cedric. “It was a gift from Mr. Morita.”

  “Well, you didn’t end up completely empty-handed on this deal,” said Arnold, as they heard a tap on the door.

  “Come in,” said Cedric, wondering if it just might be … the door swung open and Tom marched in. “I thought I told you to stay at the Savoy,” said the chairman.

  “Not much point, sir. I was waiting outside the hotel at nine thirty, as instructed, but Mr. Morita never showed up. And him being a gentleman what’s never late, I decided to have a word with the doorman, who tipped me off that the three Japanese guests had checked out and left the hotel in a taxi just after nine.”

  “I never would have thought it possible,” said Cedric. “I must be losing my touch.”

  “You can’t win ’em all, Pop, as you so often remind me,” said Arnold.

  “Lawyers seem to win even when they lose,” replied his father.

  “Tell you what I’ll do,” said Arnold. “I’ll forgo my vast, unearned fee, in exchange for this small, insignificant bauble.”

  “Get lost.”

  “Then I’ll be on my way, as there’s clearly not much more I can do here.”

  Arnold was placing the contracts in his Gladstone bag when the door swung open, and Mr. Morita and his two colleagues walked in, just as several church bells in the Square Mile began to chime eleven times.

  “I hope I’m not late,” were Mr. Morita’s first words as he shook hands with Cedric.

  “Bang on time,” said Cedric.

  “And you,” said Morita, looking at Arnold, “can only be the unworthy son of a great father.”

  “That’s me, sir,” said Arnold as they shook hands.

  “Have you prepared the contracts?”

  “I have indeed, sir.”

  “Then all you’ll need is my signature, and then Father can get on with his work.” Arnold took the contracts back out of his Gladstone bag and laid them out on the desk. “But before I sign, I have a gift for my new friend, Sebastian Clifton, which is why I had to leave the hotel so early this morning.”

  Mr. Ono stepped forward and handed a small box to Mr. Morita, who in turn gave it to Sebastian.

  “Not always a good boy but, as the British say, his heart is in the right place.”

  Sebastian said no
thing as he untied the red ribbon and removed the silver paper before lifting the box’s lid. He took out a tiny vase glazed in crimson and yellow. He couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  “You’re not looking for a lawyer, by any chance?” asked Arnold.

  “Only if you can name the potter without looking at the base.”

  Sebastian handed the vase to Arnold, who took his time admiring how the red ran into the yellow, creating orange streaks, before he ventured an opinion. “Bernard Leach?”

  “This son is of some use after all,” said Morita.

  Both men laughed, as Arnold handed the exquisite piece back to Sebastian, who said, “I don’t know how to thank you, sir.”

  “But when you do, be sure to deliver your speech in my native tongue.”

  Sebastian was so taken by surprise, he nearly dropped the vase. “I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

  “Of course you do, and should you fail to respond in Japanese, I will be left with no choice but to present this vase to the son of Cedric.”

  Everyone waited for Sebastian to speak. “Arigatou gozaimasu. Taihenni kouei desu. Isshou taisetsuni itashimasu.”

  “Most impressive. Needs a little attention to the finer brush strokes, unlike your sister’s work, but impressive all the same.”

  “But how, Morita-san, did you work out that I could speak your language when I’ve never said a word of Japanese in your presence?”

  “Three tickets for My Fair Lady would be my bet,” said Cedric.

  “Mr. Hardcastle is a shrewd man, which was why I selected him to represent me in the first place.”

  “But how?” repeated Sebastian.

  “The tickets were too much of a coincidence,” said Morita. “Think about it, Sebastian, while I get on with signing the contract.” He removed a fountain pen from his top pocket and handed it to Cedric. “You must sign first, otherwise the gods will not bless our union.”

  Morita watched as Cedric signed all three contracts, before adding his own signature. Both men bowed and then shook hands.

  “I have to rush to the airport and take a plane to Paris. The French are causing me many problems.”