Be Careful What You Wish For

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Is he as wealthy as Martinez?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “Does he have a reputation for honesty and probity?”

  “As far as I’m aware, yes.”

  “Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, do you think he’d be willing to take a serious risk?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “As you have answered all my questions satisfactorily, Sir Giles, perhaps you’d be kind enough to write the gentleman’s name down on the pad in front of you, without allowing anyone else around the table to see who it is.”

  Giles jotted down a name, tore a sheet off the pad, folded it and passed it to the lawyer, who in turn handed it to his father.

  Cedric Hardcastle unfolded the slip of paper, praying he’d never come across the man before.

  “Do you know this man, Father?”

  “Only by reputation,” said Cedric.

  “Excellent. Then if he agrees to go along with your plan, no one around this table will be breaking the law. But, Sir Giles,” he said, turning back to the Rt. Hon. Member for Bristol Docklands, “you must not make contact with this man at any time, and you cannot reveal his name to any member of the Barrington or Clifton families, particularly if they are shareholders in Barrington Shipping. Were you to do so, a court might consider that you were in collusion with a third party, and therefore breaking the law. Is that understood?”

  “Yes,” said Giles.

  “Thank you, sir,” the lawyer said as he gathered up his papers. “Good luck, Pop,” he whispered, before closing his briefcase and leaving the room without another word.

  “How can you be so confident, Giles,” said Emma once the door had closed behind him, “that a man you’ve never even met will fall in with Mr. Hardcastle’s plans?”

  “After Jessica had been buried, I asked one of the pall bearers who the man was who had wept throughout the service as if he’d lost a daughter and then hurried away. That was the name he gave me.”

  * * *

  “There’s no proof Luis Martinez killed the girl,” said Sir Alan, “only that he desecrated her paintings.”

  “But his fingerprints were on the handle of the flick knife,” said the colonel. “And that’s quite enough proof for me.”

  “As are Jessica’s, so any half-decent lawyer would get him off.”

  “But we both know that Martinez was responsible for her death.”

  “Perhaps. But that’s not the same thing in a court of law.”

  “So are you telling me I can’t issue the order to kill him?”

  “Not yet,” said the cabinet secretary.

  The colonel took a swig from his half-pint and changed the subject. “I see that Martinez has sacked his chauffeur.”

  “You don’t sack Kevin Rafferty. He leaves when the job is finished, or if he hasn’t been paid.”

  “So which was it this time?”

  “The job must have been finished. Otherwise you wouldn’t have to bother about killing Martinez, because Rafferty would already have done the job for you.”

  “Could it be possible that Martinez has lost interest in destroying the Barringtons?”

  “No. As long as Fisher remains on the board, you can be sure Martinez will still want to get even with every member of that family, believe me.”

  “And where does Lady Virginia fit into all this?”

  “She still hasn’t forgiven Sir Giles for supporting his friend Harry Clifton at the time of the dispute over his mother’s will, when Lady Barrington compared her daughter-in-law with her Siamese cat, Cleopatra, describing her as a ‘beautiful, well-groomed, vain, cunning, manipulative predator.’ Memorable.”

  “Do you want me to keep an eye on her as well?”

  “No, Lady Virginia won’t break the law. She’ll get someone else to do it for her.”

  “So what you’re saying is that I can’t do anything at the moment, other than keep Martinez under close observation and report back to you.”

  “Patience, colonel. You can be sure he’ll make another mistake, and when he does I’ll be happy to take advantage of your colleagues’ particular skills.” Sir Alan downed his gin and tonic, rose from his place and slipped out of the pub without shaking hands or saying good-bye. He walked quickly across Whitehall into Downing Street and, five minutes later, was back behind his desk doing the day job.

  * * *

  Cedric Hardcastle checked the number before he dialed. He didn’t want his secretary to know who he was phoning. He heard a ringing tone and waited.

  “Bingham’s Fish Paste. How may I help you?”

  “Can I speak to Mr. Bingham?”

  “Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Cedric Hardcastle of Farthings Bank.”

  “Hold on, please.”

  He heard a click and a moment later a voice with an accent almost as broad as his said, “Take care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves.”

  “I’m flattered, Mr. Bingham,” said Cedric.

  “You shouldn’t be. You run a damn fine bank. Just a shame you’re on the other side of the Humber.”

  “Mr. Bingham, I need—”

  “Bob. No one calls me Mr. Bingham except the taxman and head waiters hoping for a larger tip.”

  “Bob, I need to see you on a private matter, and I’d be quite happy to travel up to Grimsby.”

  “It must be serious, because there aren’t many people who are quite happy to travel up to Grimsby,” said Bob. “As I assume you don’t want to open a fish paste account, can I ask what this is all about?”

  Dull, boring Cedric would have said that he’d prefer to discuss the matter in person rather than over the telephone, Mr. Bingham. Newly minted, risk-taking Cedric said, “Bob, what would you give to humiliate Lady Virginia Fenwick, and get away with it?”

  “Half my fortune.”

  MAJOR ALEX FISHER

  1964

  27

  Barclays Bank

  Halton Road

  Bristol

  June 16, 1964

  Dear Major Fisher,

  This morning we honored two checks and a standing order presented on your personal account. The first was from the West Country Building Society for £12 11s 6d, the second from Harvey’s wine merchants for £3 4s 4d and the third was by standing order for £1 to the St. Bede’s Old Boys’ Society.

  These payments take you just over your overdraft limit of £500, so we must advise you not to issue any further checks until sufficient funds are available.

  Fisher looked at the morning mail on his desk and sighed deeply. There were more brown envelopes than white, several from tradesmen reminding him Must be paid within 30 days, and one regretting that the matter had been placed in the hands of solicitors. And it didn’t help that Susan was refusing to return his precious Jaguar until he was up to date with her monthly maintenance, not least because he couldn’t survive without a car and had ended up having to buy a secondhand Hillman Minx, which was another expense.

  He placed the slim brown envelopes to one side and began to open the white ones: an invitation to join his fellow officers of the Royal Wessex for a black tie dinner in the regimental mess, guest speaker Field Marshal Sir Claude Auchinleck—he would accept by return of post; a letter from Peter Maynard, the chairman of the local Conservative Association, asking if he would consider standing as a candidate for the county council elections. Countless hours canvassing and listening to your colleagues make self-serving speeches, expenses that were always queried, and the only accolade was being addressed as “councillor.” No thanks. He would send a courteous reply explaining he had too many other commitments at the present time. He was slitting open the final envelope when the phone rang.

  “Major Fisher.”

  “Alex,” purred a voice he could never forget.

  “Lady Virginia, what a pleasant surprise.”

  “Virginia,” she insisted, which he knew meant that she was after something. “I was just wondering if you p
lanned to be in London any time during the next couple of weeks?”

  “I’m coming up to London on Thursday to see … I have an appointment in Eaton Square at ten.”

  “Well, as you know, I live just around the corner in Cadogan Gardens, so why don’t you pop in for a drink? Shall we say around midday? There’s something of mutual interest that I think might appeal to you.”

  “Twelve o’clock on Thursday. I look forward to seeing you then … Virginia.”

  * * *

  “Can you explain why the company’s shares have been rising steadily during the past month?” asked Martinez.

  “The Buckingham’s first booking period is going far better than expected,” said Fisher, “and I’m told the maiden voyage is almost sold out.”

  “That’s good news, major, because I don’t want there to be an empty cabin on that ship by the time it sails for New York.” Fisher was about to ask why, when Martinez added, “And is everything in place for the naming ceremony?”

  “Yes, once Harland and Wolff have completed the sea trials and the ship is officially handed over, a date will be announced for the naming ceremony. In fact, things couldn’t be going much better for the company at the moment.”

  “Not for much longer,” Martinez assured him. “Nevertheless, major, you must go on supporting the chairman loyally, so that when the balloon goes up, no one will be looking in your direction.” Fisher laughed nervously. “And be sure to phone me the moment the next board meeting breaks up, because I can’t make my next move until I know the date of the naming ceremony.”

  “Why is the date so important?” asked Fisher.

  “All in good time, major. Once I have everything in place, you’ll be the first to be informed.” There was a knock on the door and Diego strolled in.

  “Shall I come back later?” he asked.

  “No, the major was just leaving. Anything else, Alex?”

  “Nothing,” said Fisher, wondering if he ought to tell Don Pedro about his appointment with Lady Virginia. He decided against it. After all, it might have nothing to do with the Barringtons or the Cliftons. “I’ll ring you as soon as I know that date.”

  “Be sure you do, major.”

  “Does he have any idea what you’re up to?” asked Diego once Fisher had closed the door behind him.

  “Not a clue, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. After all, he’s unlikely to be very cooperative when he discovers he’s about to lose his job. But more important, did you get me the extra money I need?”

  “Yes, but at a cost. The bank has agreed to increase your overdraft by another hundred thousand, but they’re insisting on more collateral while interest rates are so high.”

  “Aren’t my shares security enough? After all, they’re almost back to what I paid for them.”

  “Don’t forget, you had to pay off the chauffeur, which turned out to be far more expensive than we’d bargained for.”

  “Bastards,” said Martinez, who had never told either of his sons the threat Kevin Rafferty had made if he’d failed to pay up on time. “But I’ve still got half a million in the safe in case of emergencies.”

  “When I last checked, it was just over three hundred thousand. I’m even beginning to wonder if this vendetta with the Barringtons and the Cliftons is worth pursuing when there’s a chance it could end up bankrupting us.”

  “There’s no fear of that,” said Don Pedro. “That lot won’t have the balls to take me on when it comes to a showdown, and don’t forget, we’ve already struck twice.” He smiled. “Jessica Clifton turned out to be a bonus, and once I’ve sold all my shares I’ll be able to sink Mrs. Clifton along with the rest of her precious family. It’s all just a matter of timing, and I,” said Don Pedro, “will be holding the stopwatch.”

  * * *

  “Alex, how good of you to pop around. It’s been far too long. Let me get you a drink,” said Virginia, walking across to the cabinet. “Your favorite tipple is gin and tonic, if I remember correctly?”

  Alex was impressed that she remembered, as they hadn’t seen each other since Lady Virginia had caused him to lose his place on the board some nine years ago. What he did remember was the last thing she had said to him before they parted: And when I say good-bye, I mean good-bye.

  “And how are the Barrington family faring now you’re back on the board?”

  “The company is just about through the worst of its troubles, and the Buckingham’s first booking period is going extremely well.”

  “I was thinking of booking a suite for the maiden voyage to New York. That would get them thinking.”

  “If you do, I can’t imagine they’ll invite you to join them at the captain’s table,” said Fisher, warming to the idea.

  “By the time we dock in New York, darling, mine will be the only table anyone wants to sit at.”

  Fisher laughed. “Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

  “No, something far more important,” said Virginia, patting the sofa. “Come and sit down beside me. I need your help with a little project I’ve been working on, and you, major, with your military background and business experience, are the ideal person to carry it out.”

  Alex sipped his drink and listened in disbelief to what Virginia was proposing. He was about to reject the whole idea when she opened her handbag, extracted a check for £250 and handed it to him. All he could see in front of him was a pile of brown envelopes. “I don’t think—”

  “And there’ll be another two hundred and fifty once the job is done.”

  Alex saw a way out. “No, thank you, Virginia,” he said firmly. “I would want the full amount up front. Perhaps you’ve forgotten what happened the last time we made a similar deal.”

  Virginia tore up the check and, although Alex desperately needed the money, he felt a sense of relief. But to his surprise, she opened her bag again, took out her checkbook and wrote the words, Pay Major A. Fisher, five hundred pounds. She signed the check and handed it to Alex.

  * * *

  On the journey back to Bristol, Alex thought about tearing up the check, but his mind kept returning to the unpaid bills, one threatening him with legal action, the outstanding monthly maintenance and the unopened brown envelopes waiting on his desk.

  Once he’d banked the check and paid his bills, Alex accepted that there was no turning back. He spent the next two days planning the whole exercise as if it were a military campaign.

  Day one, Bath recce.

  Day two, Bristol preparation.

  Day three, Bath execution.

  By Sunday, he was regretting ever agreeing to become involved, but he didn’t care to think about the revenge Virginia would inflict if he let her down at the last moment and then failed to return her money.

  On Monday morning, he drove the thirteen miles to Bath. He parked in the municipal car park, made his way across the bridge, past the recreation ground and into the city center. He didn’t need a map as he’d spent most of the weekend memorizing every road until he could have walked the course blindfold. Time spent on preparation is seldom wasted, his old commanding officer used to say.

  He began his quest in the high street, only stopping when he came across a grocer’s or one of the new supermarkets. Once he was inside, he carefully checked the shelves, and if the product he required was on sale, he purchased half a dozen. After he’d completed the first part of the operation, Alex only needed to visit one other establishment, the Angel Hotel, where he checked the location of the public telephone booths. Satisfied, he walked back across the bridge to the car park, placed the two shopping bags in the boot of his car and drove back to Bristol.

  When he arrived home, he parked in the garage, and took the two bags out of the boot. Over supper of a bowl of Heinz tomato soup and a sausage roll, he went over again and again what he needed to do the following day. He woke several times during the night.

  After breakfast, Alex sat at his desk and read through the minutes of the last board meeting, continually
telling himself that he couldn’t go through with it.

  At 10:30, he strolled into the kitchen, took an empty milk bottle from the windowsill and washed it out. He wrapped the bottle in a tea towel and put it in the sink before taking a small hammer out of the top drawer. He began to smash the bottle into pieces, which he then broke into smaller and smaller fragments, until he was left with a saucer full of glass powder.

  After he’d completed the operation he felt exhausted and, like any self-respecting workman, took a break. He poured himself a beer, made a cheese and tomato sandwich and sat down to read the morning paper. The Vatican was demanding that the contraceptive pill should be banned.

  Forty minutes later, he returned to his task. He placed the two shopping bags on the work surface, took out the thirty-six small jars and stood them neatly in three lines, like soldiers on parade. He unscrewed the lid of the first jar and sprinkled a small amount of the glass powder on top, as if he was adding seasoning. He screwed the lid tightly back on, and repeated the exercise thirty-five times, before placing the jars back in the bags and putting them both in the cupboard under the sink.

  Alex spent some time washing what was left of the glass powder down the sink until he was sure it was all gone. He left the house, walked to the end of the road, dropped into his local branch of Barclays and exchanged a pound note for twenty shilling coins. On the way back to the flat, he picked up a copy of the Bristol Evening News. Once he was back home, he made himself a cup of tea. He took it into his study, sat at his desk and dialed directory inquiries. He asked for five London numbers, and one in Bath.

  The following day, Alex put the two shopping bags back in the boot and once again set off for Bath. After he’d parked in the far corner of the municipal car park, he took out the shopping bags and returned to the town center, entering each one of the establishments where he’d purchased the jars and, unlike a shoplifter, he placed them back on the shelves. Once he’d returned the thirty-fifth jar to the last shop, he took the remaining one up to the counter and asked to see the manager.