Harvey bustled forward and took Anne’s hand and gave it to the priest.
“I James Clarence Spencer, take thee, Rosalie Arlene, to my wedded wife…”
“And what’s more, why should he recognize us when he’s only seen each of us once, and not as we really are,” continued Stephen.
“And thereto I plight thee my troth.”
“I, Rosalie Arlene, take thee, James Clarence Spencer, to my wedded husband…”
“But he must have a chance of working it out if we hang around,” said Robin.
“Not necessarily,” said Stephen. “No need to panic. Our secret has always been to catch him off home ground.”
“But now he’s on home ground,” said Jean-Pierre.
“No, he isn’t. It’s his daughter’s wedding day and it’s totally strange to the man. Naturally, we avoid him at the reception, but we don’t make it too obvious.”
“You’ll have to hold my hand,” said Robin.
“I will,” volunteered Jean-Pierre.
“Just remember to act naturally.”
“…and thereto I give thee my troth.”
Anne was quiet and shy, her voice only just reaching the astonished three at the back. James’s was clear and firm:
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow…”
“And with some of ours too,” said Jean-Pierre.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
“Let us pray,” intoned the priest.
“I know what I’m going to pray,” said Robin. “To be delivered out of the power of our enemy and from the hands of all that hate us.”
“O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind…”
“We’re near the end now,” said Stephen.
“An unfortunate turn of phrase,” offered Robin.
“Silence,” said Jean-Pierre. “I agree with Stephen. We’ve got the measure of Metcalfe, just relax.”
“Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
Jean-Pierre continued mumbling to himself, but it didn’t sound like a prayer.
The blast of Handel’s Wedding March from the organ brought them all back to the occasion. The ceremony was over and Lord and Lady Brigsley walked down the aisle watched by two thousand smiling eyes. Stephen looked amused, Jean-Pierre envious, and Robin nervous. James smiled beatifically as he passed them.
After a ten-minute session for the photographers on the steps of the church, the Rolls Royce carried the newly married couple back to the Metcalfes’ house in Lincoln. Harvey and the Countess of Louth took the second car, and the Earl and Arlene, Anne’s mother, took the third. Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre followed some twenty minutes later, still arguing the pros and cons of bearding the lion in his own den.
Harvey Metcalfe’s Georgian house was magnificent, with an oriental garden leading down to a lake, great beds of roses and in the conservatory his pride and joy, his collection of rare orchids.
“I never thought I’d see this,” said Jean-Pierre.
“Nor me,” said Robin, “and now that I have, I’m not too happy.”
“Let’s run the gauntlet,” said Stephen. “I suggest that we join the receiving line at well-separated intervals. I’ll go first. Robin, you come second, at least twenty places behind, and Jean-Pierre, you come third, at least twenty places behind Robin, and act naturally. We’re just friends of James’s from England. Now, when you take your places in the queue, listen to the conversation. Try and find someone who’s a close friend of Harvey’s and jump immediately in front of them. When it comes to your turn to shake hands, Harvey’s eyes will already be on the next person because he won’t know you and will want to talk to them. That way we should escape.”
“Brilliant, Professor,” said Jean-Pierre.
The queue seemed interminably long. A thousand people shuffled past the outstretched hands of Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe, the Earl and Countess of Louth, and Anne and James. Stephen eventually made it and passed with flying colors.
“So glad you could come,” said Anne.
Stephen did not reply.
“Good to see you, Stephen.”
“We all admire your plan, James.”
Stephen slipped into the main ballroom and hid behind a pillar on the other side of the room, as far as he could be from the multi-story wedding cake in the center.
Robin was next and avoided looking Harvey in the eyes.
“How kind of you to come all this way,” said Anne.
Robin mumbled something under his breath.
“Hope you’ve enjoyed yourself today, Robin?”
James was obviously having the time of his life. After being put through it in the same way by Anne, he was relishing the Team’s discomfiture.
“You’re a bastard, James.”
“Not too loud, old fellow. My mother and father might hear you.”
Robin slipped through to the ballroom and, after a search behind all the pillars, found Stephen.
“Did you get through all right?”
“I think so, but I don’t want to see him ever again. What time is the plane back?”
“8 P.M. Now don’t panic. Keep your eye out for Jean-Pierre.”
“Bloody good thing he kept his beard,” said Robin.
Jean-Pierre shook hands with Harvey, who was already intent on the next guest as Jean-Pierre had, by shameless queue-barging, managed to secure a place in front of a Boston banker who was obviously a close friend of Harvey’s.
“Good to see you, Marvin.”
Jean-Pierre had escaped. He kissed Anne on both cheeks, whispered in her ear, “Game, set and match to James,” and went off in search of Stephen and Robin. He forgot his original instructions when he found himself face to face with the chief bridesmaid.
“Did you enjoy the wedding?” she asked.
“Of course. I always judge weddings by the bridesmaids, not the bride.”
She blushed with pleasure.
“This must have cost a fortune,” she continued.
“Yes, my dear, and I know whose,” said Jean-Pierre, slipping his arm around her waist.
Four hands grabbed a protesting Jean-Pierre and unceremoniously dragged him behind the pillar.
“For God’s sake, Jean-Pierre. She’s not a day over seventeen. We don’t want to go to jail for rape of a juvenile as well as theft. Drink this and behave yourself.” Robin thrust a glass of champagne into his hand.
The champagne flowed and even Stephen had a little too much. They were all clinging to their pillar for support by the time the toastmaster called for silence.
“My lords, ladies and gentlemen. Pray silence for the Viscount Brigsley, the bridegroom.”
James made an impressive speech. The actor in him took over and the Americans adored it. Even his father had a look of admiration on his face. The toastmaster then introduced Harvey, who spoke long and loud. He cracked his favorite joke about marrying off his daughter to Prince Charles, at which the assembled guests roared heartily as they always do at weddings, even for the weakest joke. He ended by calling the toast for the bride and groom.
When the applause had died down, and the hubbub of chatter had struck up again, Harvey took an envelope from his pocket and kissed his daughter on the cheek.
“Rosalie, here’s a little wedding present for you, to make up for letting me keep the Van Gogh. I know you’ll put it to good use.”
Harvey passed her the white envelope. Inside there was a check for $250,000. Anne kissed her father with genuine affection.
“Thank you, Daddy, I promise you James and I will use it wisely.”
She hurried off in pursuit of James, whom she found besieged by a group of American matrons:
“Is it true you’re related to the Queen…?”
“I never met a real live lord…”
“I do hope you’ll invite us over to see your castle…?”
“The
re are no castles in the King’s Road,” said James, relieved to be rescued by Anne.
“Darling, can you spare me a minute?”
James excused himself and followed Anne, but they found it almost impossible to escape the crowd.
“Look,” she said. “Quickly.”
James took the check.
“Good God—$250,000.”
“You know what I’m going to do with it, don’t you?”
“Yes, darling.”
Anne hunted for Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre, which was not an easy task as they were still hidden behind a pillar in the far corner. She was eventually guided to the spot by the subdued but spirited rendering of “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” issuing from behind it.
“Can you lend me a pen, Stephen?”
Three pens shot out for her use.
She took the check from the middle of her bouquet and wrote on its back, “Rosalie Brigsley—pay Stephen Bradley.” She handed it to him.
“Yours, I believe.”
The three of them stared at the check. She was gone before they could even comment.
“What a girl our James has gone and married,” said Jean-Pierre.
“You’re drunk, you frog,” said Robin.
“How dare you, sir, suggest that a Frenchman could get drunk on champagne. I demand satisfaction. Choose your weapons.”
“Champagne corks.”
“Quiet,” said Stephen. “You’ll give yourselves away.”
“Well now, tell me, Professor, what’s the latest financial position?”
“I’m just working it out now,” said Stephen.
“What?” said Robin and Jean-Pierre together, but they were too happy to argue.
“He still owes us $101 and 24 cents.”
“Disgraceful,” said Jean-Pierre. “Burn the place down.”
Anne and James left to change, while Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre forced down some more champagne. The toastmaster announced that the bride and groom would be leaving in approximately fifteen minutes and requested the guests to gather in the main hall and courtyard.
“Come on, we must watch them go,” said Stephen. The drink had given them new confidence and they took their places near the car.
It was Stephen who heard Harvey say, “God damn it. Do I have to think of everything?” and watched him look around his guests until his eyes fell on the trio. Stephen’s legs turned to jelly as Harvey’s finger beckoned him.
“Hey, you, weren’t you an usher?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rosalie is going to leave at any moment and there are no flowers for her. God knows what’s happened to them, but there are no flowers. Grab a car. There’s a florist half a mile down the road, but hurry.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I’ll go and get the flowers.”
Stephen turned and fled. Robin and Jean-Pierre, who had been watching horrified, thinking that Harvey had at last rumbled them, ran after him. When he reached the back of the house, Stephen came to a halt and stared at the most beautiful bed of roses. Robin and Jean-Pierre shot straight past him, stopped, turned around and staggered back.
“What the hell are you up to—picking flowers for your own funeral?”
“It’s only Metcalfe’s wishes. Somebody forgot the flowers for Anne and I have five minutes to get them, so start picking.”
“Mes enfants, do you see what I see?”
The others looked up. Jean-Pierre was staring rapturously at the conservatory.
Stephen rushed back to the front of the house, the prize orchids in his arms, followed by Robin and Jean-Pierre. He was just in time to pass them over to Harvey before James and Anne came out of the house.
“Magnificent. They’re my favorite flowers. How much were they?”
“$100,” replied Stephen, without thinking.
Harvey handed over two $50 bills. Stephen retreated, sweating, to join Robin and Jean-Pierre.
James and Anne fought their way through the crowd. No man in the gathering could take his eyes off her.
“Oh Daddy, orchids, how beautiful.” Anne kissed Harvey. “You’ve made this the most wonderful day in my life…”
The Rolls Royce moved slowly down the drive away from the large crowd on its way to the airport, where James and Anne were to catch the flight to San Francisco, their first stop on the way to Hawaii. As the car glided round the house, Anne stared at the empty conservatory and then at the flowers in her arms. James did not notice. He was thinking of other things.
“Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?” he said.
“I’m sure they’ll find a way, darling. But do let me into a secret. Did you really have a plan?”
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist asking me that, and the truth is…”
The car purred effortlessly along the highway and only the chauffeur heard his reply.
Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre watched the guests dispersing, most of them saying their good-byes to the Metcalfes.
“Don’t let’s risk it,” said Robin.
“Agreed,” said Stephen.
“Let’s invite him out to dinner,” said Jean-Pierre.
The other two grabbed him and threw him into a taxi.
“What’s that you have under your morning coat, Jean-Pierre?”
“Two bottles of Krug dix-neuf cent soixante-quatre. It seemed such a shame to leave them there on their own. I thought they might get lonely.”
Stephen instructed the driver to take them back to the hotel.
“What a wedding. Do you think James ever had a plan?” asked Robin.
“I don’t know, but if he has it will only have to bring in $1.24.”
“We should have retrieved the money he made from his win on Rosalie at Ascot,” mused Jean-Pierre.
After packing and signing out of the hotel, they took another taxi to Logan International Airport and, with considerable help from the British Airways staff, managed to board the plane.
“Damn,” said Stephen. “I wish we hadn’t left without the $1.24.”
Chapter Twenty-One
ONCE ON BOARD, they drank the champagne Jean-Pierre had captured at the wedding. Even Stephen seemed content, although he did occasionally revert to the theme of the missing $1.24.
“How much do you imagine this champagne cost?” teased Jean-Pierre.
“That’s not the point. Not a penny more, not a penny less.”
Jean-Pierre decided he would never understand academics.
“Don’t worry, Stephen. I’ve every confidence that James’s plan will bring in $1.24.”
Stephen would have laughed, but it gave him a headache.
“To think that girl knew everything.”
On arrival at Heathrow, they had little trouble in clearing customs. The purpose of the trip had never been to bring back gifts. Robin made a detour to W. H. Smiths and picked up The Times and the Evening Standard. Jean-Pierre bargained with a taxi driver about the fare to central London.
“We’re not some bloody Americans who don’t know the rate or the route and can be easily fleeced,” he was saying, still not yet sober.
The taxi driver grumbled to himself as he nosed his black Austin toward the motorway. It was not going to be his day.
Robin read the papers happily, one of those rare people who could read in a moving car. Stephen and Jean-Pierre satisfied themselves with watching the passing traffic.
“Jesus Christ.”
Stephen and Jean-Pierre were startled. They had rarely heard Robin swear. It seemed out of character.
“God Almighty.”
This was too much for them, but before they could inquire, he began to read out loud:
“ ‘B.P. announced a strike in the North Sea which is likely to produce 200,000 barrels of oil a day. The strike is described by their Chairman, Sir Eric Drake, as a major find. The British Petroleum Forties Field is one mile from the so far un
explored Prospecta Oil field and rumors of a bid by B.P. have sent Prospecta Oil shares to a record high of $12.25 at the close of business.’”
“Nom de Dieu,” said Jean-Pierre. “What do we do now?”
“Oh well,” said Stephen. “I suppose we’ll have to work out a plan for how to give it all back.”
Titles By Jeffrey Archer
Novels
False Impression
Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less
Shall We Tell the President?
Kane and Abel
The Prodigal Daughter
First Among Equals
A Matter of Honor
As the Crow Flies
Honor Among Thieves
The Fourth Estate
The Eleventh Commandment
Sons of Fortune
False Impression
Short Stories
A Quiver Full of Arrows
A Twist in the Tale
Twelve Red Herrings
To Cut a Long Story Short
The Collected Short Stories
Plays
Beyond Reasonable Doubt
Exclusive
The Accused
Screenplay
Mallory: Walking Off the Map
Prison Diaries
Volume One: Hell
Volume Two: Purgatory
Volume Three: Heaven
Acknowledgments
I ACKNOWLEDGE ALL THE HELP I RECEIVED from so many people in writing this book and wish to thank them: David Niven, Jr., who made me do it, Sir Noel and Lady Hall who made it possible, Adrian Metcalfe, Anthony Rentoul, Colin Emson, Ted Francis, Godfrey Barker, Willy West, Madame Tellegen, David Stein, Christian Neffe, Dr. John Vance, Dr. David Weeden, the Rev. Leslie Styler, Robert Gasser, Professor Jim Bolton, and Jamie Clark; Gail and Jo for putting it together; and my wife, Mary, for the hours spent correcting and editing.
READ ON FOR A PREVIEW OF
ONLY TIME WILL TELL
JEFFREY ARCHER
Available September 2011 From St. Martin’s Press
To learn more about Jeffrey’s other novels,
Visit www.JeffreyArcher.com