To Cut a Long Story Short (2000)

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Well done,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said the agent, with more respect in his voice than Cornelius had heard from anyone for weeks, ‘but I think we should hold on for a little longer. I’m confident I can squeeze some more out of them. If I do, my advice would be to accept the offer and ask for a 10 per cent deposit.’

  ‘That sounds like good advice to me,’ said Cornelius. ‘And once they’ve signed the contract, I’ll need you to find me a new house.’

  ‘What sort of thing are you looking for, Mr Barrington?’

  ‘I want something about half the size of The Willows, with perhaps a couple of acres, and I’d like to remain in the immediate area.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be too hard, sir. We have one or two excellent houses on our books at the moment, so I’m sure we’ll be able to accommodate you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cornelius, delighted to have spoken to someone who had begun the day well.

  He was chuckling over an item on the front page of the local paper when the doorbell rang. He checked his watch. It was still a few minutes to ten, so it couldn’t be Elizabeth. When he opened the front door he was greeted by a man in a green uniform, holding a clipboard in one hand and a parcel in the other.

  ‘Sign here,’ was all the courier said, handing over a biro.

  Cornelius scrawled his signature across the bottom of the form. He would have asked who had sent the parcel if he had not been distracted by a car coming up the drive.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. He left the package in the hall and walked down the steps to welcome Elizabeth.

  When the car drew up outside the front door, Cornelius was surprised to find Hugh seated in the passenger seat.

  ‘It was kind of you to see us at such short notice,’ said Elizabeth, who looked as if she had spent another sleepless night.

  ‘Good morning, Hugh,’ said Cornelius, who suspected his brother had been kept awake all night. ‘Please come through to the kitchen - I’m afraid it’s the only room in the house that’s warm.’

  As he led them down the long corridor, Elizabeth stopped in front of the portrait of Daniel. ‘I’m so glad to see it back in its rightful place,’ she said. Hugh nodded his agreement.

  Cornelius stared at the portrait, which he hadn’t seen since the auction. ‘Yes, back in its rightful place,’ he said, before taking them through to the kitchen. ‘Now, what brings you both to The Willows on a Saturday morning?’ he asked as he filled the kettle.

  ‘It’s about the Louis XIV table,’ said Elizabeth diffidently.

  ‘Yes, I shall miss it,’ said Cornelius. ‘But it was a fine gesture on your part, Hugh,’ he added.

  ‘A fine gesture …’ repeated Hugh.

  ‘Yes. I assumed it was your way of returning my hundred thousand,’ said Cornelius. Turning to Elizabeth, he said, ‘How I misjudged you, Elizabeth. I suspect it was your idea all along.’

  Elizabeth and Hugh just stared at each other, then both began speaking at once.

  ‘But we didn’t …’ said Hugh.

  ‘We were rather hoping …’ said Elizabeth. Then they both fell silent.

  ‘Tell him the truth,’ said Hugh firmly.

  ‘Oh?’ said Cornelius. ‘Have I misunderstood what took place at the auction yesterday morning?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid you have,’ said Elizabeth, any remaining colour draining from her cheeks. ‘You see, the truth of the matter is that the whole thing got out of control, and I carried on bidding for longer than I should have done.’ She paused. ‘I’d never been to an auction before, and when I failed to get the grandfather clock, and then saw Margaret pick up the Turner so cheaply, I’m afraid I made a bit of a fool of myself.’

  ‘Well, you can always put it back up for sale,’ said Cornelius with mock sadness. ‘It’s a fine piece, and sure to retain its value.’

  ‘We’ve already looked into that,’ said Elizabeth. ‘But Mr Botts says there won’t be another furniture auction for at least three months, and the terms of the sale were clearly printed in the catalogue: settlement within seven days.’

  ‘But I’m sure that if you were to leave the piece with him …’

  ‘Yes, he suggested that,’ said Hugh. ‘But we didn’t realise that the auctioneers add 15 per cent to the sale price, so the real bill is for PS126,500. And what’s worse, if we put it up for sale again they also retain 15 per cent of the price that’s bid, so we would end up losing over thirty thousand.’

  ‘Yes, that’s the way auctioneers make their money,’ said Cornelius with a sigh.

  ‘But we don’t have thirty thousand, let alone 126,500,’ cried Elizabeth.

  Cornelius slowly poured himself another cup of tea, pretending to be deep in thought. ‘Umm,’ he finally offered. ‘What puzzles me is how you think I could help, bearing in mind my current financial predicament.’

  ‘We thought that as the auction had raised nearly a million pounds …’ began Elizabeth.

  ‘Far higher than was estimated,’ chipped in Hugh.

  ‘We hoped you might tell Mr Botts you’d decided to keep the piece; and of course we would confirm that that was acceptable to us.’

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ said Cornelius, ‘but that still doesn’t solve the problem of owing the auctioneer PS16,500, and a possible further loss if it fails to reach PS110,000 in three months’ time.’

  Neither Elizabeth nor Hugh spoke.

  ‘Do you have anything you could sell to help raise the money?’ Cornelius eventually asked.

  ‘Only our house, and that already has a large mortgage on it,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘But what about your shares in the company? If you sold them, I’m sure they would more than cover the cost.’

  ‘But who would want to buy them,’ asked Hugh, ‘when we’re only just breaking even?’

  ‘I would,’ said Cornelius.

  Both of them looked surprised. ‘And in exchange for your shares,’ Cornelius continued, ‘I would release you from your debt to me, and also settle any embarrassment with Mr Botts.’

  Elizabeth began to protest, but Hugh asked, ‘Is there any alternative?’

  ‘Not that I can think of,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘Then I don’t see that we’re left with much choice,’ said Hugh, turning to his wife.

  ‘But what about all those years we’ve put into the company?’ wailed Elizabeth.

  ‘The shop hasn’t been showing a worthwhile profit for some time, Elizabeth, and you know it. If we don’t accept Cornelius’s offer, we could be paying off the debt for the rest of our lives.’

  Elizabeth remained unusually silent.

  ‘Well, that seems to be settled,’ said Cornelius. ‘Why don’t you just pop round and have a word with my solicitor? He’ll see that everything is in order.’

  ‘And will you sort out Mr Botts?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘The moment you’ve signed over the shares, I’ll deal with the problem of Mr Botts. I’m confident we can have everything settled by the end of the week.’

  Hugh bowed his head.

  ‘And I think it might be wise,’ continued Cornelius - they both looked up and stared apprehensively at him - ‘if Hugh were to remain on the board of the company as Chairman, with the appropriate remuneration.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Hugh, shaking hands with his brother. ‘That’s generous of you in the circumstances.’ As they returned down the corridor Cornelius stared at the portrait of his son once again.

  ‘Have you managed to find somewhere to live?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘It looks as if that won’t be a problem after all, thank you, Elizabeth. I’ve had an offer for The Willows far in excess of the price I’d anticipated, and what with the windfall from the auction, I’ll be able to pay off all my creditors, leaving me with a comfortable sum over.’

  ‘Then why do you need our shares?’ asked Elizabeth, swinging back to face him.

  ‘For the same reason you wanted my Louis XIV table, my dear,’ sai
d Cornelius as he opened the front door to show them out. ‘Goodbye Hugh,’ he added as Elizabeth got into the car.

  Cornelius would have returned to the house, but he spotted Margaret coming up the drive in her new car, so he stood and waited for her. When she brought the little Audi to a halt, Cornelius opened the car door to allow her to step out.

  ‘Good morning, Margaret,’ he said as he accompanied her up the steps and into the house. ‘How nice to see you back at The Willows. I can’t remember when you were last here.’

  ‘I’ve made a dreadful mistake,’ his sister admitted, long before they had reached the kitchen.

  Cornelius refilled the kettle and waited for her to tell him something he already knew.

  ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Cornelius. You see, I had no idea there were two Turners.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Cornelius matter-of-factly. ‘Joseph Mallord William Turner, arguably the finest painter ever to hail from these shores, and William Turner of Oxford, no relation, and although painting at roughly the same period, certainly not in the same league as the master.’

  ‘But I didn’t realise that …’ Margaret repeated. ‘So I ended up paying far too much for the wrong Turner - not helped by my sister-in-law’s antics,’ she added.

  ‘Yes, I was fascinated to read in the morning paper that you’ve got yourself into the Guinness Book of Records for having paid a record price for the artist.’

  ‘A record I could have done without,’ said Margaret. ‘I was rather hoping you might feel able to have a word with Mr Botts, and …’

  ‘And what … ?’ asked Cornelius innocently, as he poured his sister a cup of tea.

  ‘Explain to him that it was all a terrible mistake.’

  ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my dear. You see, once the hammer has come down, the sale is completed. That’s the law of the land.’

  ‘Perhaps you could help me out by paying for the picture,’ Margaret suggested. ‘After all, the papers are saying you made nearly a million pounds from the auction alone.’

  ‘But I have so many other commitments to consider,’ said Cornelius with a sigh. ‘Don’t forget that once The Willows is sold, I will have to find somewhere else to live.’

  ‘But you could always come and stay with me …’

  ‘That’s the second such offer I’ve had this morning,’ said Cornelius, ‘and as I explained to Elizabeth, after being turned down by both of you earlier, I have had to make alternative arrangements.’

  ‘Then I’m ruined,’ said Margaret dramatically, ‘because I don’t have PS10,000, not to mention the 15 per cent. Something else I didn’t know about. You see, I’d hoped to make a small profit by putting the painting back up for sale at Christie’s.’

  The truth at last, thought Cornelius. Or perhaps half the truth.

  ‘Cornelius, you’ve always been the clever one in the family,’ Margaret said, with tears welling up in her eyes. ‘Surely you can think of a way out of this dilemma.’

  Cornelius paced around the kitchen as if in deep thought, his sister watching his every step. Eventually he came to a halt in front of her. ‘I do believe I may have a solution.’

  ‘What is it?’ cried Margaret. ‘I’ll agree to anything.’

  ‘Anything?’

  ‘Anything,’ she repeated.

  ‘Good, then I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll pay for the picture in exchange for your new car.’

  Margaret remained speechless for some time. ‘But the car cost me PS12,000,’ she said finally.

  ‘Possibly, but you wouldn’t get more than eight thousand for it second-hand.’

  ‘But then how would I get around?’

  ‘Try the bus,’ said Cornelius. ‘I can recommend it. Once you’ve mastered the timetable it changes your whole life.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘In fact, you could start right now; there’s one due in about ten minutes.’

  ‘But …’ said Margaret as Cornelius stretched out his open hand. Then, letting out a long sigh, she opened her handbag and passed the car keys over to her brother.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Cornelius. ‘Now I mustn’t hold you up any longer, or you’ll miss the bus, and there won’t be another one along for thirty minutes.’ He led his sister out of the kitchen and down the corridor. He smiled as he opened the door for her.

  ‘And don’t forget to pick up the picture from Mr Botts, my dear,’ he said. ‘It will look wonderful over the fireplace in your drawing room, and will bring back so many happy memories of our times together.’

  Margaret didn’t comment as she turned to walk off down the long drive.

  Cornelius closed the door and was about to go to his study and call Frank to brief him on what had taken place that morning when he thought he heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He changed direction and headed back down the corridor. He walked into the kitchen, went over to the sink, bent down and kissed Pauline on the cheek.

  ‘Good morning, Pauline,’ he said.

  ‘What’s that for?’ she asked, her hands immersed in soapy water.

  ‘For bringing my son back home.’

  ‘It’s only on loan. If you don’t behave yourself, it goes straight back to my place.’

  Cornelius smiled. ‘That reminds me - I’d like to take you up on your original offer.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Mr Barrington?’

  ‘You told me that you’d rather work off the debt than have to sell your car.’ He removed her cheque from an inside pocket. ‘I know just how many hours you’ve worked here over the past month,’ he said, tearing the cheque in half, ‘so let’s call it quits.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mr Barrington, but I only wish you’d told me that before I sold the car.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, Pauline, because I find myself the proud owner of a new car.’

  ‘But how?’ asked Pauline as she began to dry her hands.

  ‘It was an unexpected gift from my sister,’ Cornelius said, without further explanation.

  ‘But you don’t drive, Mr Barrington.’

  ‘I know. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ said Cornelius. ‘I’ll swap it for the picture of Daniel.’

  ‘But that’s not a fair exchange, Mr Barrington. I only paid PS50 for the picture, and the car must be worth far more.’

  ‘Then you’ll also have to agree to drive me into town from time to time.’

  ‘Does that mean I’ve got my old job back?’

  ‘Yes - if you’re willing to give up your new one.’

  ‘I don’t have a new one,’ said Pauline with a sigh. ‘They found someone a lot younger than me the day before I was due to begin.’

  Cornelius threw his arms around her.

  ‘And we’ll have less of that for a start, Mr Barrington.’

  Cornelius took a pace back. ‘Of course you can have your old job back, and with a rise in salary.’

  ‘Whatever you consider is appropriate, Mr Barrington. After all, the labourer is worthy of his hire.’

  Cornelius somehow stopped himself from laughing.

  ‘Does this mean all the furniture will be coming back to The Willows?’

  ‘No, Pauline. This house has been far too large for me since Millie’s death. I should have realised that some time ago. I’m going to move out and look for something smaller.’

  ‘I could have told you to do that years ago,’ Pauline said. She hesitated. ‘But will that nice Mr Vintcent still be coming to supper on Thursday evenings?’

  ‘Until one of us dies, that’s for sure,’ said Cornelius with a chuckle.

  ‘Well, I can’t stand around all day chattering, Mr Barring-ton. After all, a woman’s work is never done.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said Cornelius, and quickly left the kitchen. He walked back through the hall, picked up the package, and took it through to his study.

  He had removed only the outer layer of wrapping paper when the phone rang. He put the package to one side and picked up the rec
eiver to hear Timothy’s voice.

  ‘It was good of you to come to the auction, Timothy. I appreciated that.’

  ‘I’m only sorry that my funds didn’t stretch to buying you the chess set, Uncle Cornelius.’

  ‘If only your mother and aunt had shown the same restraint …’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand, Uncle.’

  ‘It’s not important,’ said Cornelius. ‘So, what can I do for you, young man?’

  ‘You’ve obviously forgotten that I said I’d come over and read the rest of that story to you - unless of course you’ve already finished it.’

  ‘No, I’d quite forgotten about it, what with the drama of the last few days. Why don’t you come round tomorrow evening, then we can have supper as well. And before you groan, the good news is that Pauline is back.’

  ‘That’s excellent news, Uncle Cornelius. I’ll see you around eight tomorrow.’

  ‘I look forward to it,’ said Cornelius. He replaced the receiver and returned to the half-opened package. Even before he had removed the final layer of paper, he knew exactly what was inside. His heart began beating faster. He finally raised the lid of the heavy wooden box and stared down at the thirty-two exquisite ivory pieces. There was a note inside: ‘A small appreciation for all your kindness over the years. Hugh.’

  Then he recalled the face of the woman who had slipped past him at the auction house. Of course, it had been his brother’s secretary. The second time he had misjudged someone.

  ‘What an irony,’ he said out loud. ‘If Hugh had put the set up for sale at Sotheby’s, he could have held on to the Louis XIV table and had the same amount left over. Still, as Pauline would have said, it’s the thought that counts.’

  He was writing a thank-you note to his brother when the phone rang again. It was Frank, reliable as ever, reporting in on his meeting with Hugh.

  ‘Your brother has signed all the necessary documents, and the shares have been transferred as requested.’

  ‘That was quick work,’ said Cornelius.

  ‘The moment you gave me instructions last week, I had all the legal papers drawn up. You’re still the most impatient client I have. Shall I bring the share certificates round on Thursday evening?’