Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Good evening, my lord,” said Mr. Mills, the club owner.

  “Good evening. I’m dining with Miss Summerton and I’ve had to leave my car double-parked. Can you take care of it?” said James, dropping the keys and a pound note into the doorman’s white-gloved hand.

  “Delighted, my lord. Show Lord Brigsley to the private rooms.”

  James followed the head porter up the red staircase and into a small Regency room where dinner had been laid for three. He could hear Anne’s voice in the next room. She came through, looking even more beautiful than usual in a floating mint-green dress.

  “Hello, darling. Come on, I want you to meet Daddy.”

  James followed Anne into the next room.

  “Daddy, this is James. James, this is my father.”

  James went red and then white, and then he felt green.

  “How are you, my boy. I’ve heard so much about you from Rosalie that I can’t wait to get acquainted.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “CALL ME HARVEY.”

  James stood aghast and speechless. Anne jumped into the silence.

  “Would you like a whiskey, James?”

  James found his voice with difficulty.

  “Thank you.”

  “I want to know all about you, young man,” continued Harvey, “what you get up to and why I’ve seen so little of my daughter in the past few weeks, though I think I can guess the answer to that.”

  James drank the whiskey in one gulp and Anne quickly refilled his glass.

  “You see so little of your daughter because I’m always modeling, which means that I’m very rarely in London.”

  “I know, Rosalie…”

  “James knows me as Anne, Daddy.”

  “We christened you Rosalie. It was a good enough name for your mother and me and it ought to be good enough for you.”

  “Daddy, whoever heard of a top European model calling herself Rosalie Metcalfe? All my friends know me as Anne Summerton.”

  “What do you think, James?”

  “I was beginning to think I didn’t know her at all,” replied James, recovering slowly. It was obvious that Harvey did not suspect a thing. He had not seen James face to face at the gallery, he had never seen him at Monte Carlo or Ascot, and James had looked ninety years of age at Oxford earlier in the day. He was beginning to believe he had got away with it. But how the hell could he tell the others at their Monday meeting that the final plan, his plan, would be to outwit not Harvey Metcalfe, but his future father-in-law?

  “Shall we go through to dinner?”

  Harvey did not wait for a reply. He marched on into the adjoining room.

  “Rosalie Metcalfe,” whispered James fiercely. “You’ve got some explaining to do.”

  Anne kissed him gently on the cheek.

  “You’re the first person who’s given me the chance to beat my father at anything. Can’t you forgive me?…I do love you…”

  “Come on, you two. Anyone would think you’d never met before.”

  Anne and James joined Harvey for dinner. James was amused by the sight of the shrimp cocktail and remembered how Stephen had regretted that touch at Harvey’s Magdalen dinner.

  “Well, James, I understand you and Anne have fixed a date for the wedding.”

  “Yes, sir, if it meets with your approval.”

  “Of course I approve. I was hoping Anne would marry Prince Charles after I’d won the King George and Elizabeth Stakes, but an earl will have to do for my only daughter.”

  They both laughed, neither of them thinking it was remotely funny.

  “I wish you’d come to Wimbledon this year, Rosalie. Imagine, me there on Ladies’ Day and the only company I had was a boring old Swiss banker.”

  Anne looked at James and grinned.

  The waiters cleared the table and wheeled in a trolley bearing a crown of lamb in immaculate cutlet frills, which Harvey studied with great interest.

  “Still,” said Harvey, chattering on, “it was thoughtful of you to ring me at Monte Carlo, my dear. I really thought I was going to die, you know. James, you wouldn’t have believed it. They removed a gallstone the size of a baseball from my stomach. Thank God, the operation was performed by one of the greatest surgeons in the world, Wiley Barker, the President’s surgeon. He saved my life.”

  Harvey promptly undid his shirt and revealed a 4-inch scar across his vast stomach.

  “What do you think of that, James?”

  “Remarkable.”

  “Daddy, really. We’re having dinner.”

  “Stop fussing, honey. It won’t be the first time James has seen a man’s stomach.”

  It’s not the first time I’ve seen that one, thought James.

  Harvey pushed his shirt back into his trousers and continued:

  “Anyway, it was really kind of you to phone me.” He leaned over and patted her hand. “I was a good boy too. I took your advice and kept that nice Doctor Barker on for another week in case any complications arose. Mind you, the price these doctors…”

  James dropped his wine glass. The claret covered the tablecloth with a red stain.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You all right, James?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  James looked at Anne in silent outrage. Harvey was quite unperturbed.

  “Bring a fresh tablecloth and some more wine for Lord Brigsley.”

  The waiter opened a fresh bottle of claret and James decided it was his turn to have a little fun. Anne had been laughing at him for three months. Why shouldn’t he tease her a little, if Harvey gave him the chance? Harvey was still talking.

  “You a racing man, James?”

  “Yes, sir, and I was delighted by your victory in the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes—for morereasons than you realize.”

  In the diversion caused by the waiters clearing the table, Anne whispered sotto voce:

  “Don’t try to be too clever, darling—he’s not as stupid as he sounds.”

  “Well, what do you think of her?”

  “I beg your pardon, sir?”

  “Rosalie.”

  “Magnificent. I put £5 each way on her.”

  “Yes, it was a great occasion for me and I was sorry you missed it, Rosalie, because you would have met the Queen and a nice guy from Oxford University called Professor Porter.”

  “Professor Porter?” inquired James, burying his face in his wine glass.

  “Yes, Professor Porter, James. Do you know him?”

  “No, sir, I can’t say I do, but didn’t he win a Nobel Prize?”

  “He sure did and he gave me a wonderful time at Oxford. I enjoyed myself so much I ended up presenting the university with a check for $250,000 to be used for research of some kind, so he should be happy.”

  “Daddy, you know you’re not meant to tell anybody about that.”

  “Sure, but James is family now.”

  “Why can’t you tell anyone else, sir?”

  “Well, it’s a long story, James, but it was quite an honor for me. You do understand this is highly confidential, but I was Professor Porter’s guest at Encaenia. I lunched at All Souls with Mr. Harry Macmillan, your dear old Prime Minister, and then I attended the Garden Party, and afterward I had a meeting with the Vice-Chancellor in his private rooms along with the Registrar and the Secretary of the University Chest. Were you at Oxford, James?”

  “Yes, sir. The House.”

  “The House?” queried Harvey.

  “Christ Church, sir.”

  “I’ll never understand Oxford.”

  “No, sir.”

  “You must call me Harvey. Well, as I was saying, we all met at the Clarendon and they stammered and stuttered and they were totally lost for words, except for one funny old guy, who was ninety if he was a day. The truth is that those people just don’t know how to approach millionaires for money, so I put them out of their embarrassment and took over. They’d have gone on all day about their beloved Oxford, so eventually
I had to shut them up and simply wrote out a check for $250,000.”

  “That was very generous, Harvey.”

  “I’d have given them $500,000 if the old boy had asked. James, you’ve gone quite white. Do you feel all right?”

  “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m fine. I was quite carried away with your description of Oxford.”

  Anne joined in:

  “Daddy, you made an agreement with the Vice-Chancellor that you would keep your gift as a bond between the university and yourself, and you must promise never to repeat that story again.”

  “I think I shall wear the robes for the first time when I open the new Metcalfe library at Harvard in the fall.”

  “Oh, no sir,” stammered James a little too quickly, “that wouldn’t be quite the thing. You should only wear full robes in Oxford on ceremonial occasions.”

  “Gee, what a shame. Still, I know what sticklers you English are for etiquette. Which reminds me, we ought to discuss your wedding. I suppose you two will want to live in England?”

  “Yes, Daddy, but we’ll visit you every year and when you make your annual trip to Europe you can come and stay with us.”

  The waiters cleared the table again and reappeared with Harvey’s favorite strawberries. Anne tried to steer the conversation to domestic issues and stop her father returning to what he’d been up to during the past two months, while James spent his time trying to get him back on the subject.

  “Coffee or liquor, sir?”

  “No, thank you,” said Harvey. “Just the check. I thought we’d have a drink in my suite at Claridge’s, Rosalie. I have something to show you both. It’s a bit of a surprise.”

  “I can’t wait, Daddy. I love surprises. Come on, James.”

  James left them and drove the Alfa Romeo to Claridge’s garage so that Anne could have a few moments alone with her father. They strolled along Curzon Street, arm in arm.

  “Isn’t he wonderful, Daddy?”

  “Yeah, great guy. Didn’t seem too bright to begin with, but he cheered up as the meal went on. And fancy my little girl turning out to be a genuine English lady. Your Momma’s tickled pink and I’m pleased that we’ve patched up our silly quarrel.”

  “Oh, you helped a lot, Daddy.”

  “I did?” queried Harvey.

  “Yes, I managed to get things back into perspective during the last few weeks. Now tell me, what is your little surprise?”

  “Wait and see, honey. It’s your wedding present.”

  James rejoined them at the entrance to Claridge’s. He could tell from Anne’s look that Harvey had given him the seal of parental approval.

  “Good evening, sir. Good evening, my lord.”

  “Hi there, Albert. Could you fix some coffee and a bottle of Rémy Martin to be sent up to my suite?”

  “Right away, sir.”

  James had never seen the Royal Suite before. Off the small entrance room, there is a master bedroom on the right and a sitting room on the left. Harvey took them straight to the sitting room.

  “Children, you are about to see your wedding present.”

  He threw the door open in dramatic style and there on the far wall was the Van Gogh. They both stared, quite unable to speak.

  “That’s exactly how it left me,” said Harvey. “Speechless.”

  “Daddy.” Anne swallowed. “A Van Gogh. But you’ve always wanted a Van Gogh. You’ve dreamed of possessing one for years. I couldn’t possibly deprive you of it now, and anyway I couldn’t think of having anything as valuable as that in my house. Think of the security risk—we don’t have the protection you have.” Anne stammered on. “We couldn’t let you sacrifice the pride of your collection, could we, James?”

  “Absolutely not,” said James with great feeling. “I wouldn’t have a moment’s peace with that on the premises.”

  “Keep the painting in Boston, Daddy, in a setting worthy of it.”

  “But I thought you’d love the idea, Rosalie.”

  “I do, I do, Daddy, I just don’t want the responsibility, and in any case Mother must have the chance to enjoy it too. You can always leave it to James and me if you like.”

  “What a great idea, Rosalie. That way we can both enjoy the painting. Now I shall have to think of another wedding present. She nearly got the better of me then, James, and she hasn’t done that in twenty-four years.”

  “Well, I’ve managed it two or three times lately, Daddy, and I’m still hoping I shall do it once more.”

  Harvey ignored Anne’s remark and went on talking.

  “That’s the King George and Elizabeth trophy,” he said, pointing to a magnificent bronze sculpture of a horse and jockey with his hoop and quartered cap studded with diamonds. “The race is so important they present a new trophy every year—so it’s mine for life.”

  James was thankful that the trophy at least was genuine.

  The coffee and brandy arrived and they settled down to discuss the wedding in detail.

  “Now, Rosalie, you must fly over to Lincoln next week and help your mother with the arrangements, otherwise she’ll panic and nothing will get done. And, James, you let me know how many people you’ll have coming over and I’ll put them up at the Ritz. The wedding will be in Trinity Church, Copley Square, and we’ll have a real English-style reception afterward back in my home in Lincoln. Does all that make sense, James?”

  “Sounds wonderful. You’re a very well organized man, Harvey.”

  “Always have been, James. Find it pays in the long run. Now, you and Rosalie must get the details sewn up before she comes over next week; you may not have realized it, but I’m returning to America tomorrow.”

  Page 38A of the blue dossier, thought James.

  James and Anne spent another hour chatting about the wedding arrangements and left Harvey just before midnight.

  “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Daddy.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  James shook hands and left.

  “I told you he was super.”

  “He’s a fine young man and your mother will be very pleased.”

  James said nothing to Anne in the lift on the way down because two other men stood beside them in silence, also intent on reaching the ground floor. But once they were in the Alfa Romeo he took Anne by the scruff of her neck, threw her across his legs, and spanked her so hard that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Just in case you ever forget after we’re married who’s the head of this household.”

  “You male chauvinist pig, I was only trying to help.”

  James drove at furious speed to Anne’s flat.

  “What about all your so-called background—‘My parents live in Washington and Daddy’s in the Diplomatic Corps,’” James mimicked. “Some diplomat.”

  “I know, darling, but I had to think of something once I’d realized who it was you were up against.”

  “What in hell’s name am I going to tell the others?”

  “Nothing. You invite them to the wedding, explain that my mother is American and that’s why we’re getting married in Boston. I’d give the earth to see their faces when they discover who your father-in-law is. In any case, you still have a plan to think of and you can’t possibly let them down.”

  “But the circumstances have changed.”

  “No, they haven’t. The truth of the matter is that they’ve all succeeded and you’ve failed, so you be sure you think of a plan by the time you reach America.”

  “It’s obvious now that we wouldn’t have succeeded without your help.”

  “Nonsense, darling. I had nothing to do with Jean-Pierre’s scheme. I just added some background color here and there—promise you’ll never spank me again?”

  “Certainly I will, every time I think of that picture, but now, darling…”

  “James, you’re a sex maniac.”

  “I know, darling. How do you think we Brigsleys have reared tribes of little lords for gener
ations?”

  Anne left James early the next morning to spend some time with her father, and they both saw him off at the airport on the midday flight to Boston. Anne could not resist asking in the car on the way back what James had decided to tell the others. She could get no response other than:

  “Wait and see. I’m not having it changed behind my back. I’m only too glad you’re off to America on Monday.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  MONDAY WAS A double hell for James. First, he had to see Anne off on the morning TWA flight for Boston, and then he had to spend the rest of the day preparing for the Team meeting in the evening. The other three had now completed their operations and would be waiting to hear what he had come up with. It was twice as hard now he knew that the victim was to be his father-in-law, but he realized that Anne was right and he could not put that forward as an excuse. Nevertheless, he still had to relieve Harvey of $250,000. To think he could have done it with one sentence at Oxford. That was another thing he could not tell the rest of the Team.

  As Oxford had been Stephen’s victory, the Team dinner was at Magdalen College and James traveled out of London just after the rush hour, past the White City Stadium and on down the M40 to Oxford.

  “You’re always last, James,” said Stephen.

  “Sorry, I’ve been up to my eyes…”

  “Preparing a good plan, I hope,” said Jean-Pierre.

  James didn’t answer. How well they all knew each other now, he thought. In twelve weeks James felt he had come to know more about these three men than any of the so-called friends he’d known for twenty years. For the first time he understood why his father continually referred back to friendships formed during the war with men he normally would never have met. He began to realize how much he was going to miss Stephen when he returned to America. Success was, in fact, going to split them up. James would have been the last to go through the agony of another Prospecta Oil, but it had certainly had its compensations.