Cat O'Nine Tales (2006)

by Jeffrey Archer

  Once Dick’s Jaguar had emerged from the carpark to begin the journey to Virginia Water, Dick immediately called his office.

  “Richard Barnsley’s office,” said a voice.

  “Hi, Jill, it’s me. I managed to catch an earlier flight, and I’m on my way home. Is there anything I should be worrying about?”

  “No, everything’s running smoothly this end,” Jill replied. “We’re all just waiting to find out how things went in St. Petersburg.”

  “Couldn’t have gone better. The minister wants me back on May sixteenth to sign the contract.”

  “But that’s less than three weeks away.”

  “Which means we’ll all have to get a move on. So set up a board meeting for early next week, and then make an appointment for me to see Sam Cohen first thing tomorrow morning. I can’t afford any slip-ups at this stage.”

  “Can I come to St. Petersburg with you?”

  “Not this time, Jill, but once the contract has been signed block out ten days in the diary. Then I’ll take you somewhere a little warmer than St. Petersburg.”

  Dick sat silently in the back of the car, going over everything that needed to be covered before he returned to St. Petersburg. By the time Stan drove through the wrought-iron gates and came to a halt outside the neo-Georgian mansion, Dick knew what had to be done. He jumped out of the car and ran into the house. He left Stan to unload the bags, and his housekeeper to unpack them. Dick was surprised not to find his wife standing on the top step, waiting to greet him, but then he remembered that he’d caught an earlier flight, and Maureen wouldn’t be expecting him back for at least another couple of hours.

  Dick ran upstairs to his bedroom, and quickly stripped off his clothes, dropping them in a pile on the floor. He went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, allowing the warm jets of water to slowly remove the grime of St. Petersburg and Aeroflot.

  After he’d put on some casual clothes, Dick checked his appearance in the mirror. At fifty-three, his hair was turning prematurely gray, and although he tried to hold his stomach in, he knew he ought to lose a few pounds, just a couple of notches on his belt—once the deal was signed and he had a little more time, he promised himself.

  He left the bedroom and went down to the kitchen. He asked the cook to prepare him a salad, and then strolled into the drawing room, picked up The Times, and glanced at the headlines. A new leader of the Tory Party, a new leader of the Liberal Democrats, and now Gordon Brown had been elected leader of the Labor Party. None of the major political parties would be fighting the next election under the same leader.

  Dick looked up when the phone began to ring. He walked across to his wife’s writing desk and picked up the receiver, to hear Jill’s voice on the other end of the line.

  “The board meeting is fixed for next Thursday at ten o’clock, and I’ve also arranged for you to see Sam Cohen in his office at eight tomorrow morning.” Dick removed a pen from an inside pocket of his blazer. “I’ve emailed every member of the board to warn them that it’s a priority,” she added.

  “What time did you say my meeting was with Sam?”

  “Eight o’clock at his office. He has to be in court by ten for another client.”

  “Fine.” Dick opened his wife’s drawer and grabbed the first piece of paper available. He wrote down, Sam, office, 8, Thur board mtg, 10. “Well done, Jill,” he added. “Better book me back into the Grand Palace Hotel, and email the minister to warn him what time I’ll be arriving.”

  “I already have,” Jill replied, “and I’ve also booked you on a flight to St. Petersburg on the Sunday afternoon.”

  “Well done. See you around ten tomorrow.” Dick put the phone down, and strolled through to his study, with a large smile on his face. Everything was going to plan.

  When he reached his desk, Dick transferred the details of his appointments to his diary. He was just about to drop the piece of paper into a wastepaper basket when he decided just to check and see if it contained anything important. He unfolded a letter, which he began to read. His smile turned to a frown, long before he’d reached the final paragraph. He started to read the letter, marked private and personal, a second time.

  Dear Mrs. Barnsley,

  This is to confirm your appointment at our office on Friday, 30 April, when we will continue our discussions on the matter you raised with me last Tuesday. Remembering the full implications of your decision, I have asked my senior partner to join us on this occasion.

  We both look forward to seeing you on the 30th.

  Yours sincerely,

  Dick immediately picked up the phone on his desk, and dialed Sam Cohen’s number, hoping he hadn’t already left for the day. When Sam pick up his private line, all Dick said was, “Have you come across a lawyer called Andrew Symonds?”

  “Only by reputation,” said Sam, “but then I don’t specialize in divorce.”

  “Divorce?” said Dick, as he heard a car coming up the gravel driveway. He glanced out of the window to see a Volkswagen swing round the circle and come to a halt outside the front door. Dick watched as his wife climbed out of her car. “I’ll see you at eight tomorrow, Sam, and the Russian contract won’t be the only thing on the agenda.”

  Dick’s driver dropped him outside Sam Cohen’s office in Lincoln’s Inn Field a few minutes before eight the following morning. The senior partner rose to greet his client as he entered the room. He gestured to a comfortable chair on the other side of the desk.

  Dick had opened his briefcase even before he’d sat down. He took out the letter and passed it across to Sam. The lawyer read it slowly, before placing it on the desk in front of him.

  “I’ve thought about the problem overnight,” said Sam, “and I’ve also had a word with Anna Rentoul, our divorce partner. She’s confirmed that Symonds only handles matrimonial disputes, and with that in mind, I’m sorry to say that I’ll have to ask you some fairly personal questions.”

  Dick nodded without comment.

  “Have you ever discussed divorce with Maureen?”

  “No,” said Dick firmly. “We’ve had rows from time to time, but then what couples who’ve been together for over twenty years haven’t?”

  “No more than that?”

  “She once threatened to leave me, but I thought that was all in the past.” Dick paused. “I’m only surprised that she hasn’t raised the subject with me, before consulting a lawyer.”

  “That’s all too common,” said Sam. “Over half the husbands who are served with a divorce petition claim they never saw it coming.”

  “I certainly fall into that category,” admitted Dick. “So what do I do next?”

  “Not a lot you can do before she serves the writ, and I can’t see that there’s anything to be gained by raising the subject yourself. After all, nothing may come of it. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t prepare ourselves. Now, what grounds could she have for divorce?”

  “None that I can think of.”

  “Are you having an affair?”

  “No. Well, yes, a fling with my secretary—but it’s not going anywhere. She thinks it’s serious, but I plan to replace her once the pipeline contract is signed.”

  “So the deal is still on course?” said Sam.

  “Yes, that’s originally why I needed to see you so urgently,” replied Dick. “I have to be back in St. Petersburg for May the sixteenth, when both sides will be signing the contract.” He paused. “And it’s going to be witnessed by President Putin.”

  “Congratulations,” said Sam. “How much will that be worth to you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I’m wondering if you’re not the only person who’s hoping that the deal will go through.”

  “Around sixty million—” Dick hesitated—”for the company.”

  “And do you still own fifty-one percent of the shares?”

  “Yes, but I could always hide—”

  “Don’t even think about it,” said Sam. “You won’t be able to
hide anything if Symonds is on the case. He’ll sniff out every last penny, like a pig hunting for truffles. And if the court were to discover that you attempted to deceive them, it would only make the judge more sympathetic to your wife.” The senior partner paused, looked directly at his client, and repeated, “Don’t even think about it.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Nothing that will arouse suspicion; go about your business as usual, as if you have no idea what she’s up to. Meanwhile, I’ll fix a consultation with counsel, so at least we’ll be better prepared than Mr. Symonds will be anticipating. And one more thing,” said Sam, once again looking directly at his client, “no more extramarital activities until this problem has been resolved. That’s an order.”

  Dick kept a close eye on his wife during the next few days, but she gave no sign of there being anything untoward. If anything, she showed an unusual interest in how the trip to St. Petersburg had gone, and over dinner on Thursday evening even asked if the board had come to a decision.

  “They most certainly have,” Dick replied emphatically. “Once Sam had taken the directors through each clause, gone over every detail, and answered all of their questions, they virtually rubber-stamped the contract.” Dick poured himself a second cup of coffee. He was taken by surprise by his wife’s next question.

  “Why don’t I join you when you go to St. Petersburg? We could fly out on the Friday,” she added, “and spend the weekend visiting the Hermitage and the Summer Palace. We might even find enough time to see Catherine’s amber collection—something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  Dick didn’t reply immediately, aware that this was not a casual suggestion as it had been years since Maureen had accompanied him on a business trip. Dick’s first reaction was to wonder what she was up to. “Let me think about it,” he eventually responded, leaving his coffee to go cold.

  Dick rang Sam Cohen within minutes of arriving at his office and reported the conversation to his lawyer.

  “Symonds must have advised her to witness the signing of the contract,” suggested Cohen.

  “But why?”

  “So that Maureen will be able to claim that over the years she has played a leading role in your business success, always being there to support you at those critical moments in your career ...”

  “Balls,” said Dick, “she’s never taken any interest in how I make my money, only in how she can spend it.”

  “... and therefore she must be entitled to fifty percent of your assets.”

  “But that could amount to over thirty million pounds,” Dick protested.

  “Symonds has obviously done his homework.”

  “Then I’ll simply tell her that she can’t come on the trip. It’s not appropriate.”

  “Which will allow Mr. Symonds to change tack. He’ll then portray you as a heartless man, who, the moment you became a success, cut his client out of your life, often traveling abroad, accompanied by a secretary who—”

  “OK, OK, I get the picture. So allowing her to come to St. Petersburg might well prove to be the lesser of two evils.”

  “On the one hand ...” counseled Sam.

  “Bloody lawyers,” said Dick before he could finish the sentence.

  “Funny how you only need us when you’re in trouble,” Sam rejoined. “So let’s make sure that this time we anticipate her next move.”

  “And what’s that likely to be?”

  “Once she’s got you to St. Petersburg, she’ll want to have sex.”

  “We haven’t had sex for years.”

  “And not because I haven’t wanted to, m’lord.”

  “Oh, hell,” said Dick, “I can’t win.”

  “You can as long as you don’t follow Lady Longford’s advice—when asked if she had ever considered divorcing Lord Longford, she replied, ‘Divorce, never, murder, often.’ “

  Mr. and Mrs. Richard Barnsley checked into the Grand Palace Hotel in St. Petersburg a fortnight later. A porter placed their bags on a trolley, and then accompanied them to the Tolstoy Suite on the ninth floor.

  “Must go to the loo before I burst,” said Dick as he rushed into the room ahead of his wife. While her husband disappeared into the bathroom, Maureen looked out of the window and admired the golden domes of St. Nicholas’s Cathedral.

  Once he’d locked the door, Dick removed the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign that was perched on the washbasin and tucked it into the back pocket of his trousers. Next he unscrewed the tops of the two Evian bottles and poured the contents down the sink. He then refilled both bottles with tap water, before screwing the tops firmly back on and returning them to their place on the corner of the basin. He unlocked the door and strolled out of the bathroom.

  Dick started to unpack his suitcase, but stopped the moment Maureen disappeared into the bathroom. First, he transferred the DON’T DRINK THE WATER sign from his back pocket into the side flap of his suitcase. He zipped up the flap, before checking around the room. There was a small bottle of Evian water on each side of the bed, and two large bottles on the table by the window. He grabbed the bottle by his wife’s side of the bed and retreated into the kitchenette at the far end of the room. Dick poured the contents down the sink, and refilled the bottle with tap water. He then returned it to Maureen’s side of the bed. Next, he took the two large bottles from the table by the window and repeated the process.

  By the time his wife had come out of the bathroom, Dick had almost finished unpacking. While Maureen continued to unpack her suitcase, Dick strolled across to his side of the bed and dialed a number he didn’t need to look up. As he waited for the phone to be answered, he opened the bottle of Evian water on his side of the bed, and took a gulp.

  “Hi, Anatol, it’s Dick Barnsley. I thought I’d let you know that we’ve just checked in to the Grand Palace.”

  “Welcome back to St. Petersburg,” said a friendly voice. “And is your wife with you on this occasion?”

  “She most certainly is,” replied Dick, “and very much looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Me too,” said the minister, “so make sure that you have a relaxed weekend because everything is set up for Monday morning. The President is due to fly in tomorrow night so he’ll be present when the contract is signed.”

  “Ten o’clock at the Winter Palace?”

  “Ten o’clock,” repeated Chenkov. “I’ll pick you up from your hotel at nine. It’s only a thirty-minute drive, but we can’t afford to be late for this one.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby,” said Dick. “See you then.” He put the phone down and turned to his wife. “Why don’t we go down to dinner, my darling? We’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He adjusted his watch by three hours and added, “So perhaps it would be wise to have an early night.”

  Maureen placed a long silk nightdress on her side of the bed and smiled in agreement. As she turned to place her empty case in the wardrobe, Dick slipped an Evian bottle from the bedside table into his jacket pocket. He then accompanied his wife down to the dining room.

  The head waiter guided them to a quiet table in the corner and, once they were seated, offered his two guests menus. Maureen disappeared behind the large leather cover while she considered the table d’hote, which allowed Dick enough time to remove the bottle of Evian from his pocket, undo the cap and fill his wife’s glass.

  Once they had both selected their meals, Maureen went over her proposed itinerary for the next two days. “I think we should begin with the Hermitage, first thing in the morning,” she suggested, “take a break for lunch, and then spend the rest of the afternoon at the Summer Palace.”

  “What about the amber collection?” asked Dick, as he topped up her water glass. “I thought that was a no-miss.”

  “I’d already scheduled in the amber collection and the Russian Museum for Sunday.”

  “Sounds as if you have everything well organized,” said Dick, as a waiter placed a bowl of borscht in front of his wife.

  Maur
een spent the rest of the meal telling Dick about some of the treasures that they would see when they visited the Hermitage. By the time Dick had signed the bill, Maureen had drunk the bottle of water.

  Dick slipped the empty bottle back in his pocket. Once they had returned to their room, he filled it with tap water and left it in the bathroom.

  By the time Dick had undressed and climbed into bed, Maureen was still studying her guidebook.

  “I feel exhausted,” Dick said. “It must be the time change.” He turned his back on her, hoping she wouldn’t work out that it was just after eight p.m. in England.

  Dick woke the following morning feeling very thirsty. He looked at the empty bottle of Evian on his side of the bed and remembered just in time. He climbed out of bed, walked across to the fridge and selected a bottle of orange juice.

  “Will you be going to the gym this morning?” he asked a half-awake Maureen.

  “Do I have time?”

  “Sure, the Hermitage doesn’t open until ten, and one of the reasons I always stay here is because of the hotel’s gym.”

  “So what about you?”

  “I still have to make some phone calls if everything is to be set up for Monday.”

  Maureen slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom, which allowed Dick enough time to top up her glass and replace the empty bottle of Evian on her side of the bed.

  When Maureen emerged a few minutes later, she checked her watch before slipping on her gym kit. “I should be back in about forty minutes,” she said, after tying up her trainers.

  “Don’t forget to take some water with you,” said Dick, handing her one of the bottles from the table by the window. “They may not have one in the gym.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Dick wondered, from the expression on her face, if he was being just a little too solicitous.

  While Maureen was in the gym, Dick took a shower. When he walked back into the bedroom, he was pleased to see that the sun was shining. He put on a blazer and slacks, but only after he’d checked that none of the bottles had been replaced by the hotel staff while he’d been in the bathroom.