The Short, the Long and the Tall

by Jeffrey Archer

  ‘Yes, you should. Because then I put two ten-pound notes into a theatre envelope and took the place next to you,’ I continued. ‘The rest you already know.’ I waited to see how she would react. She didn’t speak for some time.

  ‘I’m flattered,’ she said eventually. ‘I didn’t realize there were any old-fashioned romantics left in the world.’ She lowered her head slightly. ‘Am I allowed to ask what you have planned for the rest of the evening?’

  ‘Nothing has been planned so far,’ I admitted. ‘Which is why it’s all been so refreshing.’

  ‘You make me sound like an After Eight mint,’ said Anna with a laugh.

  ‘I can think of at least three replies to that,’ I told her as Mario reappeared, looking a little disappointed at the sight of the half-empty plates.

  ‘Is everything all right, sir?’ he asked, sounding anxious.

  ‘Couldn’t have been better,’ said Anna, who hadn’t stopped looking at me.

  ‘Would you like a coffee, madam?’ Mario asked her.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Anna firmly. ‘We have to go in search of a marooned car.’

  ‘Heaven knows if it will still be there after all this time,’ I said as she rose from her place.

  I took Anna’s hand, led her towards the entrance, back up the stairs and out onto the street. Then I began to retrace my steps to the spot where I’d abandoned my car. As we strolled up the Aldwych and chatted away, I felt as if I was with an old friend.

  ‘You don’t have to give me a lift, Michael,’ Anna was saying. ‘It’s probably miles out of your way, and in any case it’s stopped raining, so I’ll just hail a taxi.’

  ‘I want to give you a lift,’ I told her. ‘That way I’ll have your company for a little longer.’ She smiled as we reached a distressingly large space where I had left the car.

  ‘Damn,’ I said. I quickly checked up and down the road, and returned to find Anna laughing.

  ‘Is this another of your schemes to have more of my company?’ she teased. She opened her bag and took out a mobile phone, dialled 999, and passed it over to me.

  ‘Which service do you require? Fire, Police or Ambulance?’ a voice asked.

  ‘Police,’ I said, and was immediately put through to another voice.

  ‘Charing Cross Police Station. What is the nature of your enquiry?’

  ‘I think my car has been stolen.’

  ‘Can you tell me the make, colour and registration number please, sir.’

  ‘It’s a blue Rover 600, registration K857 SHV.’

  There was a long pause, during which I could hear other voices talking in the background.

  ‘No, it hasn’t been stolen, sir,’ said the officer who had been dealing with me when he came back on the line. ‘The vehicle was illegally parked on a double yellow line. It’s been removed and taken to the Vauxhall Bridge Pound.’

  ‘Can I pick it up now?’ I asked.

  ‘Certainly, sir. How will you be getting there?’

  ‘I’ll take a taxi.’

  ‘Then just ask the driver for the Vauxhall Bridge Pound. Once you get there, you’ll need some form of identification, and a cheque for £105 with a banker’s card – that is if you don’t have the full amount in cash.’

  ‘£105?’ I said quietly.

  ‘That’s correct, sir.’

  Anna frowned for the first time that evening.

  ‘Worth every penny.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir?’

  ‘Nothing, officer. Goodnight.’

  I handed the phone back to Anna, and said, ‘The next thing I’m going to do is find you a taxi.’

  ‘You certainly are not, Michael, because I’m staying with you. In any case, you promised my brother you’d take me home.’

  I took her hand and hailed a taxi, which swung across the road and came to a halt beside us.

  ‘Vauxhall Bridge Pound, please.’

  ‘Bad luck, mate,’ said the cabbie. ‘You’re my fourth this evening.’

  I gave him a broad grin.

  ‘I expect the other three also chased you into the theatre, but luckily they were behind me in the queue,’ I said to Anna as I joined her on the back seat.

  As the taxi manoeuvred its way slowly through the rainswept post-theatre traffic and across Waterloo Bridge, Anna said, ‘Don’t you think I should have been given the chance to choose between the four of you? After all, one of them might have been driving a Rolls-Royce.’

  ‘Not possible.’

  ‘And why not, pray?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Because you couldn’t have parked a Rolls-Royce in that space.’

  ‘But if he’d had a chauffeur, that would have solved all my problems.’

  ‘In that case, I would simply have run him over.’

  The taxi had travelled some distance before either of us spoke again.

  ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’ Anna eventually said.

  ‘If it’s what I think it is, I was about to ask you the same thing.’

  ‘Then you go first.’

  ‘No – I’m not married,’ I said. ‘Nearly, once, but she escaped.’ Anna laughed. ‘And you?’

  ‘I was married,’ she said quietly. ‘He was the fourth doctor in the practice. He died three years ago. I spent nine months nursing him, but in the end I failed.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, feeling a little ashamed. ‘That was tactless of me. I shouldn’t have raised the subject.’

  ‘I raised it, Michael, not you. It’s me who should apologize.’

  Neither of us spoke again for several minutes, until Anna said, ‘For the past three years, since Andrew’s death, I’ve immersed myself in work, and I seem to spend most of my spare time boring Jonathan and Elizabeth to distraction. They couldn’t have been more understanding, but they must be heartily sick of it by now. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jonathan hadn’t arranged an emergency for tonight, so someone else could take me to the theatre for a change. It might even give me the confidence to go out again. Heaven knows,’ she added as we drove into the car pound, ‘enough people have been kind enough to ask me.’

  I passed the cabbie a ten-pound note and we dashed through the rain in the direction of a little Portakabin.

  I walked up to the counter and read the form sellotaped to it. I took out my wallet, extracted my driving licence, and began counting.

  I only had eighty pounds in cash, and I never carry a chequebook.

  Anna grinned, and took the envelope I’d presented to her earlier in the evening from her bag. She tore it open and extracted the two ten-pound notes, added a five-pound note of her own, and handed them over to me.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, once again feeling embarrassed.

  ‘Worth every penny,’ she replied with a grin.

  The policeman counted the notes slowly, placed them in a tin box, and gave me a receipt.

  ‘It’s right there, in the front row,’ he said, pointing out of the window. ‘And if I may say so, sir, it was perhaps unwise of you to leave your keys in the ignition. If the vehicle had been stolen, your insurance company would not have been liable to cover the claim.’ He passed me my keys.

  ‘It was my fault, officer,’ said Anna. ‘I should have sent him back for them, but I didn’t realize what he was up to. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do it again.’

  The officer looked up at me. I shrugged my shoulders and led Anna out of the cabin and across to my car. I opened the door to let her in, then nipped round to the driver’s side as she leant over and pushed my door open. I took my place behind the wheel and turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘The rain has ruined your dress.’ A drop of water fell off the end of her nose. ‘But, you know, you’re just as beautiful wet or dry.’

  ‘Thank you, Michael,’ she smiled. ‘But if you don’t have any objection, on balance I’d prefer to be dry.’

  I laughed. ‘So, where shall I take you?’ I asked, suddenly aware that I didn’t know where she lived.

  ‘Fu
lham, please. Forty-nine Parsons Green Lane. It’s not too far.’

  I pushed the key into the ignition, not caring how far it was. I turned the key and took a deep breath. The engine spluttered, but refused to start. Then I realized I had left the sidelights on.

  ‘Don’t do this to me,’ I begged, as Anna began laughing again. I turned the key a second time, and the motor caught. I let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘That was a close one,’ Anna said. ‘If it hadn’t started, we might have ended up spending the rest of the night together. Or was that all part of your dastardly plan?’

  ‘Nothing’s gone to plan so far,’ I admitted as I drove out of the pound. I paused before adding, ‘Still, I suppose things might have turned out differently.’

  ‘You mean if I hadn’t been the sort of girl you were looking for?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘I wonder what those other three men would have thought of me,’ said Anna wistfully.

  ‘Who cares? They’re not going to have the chance to find out.’

  ‘You sound very sure of yourself, Mr Whitaker.’

  ‘If you only knew,’ I said. ‘But I would like to see you again, Anna. If you’re willing to risk it.’

  She seemed to take an eternity to reply. ‘Yes, I’d like that,’ she said eventually. ‘But only on condition that you pick me up at my place, so I can be certain you park your car legally, and remember to switch your lights off.’

  ‘I accept your terms,’ I told her. ‘And I won’t even add any conditions of my own if we can begin the agreement tomorrow evening.’

  Once again Anna didn’t reply immediately. ‘I’m not sure I know what I’m doing tomorrow evening.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ I said. ‘But I’ll cancel it, whatever it is.’

  ‘Then so will I,’ said Anna as I drove into Parsons Green Lane, and began searching for number forty-nine.

  ‘It’s about a hundred yards down, on the left,’ she said.

  I drew up and parked outside her front door.

  ‘Don’t let’s bother with the theatre this time,’ said Anna. ‘Come round at about eight, and I’ll cook you some supper.’ She leant over and kissed me on the cheek before turning back to open the car door. I jumped out and walked quickly round to her side of the car as she stepped onto the pavement.

  ‘So, I’ll see you around eight tomorrow evening,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll look forward to that.’ I hesitated, and then took her in my arms. ‘Goodnight, Anna.’

  ‘Goodnight, Michael,’ she said as I released her. ‘And thank you for buying my ticket, not to mention dinner. I’m glad my other three would-be suitors only made it as far as the car pound.’

  I smiled as she pushed the key into the lock of her front door.

  She turned back. ‘By the way, Michael, was that the restaurant with the missing waiter, the four-and-a-half-fingered chef, or the crooked bartender?’

  ‘The crooked bartender,’ I replied with a smile.

  She closed the door behind her as the clock on a nearby church struck one.

  Endgame

  CORNELIUS BARRINGTON hesitated before he made his next move. He continued to study the board with great interest. The game had been going on for over two hours, and Cornelius was confident that he was only seven moves away from checkmate. He suspected that his opponent was also aware of the fact.

  Cornelius looked up and smiled across at Frank Vintcent, who was not only his oldest friend but had over the years, as the family solicitor, proved to be his wisest adviser. The two men had many things in common: their age, both over sixty; their background, both middle-class sons of professionals; they had been educated at the same school and at the same university. But there the similarities ended. For Cornelius was by nature an entrepreneur, a risk-taker, who had made his fortune mining in South Africa and Brazil. Frank was a solicitor by profession, cautious, slow to decision, fascinated by detail.

  Cornelius and Frank also differed in their physical appearance. Cornelius was tall, heavily built, with a head of silver hair many men half his age would have envied. Frank was slight, of medium stature, and apart from a semicircle of grey tufts, was almost completely bald.

  Cornelius had been widowed after four decades of happy married life. Frank was a confirmed bachelor.

  Among the things that had kept them close friends was their enduring love of chess. Frank joined Cornelius at The Willows for a game every Thursday evening, and the result usually remained in the balance, often ending in stalemate.

  The evening always began with a light supper, but only one glass of wine each would be poured – the two men took their chess seriously – and after the game was over they would return to the drawing room to enjoy a glass of brandy and a cigar; but tonight Cornelius was about to shatter that routine.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Frank, looking up from the board. ‘I think you’ve got me beaten this time. I’m fairly sure there’s no escape.’ He smiled, placed the red king flat on the board, rose from his place and shook hands with his closest friend.

  ‘Let’s go through to the drawing room and have a brandy and a cigar,’ suggested Cornelius, as if it were a novel idea.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Frank as they left the study and strolled towards the drawing room. As Cornelius passed the portrait of his son Daniel, his heart missed a beat – something that hadn’t changed for the past twenty-three years. If his only child had lived, he would never have sold the company.

  As they entered the spacious drawing room the two men were greeted by a cheerful fire blazing in the grate, which had been laid by Cornelius’s housekeeper Pauline only moments after she had finished clearing up their supper. Pauline also believed in the virtues of routine, but her life too was about to be shattered.

  ‘I should have trapped you several moves earlier,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I was taken by surprise when you captured my queen’s knight. I should have seen that coming,’ he added, as he strolled over to the sideboard. Two large cognacs and two Monte Cristo cigars had been laid out on a silver tray. Cornelius picked up the cigar-clipper and passed it across to his friend, then struck a match, leaned over and watched Frank puff away until he was convinced his cigar was alight. He then completed the same routine himself before sinking into his favourite seat by the fire.

  Frank raised his glass. ‘Well played, Cornelius,’ he said, offering a slight bow, although his host would have been the first to acknowledge that over the years his guest was probably just ahead on points.

  Cornelius allowed Frank to take a few more puffs before shattering his evening. Why hurry? After all, he had been preparing for this moment for several weeks, and was unwilling to share the secret with his oldest friend until everything was in place.

  They both remained silent for some time, relaxed in each other’s company. Finally Cornelius placed his brandy on a side table and said, ‘Frank, we have been friends for over fifty years. Equally importantly, as my legal adviser you have proved to be a shrewd advocate. In fact, since the untimely death of Millicent there has been no one I rely on more.’

  Frank continued to puff away at his cigar without interrupting his friend. From the expression on his face, he was aware that the compliment was nothing more than an opening gambit. He suspected he would have to wait some time before Cornelius revealed his next move.

  ‘When I first set up the company some thirty years ago, it was you who was responsible for executing the original deeds; and I don’t believe I’ve signed a legal document since that day which has not crossed your desk – something that was unquestionably a major factor in my success.’

  ‘It’s generous of you to say so,’ said Frank, before taking another sip of brandy, ‘but the truth is that it was always your originality and enterprise that made it possible for the company to go from strength to strength – gifts that the gods decided not to bestow on me, leaving me with little choice but to be a mere functionary.’

  ‘You have always underestimated
your contribution to the company’s success, Frank, but I am in no doubt of the role you played over the years.’

  ‘Where is this all leading?’ asked Frank with a smile.

  ‘Patience, my friend,’ said Cornelius. ‘I still have a few moves to make before I reveal the stratagem I have in mind.’ He leaned back and took another long puff of his cigar. ‘As you know, when I sold the company some four years ago, it had been my intention to slow down for the first time in years. I had promised to take Millie on an extended holiday to India and the Far East – ‘ he paused ‘ – but that was not to be.’

  Frank nodded his head in understanding.

  ‘Her death served to remind me that I am also mortal, and may myself not have much longer to live.’

  ‘No, no, my friend,’ protested Frank. ‘You still have a good many years to go yet.’

  ‘You may be right,’ said Cornelius, ‘although funnily enough it was you who made me start to think seriously about the future…’

  ‘Me?’ said Frank, looking puzzled.

  ‘Yes. Don’t you remember some weeks ago, sitting in that chair and advising me that the time had come for me to consider rewriting my will?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Frank, ‘but that was only because in your present will virtually everything is left to Millie.’

  ‘I’m aware of that,’ said Cornelius, ‘but it nevertheless served to concentrate the mind. You see, I still rise at six o’clock every morning, but as I no longer have an office to go to, I spend many self-indulgent hours considering how to distribute my wealth now that Millie can no longer be the main beneficiary.’

  Cornelius took another long puff of his cigar before continuing. ‘For the past month I have been considering those around me – my relatives, friends, acquaintances and employees – and I began to think about the way they have always treated me, which caused me to wonder which of them would show the same amount of devotion, attention and loyalty if I were not worth millions, but was in fact a penniless old man.’