A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  He now had the financial resources to pick them off slowly, one by one, and it was his intention that by the time he’d completed the task, all three of them would consider death a preferable option.

  ‘Would you please fasten your seatbelt, sir, we’ll be landing at Heathrow in a few minutes.’

  Danny smiled up at the stewardess who had interrupted his thoughts. Mr Justice Sanderson hadn’t been given the opportunity to pass judgement in the case of Moncrieff v. Moncrieff, as one of the parties had withdrawn its claim soon after Mr Gene Hunsacker had left the judge’s chambers.

  Mr Munro had explained to Nick over dinner at the New Club in Edinburgh that if the judge had reason to believe a crime had been committed, he would have no choice but to send all the relevant papers to the Procurator Fiscal. Elsewhere in the city, Mr Desmond Galbraith was informing his client that if that were to happen, Hugo’s nephew might not be the only Moncrieff to experience the slamming of the iron door.

  Munro had advised Sir Nicholas not to press charges, despite the fact that Danny was in no doubt who had been responsible for the three policemen waiting for him on the last occasion he had landed at Heathrow. Munro had added, in one of those rare moments when his guard came down, ‘But if your uncle Hugo causes any trouble in the future, then all bets are off.’

  Danny had tried inadequately to thank Munro for all he had done over the years – think like Nick – and was surprised by his response, ‘I’m not sure whom I enjoyed defeating more, your uncle Hugo or that prig Desmond Galbraith.’ The guard remained down. Danny had always thought how lucky he was to have Mr Munro in his corner, but he had only recently become aware what it would be like to have him as an opponent.

  When coffee was served, Danny had asked Fraser Munro to become a trustee of the family estate as well as its legal adviser. He had bowed low and said, ‘If that is your wish, Sir Nicholas.’ Danny had also made it clear that he wanted Dunbroathy Hall and the surrounding land to be handed over to the National Trust for Scotland, and that he intended to allocate whatever funds were necessary for its upkeep.

  ‘Precisely as your grandfather envisaged,’ said Munro. ‘Although I have no doubt your uncle Hugo, with the help of Mr Galbraith, would have found some ingenious way of wriggling out of that commitment.’

  Danny was beginning to wonder if Munro had had a wee dram too many. He couldn’t imagine how the old solicitor would react were he to find out what Danny had in mind for another member of his profession.

  The plane touched down at Heathrow just after eleven. Danny was meant to have caught the 8.40 flight, but had overslept for the first time in weeks.

  He put Spencer Craig out of his mind when the aircraft came to a halt at its docking gate. He unbuckled his seatbelt and joined the other passengers standing in the aisle waiting for the door to swing open. This time there would be no policemen waiting outside for him. After the case had come to its premature end, Hunsacker had slapped the judge on the back and offered him a cigar. Mr Justice Sanderson was briefly lost for words, but he did manage a smile before politely refusing.

  Danny pointed out to Hunsacker that if he had stayed in Geneva, he would still have ended up with Sir Alexander’s collection, because Hugo would have been happy to sell it to him and probably for a lower price.

  ‘But I wouldn’t have kept my pact with your grand-daddy,’ Hunsacker replied. ‘Now I’ve done something to repay his kindness and shrewd advice over so many years.’

  An hour later Gene took off for Texas in his private jet, accompanied by 173 leather-bound albums, which Danny knew would keep him engrossed for the entire journey, and probably the rest of his life.

  As Danny climbed aboard the Heathrow Express, his thoughts turned to Beth. He desperately wanted to see her again. Maupassant summed up his feelings so well: ‘What’s the point of triumph if you’ve no one to share it with?’ But he could hear Beth asking, ‘What’s the point of revenge now you have so much to live for?’ He would have reminded her first of Bernie and then of Nick, who had also had so much to live for. She would realize that the money meant nothing to him. He would have happily exchanged every penny for . . .

  If only he could turn the clock back . . .

  If only they had gone up to the West End the following night . . .

  If only they hadn’t gone to that particular pub . . .

  If only they had left by the front door . . .

  If only . . .

  The Heathrow Express pulled into Paddington station seventeen minutes later. Danny checked his watch; he still had a couple of hours before his meeting with Ms Bennett. This time he’d go by taxi, and would be waiting in reception long before his appointment. The judge’s words were still ringing in his ears: ‘I intend to sign an order today which will ensure that you will be returned to prison for a further four years should you break any of your licence conditions in the future.’

  Although settling scores with the three Musketeers remained Danny’s first priority, he would have to put aside enough time to work on his degree, and honour his promise to Nick. He was even beginning to wonder if Spencer Craig might have played some role in Nick’s death. Had Leach, as Big Al suggested, murdered the wrong man?

  The taxi drew up outside his house in The Boltons. For the first time Danny really felt as if it was his home. He paid the fare, and opened the gate to find a tramp lounging on his doorstep.

  ‘This is going to be your lucky day,’ Danny said as he took out his wallet. The dozing figure was dressed in an open-neck blue and white striped shirt, a pair of well-worn jeans and a pair of black shoes that must have been polished that morning. He stirred and raised his head.

  ‘Hi, Nick.’

  Danny threw his arms around him, just as Molly opened the door. She put her hands on her hips. ‘He said he was a friend of yours,’ she said, ‘but I still told him to wait outside.’

  ‘He is my friend,’ said Danny. ‘Molly, meet Big Al.’

  Molly had already prepared an Irish stew for Nick, and as her portions were always too large, there was more than enough for both of them.

  ‘So tell me everything,’ Danny said once they were seated at the kitchen table.

  ‘No a lot tae tell, Nick,’ said Big Al between mouthfuls. ‘Like you, they released me after I’d served half my sentence. Thank God they shipped me oot, otherwise I might’ve been there fur the rest of ma life.’ He reluctantly put down his spoon and added with a smile, ‘An we know who wis responsible fur that.’

  ‘So what have you got planned?’ asked Danny.

  ‘Nothing at the moment, but ye did say tae come and see you wance I got oot.’ He paused. ‘I hoped ye’d let me stay fur a night.’

  ‘Stay as long as you like,’ said Danny. ‘My housekeeper will prepare the guest bedroom,’ he added with a grin.

  ‘I’m not your housekeeper,’ said Molly sharply. ‘I’m your cleaner what occasionally cooks.’

  ‘Not any longer, Molly, you’re now the housekeeper, as well as cook, on ten pounds an hour.’ Molly was speechless. Danny took advantage of this unusual state of affairs to add, ‘And what’s more, you’ll need to hire a cleaner to help you now that Big Al’s joining us.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Big Al. ‘I’ll be out of here just as soon as I find a job.’

  ‘You were a driver in the army, weren’t you?’ asked Danny.

  ‘I wis your driver fur five years,’ whispered Big Al, nodding his head in the direction of Molly.

  ‘Then you’ve got your old job back,’ said Danny.

  ‘But you haven’t got a car,’ Molly reminded him.

  ‘Then I shall have to get one,’ said Danny. ‘And who better to advise me?’ he added, winking at Big Al. ‘I’ve always wanted a BMW,’ he said. ‘Having worked in a garage, I know the exact model . . .’

  Big Al put a finger up to his lips.

  Danny knew Big Al was right. Yesterday’s triumph must have gone to his head, and he’d slipped back to behaving like Danny – a mistake h
e couldn’t afford to make too often. Think like Danny, act like Nick. He snapped back into his unreal world.

  ‘But first you’d better go and buy some clothes,’ he said to Big Al, ‘before you even think about a car.’

  ‘And some soap,’ said Molly, filling Big Al’s plate for a third time.

  ‘Then Molly can scrub your back.’

  ‘I will do no such thing,’ said Molly. ‘But I’d better go and make up one of the guest bedrooms if Mr Big Al is going to be with us – for a few days.’ Danny and Big Al laughed as she took off her apron and left the kitchen.

  Once the door was closed, Big Al leant across the table. ‘Are ye still planning tae get they bastards that—’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ said Danny quietly, ‘and you couldn’t have turned up at a better time.’

  ‘So when dae we start?’

  ‘You start by having a bath, and then go and buy yourself some clothes,’ said Danny, taking out his wallet for a second time. ‘Meanwhile, I’ve got an appointment with my probation officer.’

  ‘And how have you spent the past month, Nicholas?’ was Ms Bennett’s first question.

  Danny tried to keep a straight face. ‘I’ve been busy sorting out those family problems I mentioned at our last meeting,’ he replied.

  ‘And has everything worked out as planned?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ms Bennett.’

  ‘Have you found a job yet?’

  ‘No, Ms Bennett. I’m currently concentrating on my business studies degree at London University.’

  ‘Ah yes, I remember. But surely the grant isn’t sufficient to live on?’

  ‘I can just about get by,’ said Danny.

  Ms Bennett returned to her list of questions. ‘Are you still living in the same house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I see. I think perhaps I should come and inspect the property at some time, just to make sure it meets with the minimum Home Office standards.’

  ‘You would be most welcome to visit any time that suits you,’ said Danny.

  She read out the next question. ‘Have you been associating with any former prisoners you were in jail with?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Danny, aware that concealing anything from his probation officer would be regarded as a breach of his probation conditions. ‘My former driver has just been released, and is currently staying with me.’

  ‘Is there enough room in the house for both of you?’

  ‘More than enough, thank you, Ms Bennett.’

  ‘And does he have a job?’

  ‘Yes, he’s going to be my driver.’

  ‘I think you’re in enough trouble as it is, Nicholas, without being facetious.’

  ‘It’s no more than the truth, Ms Bennett. My grandfather has left me with sufficient funds to allow me to employ a driver.’

  Ms Bennett looked down at the questions that the Home Office expected her to ask at monthly meetings. There didn’t appear to be anything there about employing your own driver. She tried again.

  ‘Have you been tempted to commit a crime since our last meeting?’

  ‘No, Ms Bennett.’

  ‘Have you been taking any drugs?’

  ‘No, Ms Bennett.’

  ‘Are you at present drawing unemployment benefit?’

  ‘No, Ms Bennett.’

  ‘Do you require any other assistance from the probation service?’

  ‘No, thank you, Ms Bennett.’

  Ms Bennett had come to the end of her list of questions, but had only spent half the time she was allocated for each client. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to for the past month?’ she asked desperately.

  ‘I’m going to have to let you go,’ said Beth, resorting to the euphemism Mr Thomas always fell back on whenever he sacked a member of staff.

  ‘But why?’ asked Trevor Sutton. ‘If I go, you won’t have a manager. Unless you’ve already got someone else lined up to replace me.’

  ‘I have no plans to replace you,’ said Beth. ‘But since my father’s death, the garage has been steadily losing money. I can’t afford this state of affairs to continue any longer,’ she added, reading from the script Mr Thomas had prepared for her.

  ‘But you haven’t given me enough time to prove myself,’ protested Sutton.

  Beth wished that it was Danny who was sitting in her place – but if Danny had been around, the problem would never have arisen in the first place.

  ‘If we have another three months like the last three,’ Beth said, ‘we’ll be out of business.’

  ‘What am I expected to do?’ demanded Sutton, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the table. ‘Because I know one thing, the boss would never have treated me this way.’

  Beth felt angry that he had mentioned her father. But Mr Thomas had advised her to try to put herself in Trevor’s shoes, and to imagine how he must be feeling, especially since he’d never worked anywhere else since the day he left Clement Attlee comprehensive.

  ‘I’ve had a word with Monty Hughes,’ said Beth, trying to remain calm, ‘and he assured me that he’d be able to find you a place on his staff.’ What she didn’t add was that Mr Hughes only had a junior mechanic’s job available, which would mean a considerable drop in pay for Trevor.

  ‘That’s all very well,’ he said angrily, ‘but what about compensation? I know my rights.’

  ‘I’m willing to pay you three months’ wages,’ said Beth, ‘and also to give you a reference saying that you’ve been among the hardest workers.’ And among your most stupid, Monty Hughes had added when Beth had consulted him. While she waited for Trevor’s response, she recalled Danny’s words, but only because he can’t add up. Beth pulled open the drawer of her father’s desk and extracted a bulky package and a single sheet of paper. She ripped open the package and emptied its contents on to the desk. Sutton stared down at the pile of fifty-pound notes and licked his lips as he tried to calculate just how much money was on the table. Beth slid a contract across the desk that Mr Thomas had prepared for her the previous afternoon. ‘If you sign here,’ she said, placing her finger on a dotted line, ‘the seven thousand pounds will be yours.’ Trevor hesitated, while Beth tried not to show just how desperate she was for him to sign the contract. She waited for Trevor to spend the money, although it seemed an age before he eventually picked up the proffered pen and wrote the only two words he could spell with confidence. He suddenly gathered up the cash and, without uttering another word, turned his back on Beth and marched out of the room.

  Once Trevor had kicked the door closed behind him, Beth breathed a sigh of relief that wouldn’t have left him in any doubt that he could have demanded far more than seven thousand, though, in truth, withdrawing that amount of cash from the bank had just about emptied the garage’s account. All that was left for Beth to do now was to sell off the property as quickly as possible.

  The young estate agent who had looked over the property had assured her that the garage was worth at least two hundred thousand. After all, it was a freehold site, situated in an excellent location with easy access to the City. Two hundred thousand pounds would solve all of Beth’s financial problems, and mean there was enough left over to ensure that Christy could have the education she and Danny had always planned for her.

  52

  DANNY WAS READING Milton Friedman’s Tax Limitation, Inflation and the Role of Government, and taking notes on the chapter about the property cycle and the effects of negative equity when the phone rang. After two hours of studying, he was beginning to feel that anything would be an improvement on Professor Friedman. He picked up the phone to hear a woman’s voice.

  ‘Hi, Nick. It’s a voice from your past.’

  ‘Hi, voice from my past,’ said Danny, desperately trying to put a name to it.

  ‘You said you were going to come and see me while I was on tour. Well, I keep looking out into the audience, but you’re never there.’

  ‘So where are you performing at the moment?’ asked Danny, still
racking his brains, but no name came to his rescue.

  ‘Cambridge, the Arts Theatre.’

  ‘Great, which play?’

  ‘A Woman of No Importance.’

  ‘Oscar Wilde again,’ said Danny, aware that he didn’t have much longer.

  ‘Nick, you don’t even remember my name, do you?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Katie,’ he said, just in time. ‘How could I ever forget my favourite understudy?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got the lead now, and I was hoping you’d come and see me.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Danny, flicking through the pages of his diary, although he knew that almost every evening was free. ‘How about Friday?’

  ‘Couldn’t be better. We can spend the weekend together.’

  ‘I have to be back in London for a meeting on Saturday morning,’ said Danny, looking at a blank page in his diary.

  ‘So it will have to be another one-night stand,’ said Katie. ‘I can live with that.’ Danny didn’t respond. ‘Curtain’s up at seven thirty. I’ll leave a ticket for you at the box office. Come alone, because I don’t intend to share you with anybody.’

  Danny put the phone down and stared at the photograph of Beth that was in a silver frame on the corner of his desk.

  ‘There are three men coming up the path,’ said Molly as she looked out of the kitchen window. ‘They look foreign.’

  ‘They’re quite harmless,’ Danny assured her. ‘Just show them into the living room and tell them I’ll join them in a moment.’

  Danny ran up the stairs to his study and grabbed the three files that he had been working on in preparation for the meeting, then quickly made his way back downstairs.

  The three men who were waiting for him looked identical in every way except for their age. They wore well-tailored dark blue suits, white shirts and anonymous ties, and each carried a black leather briefcase. You would have passed them in the street without giving them a second look – which would have pleased them.