A Prisoner of Birth

by Jeffrey Archer

  Once he’d returned home, Craig left the wine on the kitchen table and put the champagne in the fridge. He then went upstairs to shower and change into something more casual. He’d just returned to the kitchen and started uncorking a bottle when the doorbell rang.

  He couldn’t remember when he’d last seen Gerald looking so buoyant, and assumed it must be because of the news he’d called about that afternoon.

  ‘How are you enjoying the constituency work?’ Craig asked as he hung up Payne’s coat and led him into the drawing room.

  ‘Great fun, but I can’t wait for the general election so I can take my place in the Commons.’ Craig poured him a glass of champagne and asked if he’d heard from Larry lately. ‘I popped round to see him one evening last week, but he wouldn’t let me inside the house, which I thought was a little strange.’

  ‘The last time I visited him at home the place was in a dreadful state,’ said Craig. ‘It might have been no more than that, or perhaps just another boyfriend he didn’t want you to meet.’

  ‘He must be working,’ said Payne. ‘He sent me a cheque last week for a loan I’d given up on long ago.’

  ‘You too?’ said Craig as the doorbell rang a second time.

  When Davenport strolled in to join them, all the swagger and self-confidence seemed to have returned. He kissed Gerald on both cheeks as if he were a French general inspecting his troops. Craig offered him a glass of champagne, and couldn’t help thinking that Larry looked ten years younger than when he’d last seen him. Perhaps he was about to reveal something that would upstage them all.

  ‘Let’s begin the evening with a toast,’ said Craig. ‘To absent friends.’ The three men raised their glasses and cried, ‘Toby Mortimer.’

  ‘So who shall we drink to next?’ asked Davenport.

  ‘Sir Nicholas Moncrieff,’ said Payne without hesitation.

  ‘Who the hell is he?’ asked Craig.

  ‘The man who’s about to change all our fortunes.’

  ‘How?’ asked Davenport, unwilling to reveal the fact that Moncrieff was the reason he’d been able to pay back the money he’d borrowed from them both, as well as several other debts.

  ‘I’ll tell you the details over dinner,’ said Payne. ‘But tonight I insist on going last, because this time I’m confident that you won’t be able to trump me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Gerald,’ said Davenport, looking even more pleased with himself than usual.

  A young woman appeared in the doorway. ‘We’re ready when you are, Mr Craig.’

  The three men strolled through to the dining room recounting their days at Cambridge, the stories becoming more exaggerated by the year.

  Craig took his place at the head of the table as portions of smoked salmon were placed in front of his two guests. Once he had tasted the wine and nodded his approval, he turned to Davenport and said, ‘I can’t wait any longer, Larry. Let’s hear your news first. You’ve clearly had a change of fortune.’

  Davenport leant back in his chair and waited until he was certain he had their undivided attention. ‘A couple of days ago I had a call from the BBC, asking me to drop into Broadcasting House for a chat. That usually means they want to offer you a small part in a radio play with a fee that wouldn’t cover the taxi fare from Redcliffe Square to Portland Place. But this time, I was taken out to lunch by a senior producer, who told me that they were going to write a new character into Holby City, and I was their first choice. It seems that Dr Beresford has faded in people’s memory . . .’

  ‘Blessed memory,’ said Payne, raising his glass.

  ‘They’ve asked me to do a screen test next week.’

  ‘Bravo,’ said Craig, also raising his glass.

  ‘My agent tells me they’re not considering anyone else for the part, so he should be able to close a three-year contract with residuals and a tough renewal clause.’

  ‘Not bad, I must admit,’ said Payne, ‘but I’m confident I can still beat both of you. So what’s your news, Spencer?’

  Craig filled his glass and took a sip before he spoke.

  ‘The Lord Chancellor has asked to see me next week.’ He took another sip as he allowed the news to sink in.

  ‘Is he going to offer you his job?’ asked Davenport.

  ‘All in good time,’ said Craig. ‘But the only reason he asks to see someone of my humble status is when he’s going to invite them to take silk and become a QC.’

  ‘And well deserved,’ said Davenport, as he and Payne rose from their places to salute their host.

  ‘It hasn’t been announced yet,’ said Craig, waving them back down, ‘so whatever you do, don’t breathe a word.’

  Craig and Davenport leant back in their chairs and turned to Payne. ‘Your turn, old chum,’ said Craig. ‘So what is it that’s going to change our whole lives?’

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ said Danny.

  Big Al stood in the doorway, clutching a large parcel. ‘It’s jist been delivered, boss. Where wull I put it?’

  ‘Just leave it on the table,’ said Danny, continuing to read his book as if the package was of little importance. As soon as he heard the door close, he put down Adam Smith on the theory of free-market economics and walked across to the table. He looked at the package marked Hazardous, Handle with Care for some time before removing the brown paper wrapping to reveal a cardboard box. He had to peel off several layers of sellotape before he was finally able to lift the lid.

  He took out a pair of black rubber boots, size 91⁄2, and tried them on – a perfect fit. Next he removed a pair of thin latex gloves and a large torch. When he switched it on, the beam lit up the whole room. The next articles to be removed from the box were a black nylon jumpsuit and a mask to cover his nose and mouth. He had been given a choice of black or white, and had chosen black. The only thing Danny left in the box was a small plastic container covered in bubble wrap and marked ‘Hazardous’. He didn’t unwrap the container because he already knew what was inside. He placed the gloves, torch, boots, jumpsuit and mask back in the box, took a reel of thick tape from the top drawer of his desk and resealed the lid. Danny smiled. A thousand pounds well invested.

  ‘And how much will you be contributing to this little enterprise?’ asked Craig.

  ‘About a million of my own money,’ said Payne, ‘of which I’ve already transferred six hundred thousand in order to secure the contract.’

  ‘Won’t that stretch you?’ asked Craig.

  ‘To breaking point,’ Payne admitted, ‘but I’m unlikely to come across an opportunity like this again in my lifetime, and the profit will allow me enough to live on after I become an MP and have to resign my partnership.’

  ‘Let me try to understand what you’re proposing,’ said Davenport. ‘Whatever sum we put up, you’ll guarantee to double it in less than a month.’

  ‘You can never guarantee anything,’ said Payne, ‘but this is a two-horse race, and ours is the clear favourite. In simple terms, I have the opportunity to pick up a piece of land for six million, which will be worth fifteen to twenty million once the minister announces which site she’s selected for the velodrome.’

  ‘That’s assuming she chooses your site,’ said Craig.

  ‘I’ve shown you the entry in Hansard reporting her exchange with those two MPs.’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ said Craig. ‘But I’m still puzzled. If it’s such a good deal, why doesn’t this chap Moncrieff buy the site himself ?’

  ‘I don’t think he ever had enough to cover the six million in the first place,’ said Payne. ‘But he’s still putting up a million of his own money.’

  ‘Something just doesn’t feel right to me,’ said Craig.

  ‘You’re such an old cynic, Spencer,’ said Payne. ‘Let me remind you what happened last time I presented the Musketeers with such a golden opportunity – Larry, Toby and I all doubled our money on that farmland in Gloucestershire in just under two years. Now I’m offering
you an even safer bet, except this time you’ll double your money in ten days.’

  ‘OK, I’m willing to risk two hundred thousand,’ said Craig. ‘But I’ll kill you if anything goes wrong.’

  The blood drained from Payne’s face, and Davenport was struck dumb. ‘Come on, chaps, it was only a joke,’ said Craig. ‘So I’m good for two hundred thousand. What about you, Larry?’

  ‘If Gerald’s willing to risk a million, so am I,’ said Davenport, quickly recovering. ‘I’m fairly confident I can raise that amount on my house without it changing my lifestyle.’

  ‘Your lifestyle is going to change in ten days’ time, old chum,’ said Payne. ‘Neither of us will ever need to work again.’

  ‘All for one and one for all,’ said Davenport, trying to stand up.

  ‘All for one and one for all!’ cried Craig and Payne in unison. They all raised their glasses.

  ‘How are you going to raise the rest of the money?’ Craig asked. ‘After all, the three of us will be putting in less than half.’

  ‘Don’t forget Moncrieff’s million, and my chairman is stumping up half a million. I’ve also approached a few chums who I’ve made money for over the years, and even Charlie Duncan is considering investing, so I should have covered the full amount by the end of the week. And as I’m the host for the next get-together of the Musketeers,’ he continued, ‘I thought I’d book a table at Harry’s Bar.’

  ‘Or McDonald’s,’ said Craig, ‘should the minister select the other site.’

  62

  ALEX WAS LOOKING across the Thames at the London Eye when she arrived. He rose from the bench to greet her.

  ‘Have you ever been on the Eye?’ he asked as she sat down beside him.

  ‘Yes, once,’ said Beth. ‘I took my father on it when it first opened. You used to be able to see our garage from the top.’

  ‘It won’t be that long before you’ll be able to see Wilson House,’ said Alex.

  ‘Yes. It was kind of the developer to name the building after my dad. He’d have enjoyed that,’ said Beth.

  ‘I have to be back in court by two o’clock,’ said Alex. ‘But I needed to see you urgently, as I have some news.’

  ‘It was good of you to give up your lunch break.’

  ‘I had a letter this morning from the Lord Chancellor’s office,’ said Alex, ‘and he’s agreed to reopen the case.’ Beth threw her arms around him. ‘But only if we can supply some fresh evidence.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the tape be considered as fresh evidence?’ asked Beth. ‘There’s been mention of it in both local papers since we launched the campaign to have Danny pardoned.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ll take it into consideration this time, but if they believe the conversation was recorded under duress, they’ll have to discount it.’

  ‘But how will anyone be able to prove that either way?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Do you remember that Danny and Big Al shared a cell with a man called Nick Moncrieff ?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Beth. ‘They were good friends. He taught Danny to read and write and even attended his funeral, although none of us were allowed to speak to him.’

  ‘Well, some weeks before Moncrieff was released, he wrote to me offering to help in any way he could, as he was convinced Danny was innocent.’

  ‘But there are countless people who believe Danny is innocent,’ said Beth, ‘and if you felt Big Al would have made a bad witness, why should Nick be any different?’

  ‘Because Danny once told me that Moncrieff kept a diary while he was in prison, so it’s possible that the tape incident has been recorded. Courts take diaries very seriously, because they’re contemporaneous evidence.’

  ‘Then all you have to do is get in touch with Moncrieff,’ said Beth, unable to hide her excitement.

  ‘It’s not quite that simple,’ said Alex.

  ‘Why not? If he was so keen to help . . .’

  ‘Not long after his release he was arrested for breaking his parole.’

  ‘So is he back inside?’ asked Beth.

  ‘No, that’s the strange thing. The judge gave him one last chance. He must have had a hell of a lawyer defending him.’

  ‘Then what’s to stop you trying to get hold of his diaries?’ asked Beth.

  ‘It’s possible that after his latest brush with the law, he might not welcome a letter from a lawyer he’s never met, asking him to become involved in yet another court case.’

  ‘Danny said you could always rely on Nick, come hell or high water.’

  ‘Then I’ll write to him today,’ said Alex.

  Danny picked up the phone.

  ‘Payne transferred six hundred thousand pounds by wire this morning,’ said the voice, ‘so if he pays the remaining five million four hundred thousand by the end of the week, the velodrome site will be his. I thought you’d want to know that we’ve had another bid in this morning for ten million, which of course we had to turn down. I hope you know what you’re doing.’ The line went dead. It was the first time the voice had offered an opinion on anything.

  Danny dialled the number of his bank manager at Coutts. He was about to convince Payne that the deal couldn’t fail.

  ‘Good morning, Sir Nicholas. How can I help you?’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Watson. I want to transfer a million pounds from my current account to Baker, Tremlett and Smythe’s client account.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ There was a long pause before Mr Watson added, ‘You do realize that will leave your account overdrawn?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Danny, ‘but it will be covered on October first when you receive the monthly cheque from my grandfather’s trust.’

  ‘I’ll do the paperwork today and be back in touch,’ said Mr Watson.

  ‘I don’t care when you do the paperwork, Mr Watson, as long as the full amount is transferred before close of business this evening.’ Danny replaced the receiver. ‘Damn,’ he said. Not the way Nick would have behaved in the circumstances. He must quickly return to Nick mode. He swung round to see Molly standing in the doorway. She was shaking, and seemed unable to speak.

  ‘What’s the matter, Molly?’ asked Danny, jumping up from his chair. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘It’s him,’ she whispered.

  ‘Him?’ said Danny.

  ‘That actor.’

  ‘What actor?’

  ‘That Dr Beresford. You know, Lawrence Davenport.’

  ‘Is it, indeed?’ said Danny. ‘You’d better show him into the drawing room. Offer him some coffee and tell him I’ll be with him in a moment.’

  As Molly ran downstairs, Danny made two new entries in the Payne file before placing it back on the shelf. He then took down the Davenport file and quickly brought himself up to date.

  He was just about to close it when his eye caught a note under the heading ‘Early life’ which caused him to smile. He replaced the file on the shelf and went downstairs to join his uninvited guest.

  Davenport leapt up as Danny entered the room, and this time he did shake hands. Danny was momentarily taken aback by his appearance. He was now clean-shaven, and wearing a well-tailored suit and a smart open-necked shirt. Was he about to return the £300,000?

  ‘Sorry to barge in on you like this,’ said Davenport. ‘I wouldn’t have done so if it wasn’t a bit of an emergency.’

  ‘Please don’t concern yourself,’ said Danny as he sat in the chair opposite him. ‘How can I help?’

  Molly placed a tray on the side table and poured Davenport a cup of coffee.

  ‘Cream or milk, Mr Davenport?’ she asked.

  ‘Neither, thank you.’

  ‘Sugar, Mr Davenport?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Would you like a chocolate biscuit?’ asked Molly.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Davenport said, patting his stomach.

  Danny sat back and smiled. He wondered if Molly would be quite so awestruck if she realized that she had just served the son of a car-park attendant with the Gri
msby Borough Council.

  ‘Well, just let me know if you want anything else, Mr Davenport,’ said Molly before backing out of the room, having quite forgotten to offer Danny his usual hot chocolate. Danny waited for the door to close. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘She’s normally quite sane.’

  ‘Don’t worry, old chap,’ said Davenport. ‘One gets used to it.’

  Not for much longer, thought Danny. ‘Now, how can I help?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to invest a rather large sum of money in a business venture. Only temporary, you understand. Not only will I repay you within a few weeks at the outside, but,’ he said, looking up at the McTaggart above the fireplace, ‘I’ll also be able to reclaim my paintings at the same time.’

  Danny would have been sad to lose his recent acquisitions, as he’d been surprised how quickly he’d become attached to them. ‘I’m sorry, how thoughtless of me,’ he said, suddenly aware that the room was full of Davenport’s old pictures. ‘Be assured, they will be returned the moment the loan is repaid.’

  ‘That could turn out to be a lot sooner than I had originally anticipated,’ said Davenport. ‘Especially if you were able to help me out with this little enterprise.’

  ‘What sort of sum did you have in mind?’ asked Danny.

  ‘A million,’ said Davenport tentatively. ‘The problem is that I’ve only got a week to come up with the money.’

  ‘And what would your collateral be this time?’ asked Danny.

  ‘My house in Redcliffe Square.’

  Danny recalled Davenport’s words the last time they had met: My home? No, never. Out of the question, don’t even think about it. ‘And you say that you will pay the full sum back within a month, using your home as collateral?’

  ‘Within a month, it’s guaranteed – a racing certainty.’

  ‘And if you fail to pay back the million in that time?’

  ‘Then, just like my pictures, the house is yours.’

  ‘We have a deal,’ said Danny. ‘And as you’ve only got a few days to come up with the money, I’d better get straight on to my lawyers and instruct them to draw up a contract.’