The Collected Short Stories (72 page)

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Authors: Jeffrey Archer

BOOK: The Collected Short Stories
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“More fool him,” said Anna, putting down her glass and staring at me as if I'd just been released from a lunatic asylum.
“Then I put two ten-pound notes into a theater envelope and took the place next to you,” I continued. “The rest you already know.” I waited, with some trepidation, to see how she would react.
“I suppose I ought to be flattered,” Anna said after a moment's consideration. “But I don't know whether to laugh or cry. One thing's for certain: the woman I've been living with for the past ten years will think it's highly amusing, especially as you paid for her ticket.”
The waiter returned to remove the half-finished plates. “Was everything all right, sir?” he asked, sounding anxious.
“Fine, just fine,” I said unconvincingly. Anna grimaced, but made no comment.
“Would you care for coffee, madam?”
“No, I don't think I'll risk it,” she said, looking at her watch. “In any case, I ought to be getting back. Elizabeth will be wondering where I've got to.”
She stood up and walked toward the door. I followed a yard behind. She was just about to step onto the pavement when she turned to me and asked, “Don't you think you ought to settle the bill?”
“That won't be necessary.”
“Why?” she asked, laughing. “Do you own the place?”
“No. But it is one of the three restaurants I manage.”
Anna turned scarlet. “I'm so sorry, Michael,” she said. “That was tactless of me.” She paused for a moment before adding, “But I'm sure you'll agree that the food wasn't exactly memorable.”
“Would you like me to drive you home?” I asked, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.
Anna looked up at the black clouds. “That would be useful,” she replied, “if it's not miles out of your way. Where's your car?” she said before I had a chance to ask where she lived.
“I left it just up the road.”
“Oh, yes, I remember,” said Anna. “When you jumped
out of it because you couldn't take your eyes off me. I'm afraid you picked the wrong girl this time.”
At last we had found something on which we could agree, but I made no comment as we walked toward the spot where I had abandoned my car. Anna limited her conversation to whether it was about to rain again, and how good she had thought the wine was. I was relieved to find my Volvo parked exactly where I had left it.
I was searching for my keys when I spotted a large sticker glued to the windscreen. I looked down at the front offside wheel, and saw the yellow clamp.
“It just isn't your night, is it?” said Anna. “But don't worry about me, I'll just grab a cab.”
She raised her hand and a taxi skidded to a halt. She turned back to face me. “Thanks for dinner,” she managed, not altogether convincingly, and added, even less convincingly, “Perhaps we'll meet again.” Before I could respond, she had slammed the taxi door closed.
As I watched her being driven away, it started to rain.
I took one more look at my immovable car, and decided I would deal with the problem in the morning.
I was about to rush for the nearest shelter when another taxi came around the corner, its yellow light indicating that it was for hire. I waved frantically and it drew up beside my clamped car.
“Bad luck, mate,” said the cabbie, looking down at my front wheel. “My third tonight.”
I attempted a smile.
“So, where to, guv?”
I gave him my address in Lambeth and climbed into the back.
As the taxi maneuvered its way slowly through the rain-swept post-theater traffic and across Waterloo Bridge, the driver began chattering away. I just about managed monosyllabic replies to his opinions on the weather, John Major, the England cricket team and foreign tourists. With each new topic, his forecast became ever more gloomy.
He only stopped offering his opinions when he came to a
halt outside my house in Fentiman Road. I paid him, and smiled ruefully at the thought that this would be the first time in weeks that I'd managed to get home before midnight. I walked slowly up the short path to the front door.
I turned the key in the lock and opened the door quietly, so as not to wake my wife. Once inside I went through my nightly ritual of slipping off my jacket and shoes before creeping quietly up the stairs.
Before I had reached the bedroom I began to get undressed. After years of coming in at one or two in the morning, I was able to take off all my clothes, fold and stack them, and slide under the sheets next to Judy without waking her. But just as I pulled back the cover she said drowsily, “I didn't think you'd be home so early, with all the problems you were facing tonight.” I wondered if she was talking in her sleep. “How much damage did the fire do?”
“The fire?” I said, standing in the nude.
“In Davies Street. Gerald phoned a few moments after you'd left to say a fire had started in the kitchen and had spread to the restaurant. He was just checking to make certain you were on your way. He'd cancelled all the bookings for the next two weeks, but he didn't think they'd be able to open again for at least a month. I told him that as you'd left just after six you'd be with him at any minute. So, just how bad is the damage?”
I was already dressed by the time Judy was awake enough to ask why I had never turned up at the restaurant. I shot down the stairs and out onto the street in search of another cab. It had started raining again.
A taxi swung round and came to a halt in front of me.
“Where to this time, guv?”
“Thank you, Michael. I'd like that.”
I smiled, unable to mask my delight.
“Hi, Pipsqueak. I thought I might have missed you.”
I turned and stared at a tall man with a mop of fair hair,
who seemed unaffected by the steady flow of people trying to pass him on either side.
Anna gave him a smile that I hadn't seen until that moment.
“Hello, Jonathan,” she said. “This is Michael Whitaker. You're lucky—he bought your ticket, and if you hadn't turned up I was just about to accept his kind invitation to dinner. Michael, this is my brother, Jonathan—the one who was held up at the hospital. As you can see, he's now escaped.”
I couldn't think of a suitable reply.
Jonathan shook me warmly by the hand. “Thank you for keeping my sister company,” he said. “Won't you join us for dinner?”
“That's kind of you,” I replied, “but I've just remembered that I'm meant to be somewhere else right now. I'd better …”
“You're not meant to be anywhere else right now,” interrupted Anna, giving me the same smile. “Don't be so feeble.” She linked her arm in mine. “In any case, we'd
both
like you to join us.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“There's a restaurant just down the road that I've been told is rather good,” said Jonathan, as the three of us began walking off in the direction of the Strand.
“Great. I'm famished,” said Anna.
“So, tell me all about the play,” Jonathan said as Anna linked her other arm in his.
“Every bit as good as the critics promised,” said Anna.
“You were unlucky to miss it,” I said.
“But I'm rather glad you did,” said Anna as we reached the corner of the Strand.
“I think that's the place I'm looking for,” said Jonathan, pointing to a large gray double door on the far side of the road. The three of us weaved our way through the temporarily stationary traffic.
Once we reached the other side of the road Jonathan pushed open one of the gray doors to allow us through. It started to rain just as we stepped inside. He led Anna and me down a flight of stairs into a basement restaurant buzzing
with the talk of people who had just come out of theaters, and waiters dashing, plates in both hands, from table to table.
“I'll be impressed if you can get a table here,” Anna said to her brother, eyeing a group of would-be customers who were clustered round the bar, impatiently waiting for someone to leave. “You should have booked,” she added as he began waving at the head waiter, who was fully occupied taking a customer's order.
I remained a yard or two behind them, and as Mario came across, I put a finger to my lips and nodded to him.
“I don't suppose you have a table for three?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes, of course, sir. Please follow me,” said Mario, leading us to a quiet table in the corner of the room.
“That was a bit of luck,” said Jonathan.
“It certainly was,” Anna agreed. Jonathan suggested that I take the far chair, so his sister could sit between us.
Once we had settled, Jonathan asked what I would like to drink.
“How about you?” I said, turning to Anna. “Another dry martini?”
Jonathan looked surprised. “You haven't had a dry martini since …”
Anna scowled at him and said quickly, “I'll just have a glass of wine with the meal.”
Since when? I wondered, but only said, “I'll have the same.”
Mario reappeared, and handed us our menus. Jonathan and Anna studied theirs in silence for some time before Jonathan asked, “Any ideas?”
“It all looks so tempting,” Anna said. “But I think I'll settle for the fettucini and a glass of red wine”.
“What about a starter?” asked Jonathan.
“No. I'm on first call tomorrow, if you remember—unless of course you're volunteering to take my place.”
“Not after what I've been through this evening, Pipsqueak. I'd rather go without a starter too,” he said. “How
about you, Michael? Don't let our domestic problems get in your way.”
“Fettucini and a glass of red wine would suit me just fine.”
“Three fettucini and a bottle of your best Chianti,” said Jonathan when Mario returned.
Anna leaned over to me and whispered conspiratorially, “It's the only Italian wine he can pronounce correctly.”
“What would have happened if we'd chosen fish?” I asked her.
“He's also heard of Frascati, but he's never quite sure what he's meant to do when someone orders duck.”
“What are you two whispering about?” asked Jonathan as he handed his menu back to Mario.
“I was asking your sister about the third partner in the practice.”
“Not bad, Michael,” Anna said. “You should have gone into politics.”
“My wife, Elizabeth, is the third partner,” Jonathan said, unaware of what Anna had been getting at. “She, poor darling, is on call tonight.”
“You note, two women and one man,” said Anna as the wine waiter appeared by Jonathan's side.
“Yes. There used to be four of us,” said Jonathan, without explanation. He studied the label on the bottle before nodding sagely.
“You're not fooling anyone, Jonathan. Michael has already worked out that you're no sommelier,” said Anna, sounding as if she was trying to change the subject. The waiter extracted the cork and poured a little wine into Jonathan's glass for him to taste.
“So, what do you do, Michael?” asked Jonathan after he had given a second nod to the wine waiter. “Don't tell me you're a doctor, because I'm not looking for another man to join the practice.”
“No, he's in the restaurant business,” said Anna, as three bowls of fettucini were placed in front of us.
“I see. You two obviously swapped life histories during the intermission,” said Jonathan. “But what does being ‘in the restaurant business' actually mean?”
“I'm on the management side,” I explained. “Or at least, that's what I do nowadays. I started life as a waiter, then I moved into the kitchens for about five years, and finally ended up in management.”
“But what does a restaurant manager actually do?” asked Anna.
“Obviously the interval wasn't long enough for you to go into any great detail,” said Jonathan as he jabbed his fork into some fettucini.
“Well, at the moment I'm running three restaurants in the West End, which means I never stop dashing from one to the other, depending on which is facing the biggest crisis on that particular day.”
“Sounds a bit like ward duty to me,” said Anna. “So who turned out to have the biggest crisis today?”
“Today, thank heaven, was not typical,” I said with feeling.
“That bad?” said Jonathan.
“Yes, I'm afraid so. We lost a chef this morning who cut off the top of his finger, and won't be back at work for at least a fortnight. My head waiter in our second restaurant is off, claiming he has flu, and I've just had to sack the barman in the third for fiddling the books. Barmen always fiddle the books, of course, but in this case even the customers began to notice what he was up to.” I paused. “But I still wouldn't want to be in any other …”
A shrill ring interrupted me. I couldn't tell where the sound was coming from until Jonathan removed a tiny cellular phone from his jacket pocket.
“Sorry about this,” he said. “Hazard of the job.” He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear. He listened for a few seconds, and a frown appeared on his face. “Yes, I suppose so. I'll be there as quickly as I can.” He flicked the phone closed and put it back into his pocket.
“Sorry,” he repeated. “One of my patients has chosen this
particular moment to have a relapse. I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you.” He stood up and turned to his sister. “How will you get home, Pipsqueak?”
“I'm a big girl now,” said Anna, “so I'll just look around for one of those black objects on four wheels with a sign on the top that reads T-A-X-I, and then I'll wave at it.”
“Don't worry, Jonathan,” I said. “I'll drive her home.”
“That's very kind of you,” said Jonathan, “because if it's still pouring by the time you leave, she may not be able to find one of those black objects to wave at.”
“In any case, it's the least I can do, after I ended up getting your ticket, your dinner and your sister.”
“Fair exchange,” said Jonathan as Mario came rushing up.
“Is everything all right, sir?” he asked.
“No, it isn't. I'm on call, and have to go.” He handed over an American Express card. “If you'd be kind enough to put this through your machine, I'll sign for it and you can fill in the amount later. And please add fifteen percent.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Mario, and rushed away.
“Hope to see you again,” said Jonathan. I rose to shake him by the hand.
“I hope so too,” I said.
Jonathan left us, headed for the bar and signed a slip of paper. Mario handed him back his American Express card.
As Anna waved to her brother, I looked toward the bar and shook my head slightly. Mario tore up the little slip of paper and dropped the pieces into a wastebasket.
“It hasn't been a wonderful day for Jonathan, either,” said Anna, turning back to face me. “And what with your problems, I'm amazed you were able to take the evening off.”
“I shouldn't have, really, and wouldn't have, except …” I trailed off as I leaned over and topped up Anna's glass.
“Except what?” she asked.
“Do you want to hear the truth?” I asked as I poured the remains of the wine into my own glass.
“I'll try that for starters,” she said.
I placed the empty bottle on the side of the table, and hesitated, but only for a moment. “I was driving to one of my
restaurants earlier this evening, when I spotted you going into the theater. I stared at you for so long that I nearly crashed into the back of the car in front of me. Then I swerved across the road into the nearest parking space, and the car behind almost crashed into me. I leapt out, ran all the way to the theater, and searched everywhere until I saw you standing in the line for the box office. I joined the line and watched you hand over your spare ticket. Once you were safely out of sight, I told the box office manager that you hadn't expected me to make it in time, and that you might have put my ticket up for resale. After I'd described you, which I was able to do in great detail, he handed it over without so much as a murmur.”
Anna put down her glass of wine and stared across at me with a look of incredulity. “I'm glad he fell for your story,” she said. “But should I?”
“Yes, you should. Because then I put two ten-pound notes into a theater 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 toward 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.

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