Jeffrey Archer - A Prisoner Of Birth

DANNY TOOK THE file marked Davenport off the shelf and placed it on his desk. He turned to the first page.

Davenport, Lawrence, actor-pages 2-11

Davenport, Sarah, sister, solicitor-pages 12-16

Duncan, Charlie, producer-pages 17-20

He turned to page 17. Another bit-part player was about to become involved in Lawrence Davenport's next production. Danny dialed his number.

"Charles Duncan Productions."

"Mr. Duncan, please."

"Who shall I say is calling?"

"Nick Moncrieff."

"I'll put you through, Mr. Moncrieff."

"I'm trying to remember where we met," said the next voice on the line.

"At the Dorchester, for The Importance of Being Earnest closing-night party."

"Oh, yes, now I remember. So what can I do for you?" asked a suspicious-sounding voice.

"I'm thinking of investing in your next production," said Danny. "A friend of mine put a few thousand in Earnest and he tells me he made a handsome profit, so I thought this might be the right time for me to-"

"You couldn't have called at a better time," said Duncan. "I've got the very thing for you, old boy. Why don't you join me at the Ivy for a spot of lunch sometime so we can discuss it?"

Could anyone really fall for that line, thought Danny. If they could, this was going to be easier than he had imagined. "No, let me take you to lunch, old boy," said Danny. "You must be extremely busy, so perhaps you'd be kind enough to give me a call when you're next available."

"Well, funnily enough," said Duncan, "I've just had a cancellation for tomorrow, so if you happened to be free-"

"Yes, I am," said Danny, before baiting the trap. "Why don't you join me at my local pub?"

"Your local pub?" said Duncan, not sounding quite so enthusiastic.

"Yes, the Palm Court Room at the Dorchester. Shall we say one o'clock?"

"Ah, yes, of course. I'll see you there, one o'clock," said Duncan. "It's Sir Nicholas, isn't it?"

"Nick's just fine," said Danny, before putting the phone down and making an entry in his diary.

Professor Amirkhan Mori smiled benevolently as he peered into the packed auditorium. His lectures were always well attended, and not just he also imparted so much wisdom and knowledge, but because he managed to do it with humor. It had taken Danny some time to realize that the professor enjoyed provoking discussion and argument by offering up outrageous statements to see what reaction he would arouse from his students.

"It would have been better for the economic stability of our nation if John Maynard Keynes had never been born. I cannot think of one worthwhile thing that he achieved in his lifetime." Twenty hands shot into the air.

"Moncrieff," he said. "What example do you have to offer of a legacy that Keynes could be proud of?"

"He founded the Cambridge Arts Theatre," said Danny, hoping to play the professor at his own game.

"He also played Orsino in Twelfth Night when he was a student at King's College," said Mori. "But that was before he went on to prove to the world that it made economic sense for wealthy countries to invest in and encourage developing nations." The clock on the wall behind him struck one. "I've had enough of you lot," said the professor, and marched off the platform and disappeared out of the swing doors to laughter and applause.

Danny knew he wouldn't have time even to grab a quick lunch in the canteen if he wasn't going to be late for the meeting with his probation officer, but as he dashed out of the lecture theater he found Professor Mori waiting in the corridor.

"I wonder if we might have a word, Moncrieff," said Mori, and without waiting for a reply, charged off down the corridor. Danny followed him into his office, prepared to defend his views of Milton Friedman, as he knew his latest essay was not in line with the professor's oft-expressed opinions on the subject.

"Have a seat, dear boy," Mori said. "I'd offer you a drink, but frankly I don't have anything worth drinking. But to more important matters. I wanted to know if you had considered entering your name for the Jennie Lee Memorial Prize essay competition."

"I hadn't given it a thought," admitted Danny.

"Then you should," said Professor Mori. "You're by far the brightest student of your intake, which isn't saying a lot, but I still think you could win the prise. If you have the time, you ought to give it your serious consideration."

"What sort of commitment would it require?" asked Danny, whose studies were still only the second priority in his life.

The professor picked up a booklet that was lying on his desk, turned to the first page and began reading out loud. "The essay should be no less than ten thousand words and no more than twenty, on a subject of the entrant's choice, and it must be handed in by the end of Michaelmas Term."

"I'm flattered that you think I'm up to it," said Danny.

"I'm only surprised that your masters at Loretto didn't advise you to go to Edinburgh or Oxford, rather than join the army."

Danny would like to have told the professor that no one from Clement Attlee Comprehensive had ever been to Oxford, including the head teacher.

"Perhaps you'd like to think it over," said the professor. "Let me know when you've come to a decision."

"I certainly will," said Danny as he rose to leave. "Thank you, professor."

Once he was back in the corridor, Danny began running toward the entrance. As he charged through the front doors, he was relieved to see Big Al waiting by the car.

Danny mulled over Professor Mori's words as Big Al drove along the Strand and through The Mall on his way to Notting Hill Gate. He continually broke the speed limit as he didn't want the boss to be late for his appointment. Danny made it clear that he'd rather pay a speeding fine than spend another four years in Belmarsh. It was unfortunate that Big Al drew up outside the probation office just as Ms. Bennett stepped off her bus. She stared through the car window as Danny tried to conceal himself behind Big Al's hulking frame.

"She probably thinks ye huv robbed a bank," said Big Al, "and I'm the getaway driver."

"I did rob a bank," Danny reminded him.

Danny was made to wait in reception for longer than usual before Ms. Bennett reappeared and beckoned him into her office. Once he was seated on his plastic chair on the opposite side of the formica table, she said, "Before I begin, Nicholas, perhaps you can explain whose car you arrived in this afternoon?"

"It's mine," replied Danny.

"And who was the driver?" asked Ms. Bennett.

"He's my chauffeur."

"How can you afford to own a BMW and have a chauffeur when your only declared source of income is a student grant?" she asked.

"My grandfather set up a trust fund for me, which pays out a monthly income of a hundred thousand pounds and-"

"Nicholas," said Ms. Bennett sharply, "these meetings are meant to be an opportunity for you to be open and frank about any problems you are facing so that I can offer you advice and assistance. I am going to allow you one more chance to answer my questions honestly. If you continue to act in this frivolous manner, I will have no choice but to mention it in my next report to the Home Office, and we both know what the consequences of that will be. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Ms. Bennett," said Danny, recalling what Big Al had told him when he had faced the same problem with his probation officer. "Tell them what they want tae hear, boss. It makes life so much easier."

"Let me ask you once again. Who owns the car you arrived in this afternoon?"

"The man who was driving it," said Danny.

"And is he a friend? Or do you work for him?"

"I knew him when I was in the army, and because I was running late, he offered me a lift."