Jeffrey Archer - A Prisoner Of Birth

"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 dialed 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 check 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 leaped 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 Grimsby 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."

When they left the drawing room and walked out into the hallway, they found Molly standing by the front door clutching Davenport 's overcoat.

"Thank you," said Davenport after she had helped him on with his coat and opened the door.

"I'll be in touch," said Danny, not shaking hands with Davenport as he stepped out onto the path. Molly almost curtsied.

Danny turned around and headed back to his study. "Molly, I have some calls to make, so I could be a few minutes late for lunch," he said over his shoulder. When he received no reply, he turned back to see his housekeeper standing at the door chatting to a woman.

"Is he expecting you?" asked Molly.

"No, he isn't," replied Ms. Bennett. "I came on the off-chance."

THE ALARM WENT off at 2 A.M. but Danny wasn't asleep. He jumped out of bed and quickly put on the pants, T-shirt, socks, slacks and trainers that he'd laid out on the chair by the window. He didn't turn on the light.

He checked his watch: six minutes past two. He closed the bedroom door and walked slowly downstairs. He opened the front door to see his car parked by the curb. Although he couldn't see him, he knew Big Al would be seated behind the wheel. Danny looked around-there were one or two lights still on in the square, but no one to be seen. He climbed into the car but didn't speak. Big Al switched on the ignition and drove for a hundred yards before he put on the side lights.

Neither of them spoke as Big Al turned right and headed for the Embankment. He had done the run five times during the past week; twice during the day, three times at night-what he called "night ops." But the dry runs were over, and tonight the full operation would be carried out. Big Al was treating the whole thing like a military exercise, and his nine years in the army were being put to good use. During the day, the journey averaged around forty-three minutes, but at night he could cover the same distance in twenty-nine, never once exceeding the speed limit.