Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

Mr. Swann didn’t turn off the stage lights until he had all the props in place for the banquet scene. He then picked up his well-thumbed script, put in his old Gladstone bag, and headed slowly toward the door. At first he didn’t notice that someone was sitting at the back of the room, and he wasn’t able to hide his surprise when he saw who it was.

“We’re not doing Othello this year,” he said. “But if we were, I wouldn’t have to look far to cast Iago.”

“No, Mr. Swann, it’s Prince Hal you see before you, come on bended knee to beg forgiveness of the King, having made a dreadful mistake from which he may never recover.”

The old man stood still as Sebastian took out his wallet, extracted a check, and handed it over.

“But this is far more than we agreed on,” the former headmaster said, fumbling for words.

“Not if you still want those new dressing rooms, a proper curtain, and not to have to be satisfied with last year’s costumes.”

“Not to mention a separate changing room for the girls from Shifnal High,” said Swann. “But may I ask what you meant, Mr. Clifton, when you said you had made a dreadful mistake from which you may never recover?”

“It’s a long story,” said Seb, “and I’ll not bore you—”

“I’m an old man with time on my hands,” said Swann, sitting down opposite Seb.

Sebastian told Mr. Swann how he’d first seen Samantha at Jessica’s graduation ceremony and been struck dumb.

“I can’t imagine that happens to you too often,” said Swann with a smile.

“When I next met her, I’d recovered enough to ask her out to dinner. Not long after that I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” The old man knew when to remain silent. “But when she found out that I didn’t intend to honor my promise to you, she left me, and returned to America.” He paused. “I haven’t seen her since.”

“Then I would beg you not to make the same mistake I did when I was your age.”

“You made the same mistake?”

“Worse in a way. When I was a young man just down from university, I was offered a job teaching English at a grammar school in Worcestershire. I’d never been happier, until I fell in love with the headmaster’s eldest daughter, but didn’t have the courage to let her know.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve always been shy, especially around women, and in any case I was afraid the headmaster wouldn’t approve. It must sound silly now, but it was a different world in those days. I moved to another school and later learned that she had never married. I might have been able to live with that if just last year, when I attended her funeral, her younger sister hadn’t told me that I was her first and only love, but her father had told her she must do nothing unless I made my feelings known. What a fool I was. A moment wasted, to be followed by a lifetime of regret. Young man, be sure not to make the same mistake. Faint heart ne’er won a lady fair.”

“Robert Burns?” said Seb.

“There’s hope for you yet,” said Swann. With the help of his walking stick, the old man rose to his feet and took Seb by the arm. “Thank you for your generosity. I look forward to the honor of meeting Miss Sullivan.” He turned to face Seb. “Would you be kind enough to ask her, Mr. Clifton, if she would be willing to open the Samantha Sullivan Theatre?”

“Hi, revered parent, I’m thinking of going to America on business, and I wondered if—”

“You could sail on the Buckingham ? Yes, of course, but don’t forget Bob Bingham’s rule about family members having to pay for their passage. If you can go next week, you could join your father. He’s off to New York to see his publisher.”

Sebastian flicked over a page of his diary. “I’ll have to rearrange a couple of meetings, but yes, that looks fine.”

“And what takes you to the States?”

“A business opportunity that Mr. Kaufman wants me to look into.”

The moment Seb put down the phone he felt guilty about not telling his mother the real reason for his trip, as he feared he could well be making a complete fool of himself — once again.

But he had no idea where Sam was living or how he could find out. He was considering the problem when Vic Kaufman walked into his office and took him by surprise.

“Have you noticed my dad repeating himself lately?”

“No, can’t say I have,” said Seb. “Saul’s occasionally a little forgetful, but he must be over seventy.”

“When he escaped from Poland he didn’t bring a birth certificate with him, but he once let slip that he could remember Queen Victoria’s funeral, so he must be nearer eighty. I have to admit I’m a bit worried, because if anything did happen to the old man, frankly, you’re not ready to take over yet, and I’m just not good enough.”

It had never crossed Seb’s mind that Saul Kaufman wouldn’t go on being chairman forever, and he certainly hadn’t considered taking over as chairman of the bank before Vic raised the subject.

Seb now had fourteen staff working for him, most of them older than himself, and his department was the third-largest income provider for the bank, not far behind foreign exchange and commodities.

“Don’t worry about it, Vic,” said Seb, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure your father’s got a few more miles left on the clock.”

However, at Seb’s weekly meeting with the chairman, Mr. Kaufman did ask, on three separate occasions, the name of the client they were representing on one particular land development deal, although Seb knew he’d done business with him on at least two occasions in the past.

Seb had spent so much of his spare time thinking about what was happening at another bank just a few streets away that it hadn’t crossed his mind that his future at Kaufman’s could not be taken for granted. He tried not to think about the worst-case scenario: the old man having to retire because of ill-health, Farthings making a takeover bid for Kaufman’s, and Seb having to write a second resignation letter to the new joint chairman of the two banks.

He even considered canceling his trip to the States, but he knew that if he didn’t leave by the last tide on Friday evening, he would never have the courage to go through with it.

Seb thoroughly enjoyed his father’s company on the five-day voyage to New York, not least because, unlike his mother, Harry didn’t spend his time asking endless questions Seb didn’t want to answer.

They always ate together in the evening, and sometimes at lunch. During the day, his father would lock himself in his cabin, leaving the Do Not Disturb sign on his door. He spent hour upon hour going over the final draft of his latest manuscript, which he would hand to Harold Guinzburg within an hour of the ship docking.

So when Seb was taking a brisk walk around the upper deck one morning, he was surprised to find his father reclining in a deck chair, reading his favorite author.

“Does that mean you’ve finished the book?” he asked as he sat down in the deck chair next to him.

“It does,” said Harry, putting down Beware of Pity . “Now all I have to do is deliver the manuscript to Harold and wait for his opinion.”

“Do you want mine?”

“On my book? No, but on another book, yes.”

“What book are we talking about?”

“Uncle Joe,” said Harry. “Harold has offered Mrs. Babakov a hundred-thousand-dollar advance for the world rights, against a fifteen-percent royalty, and I’m not sure what to advise her.”

“But is there a chance of anyone ever finding a copy of the book?”

“I used to think there was almost none, but Harold told me that Mrs. Babakov knows where a copy can be found. The only problem is, it’s in the Soviet Union.”