Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

After breakfast she selected a maternity outfit that made her, with a little assistance, look about seven months pregnant. She left the hotel at 9:40 a.m. and took a taxi to Lafayette Street, where she entered a monument to glass and steel and, after checking the directory on the wall, took a lift to the twenty-first floor. She told the receptionist her name was Fenwick and she had an appointment with Mr. Trend. The young woman’s southern drawl made English sound like a foreign language to Virginia, but she was rescued by a voice from behind her.

“Welcome to Baton Rouge, ma’am. I do believe it’s me you’re looking for.”

Virginia turned around to see another man who evidently considered that a check jacket, jeans and a string tie inspired confidence. She would have explained to Mr. Trend that in England, only members of the royal family and police superintendents were addressed as ma’am, but she let it pass. They shook hands. “Come through to my office.”

Virginia followed him past a row of offices that seemed to be getting larger and larger with each stride he took. Finally, Trend opened a door at the end of the corridor and ushered her in.

“Have a seat,” he said as he took his place behind a large mahogany desk. The walls were covered with photographs of Mr. Trend and triumphant clients who couldn’t have looked more guilty. “Now you can imagine,” said Trend as he leaned forward, “how intrigued I was to receive a call from an English lady wanting to seek my advice, and also to find out how she’d ever come across my name in the first place.”

“It’s a long story, Mr. Trend,” which she proceeded to tell. Virginia explained to her prospective counsel how she’d met Cyrus T. Grant III on his brief visit to London. She did not mention the ring, but assured Mr. Trend that her present condition was the result of that liaison.

The lawyer began licking his lips. “Some questions, if I may, Lady Virginia,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “First, and most important, when is the baby due to pop out?”

Once again Virginia was reminded of Cyrus. “In about two months.”

“So I assume this liaison took place at the Ritz in London some seven months ago.”

“Almost to the day.”

“And may I ask you a delicate question?” he said, not waiting for her to reply. “Could anyone else be the father?”

“As I hadn’t slept with anyone for over a year before I met Cyrus, it seems unlikely.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, ma’am, but it’s the first question Mr. Grant’s attorney will ask.”

“And you have your answer.”

“That being the case, it appears we do indeed have a paternity claim against Mr. Grant. But I need to ask you another delicate question. Do you want this matter made public? Because if you do, you’d sure hit the front pages at the moment, considering who’s involved. Or would you prefer me to try to reach a private settlement?”

“I would much prefer a private settlement. The less my friends in London know about this whole affair the better.”

“That’s fine by me. In fact, we might even be able to get the best of both worlds.”

“I’m not sure I understand, Mr. Trend.”

“Well, if you were to attend the wedding—”

“But surely it won’t come as a surprise to you that I haven’t been invited. And I read only this morning that security will be extremely tight.”

“Not if you have an invitation.”

“Does that mean you’re going?”

“No, I was the lawyer who acted on behalf of Ellie May’s first husband, so you won’t see me there.”

“Which is the reason I chose you to represent me, Mr. Trend.”

“I’m flattered. But before I agree to take on your case, there’s another crucial matter we need to discuss. My fees, and how you intend to pay them. I charge one hundred dollars an hour, plus expenses, and I expect a down payment of ten thousand dollars on appointment.” Virginia realized their short meeting was about to be terminated. “There is an alternative,” continued Trend, “although I know it’s frowned upon on your side of the pond. It’s called the contingent fee option.”

“And how does that work?”

“I agree to take on your case and, if you win, I get twenty-five percent of the final settlement.”

“And if I lose?”

“I get nothing. But you don’t end up with a bill.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Good, then that’s settled. Now, my immediate problem is to make sure you get an invitation to the nuptials, and I think I know exactly who to call. Where can I contact you later today?”

“The Commonwealth Hotel, Mr. Trend.”

“Call me Buck.”

“Mrs. Kathy Frampton.”

“Who’s she?” asked Virginia.

“A distant cousin of Ellie May Campbell,” replied Trend.

“Then someone at the wedding is certain to know her.”

“Unlikely. Her invitation was returned from Seattle unopened, with ‘Not known at this address’ stamped across the envelope.”

“But surely someone who works for the wedding planners will know Mrs. Frampton didn’t reply to her invitation.”

“Yes, and that person just happens to be in charge of the guest list, and also the place settings for lunch at the ranch. And I can promise you, she won’t be telling anyone.”

“How can you be so sure?” asked Virginia, sounding unconvinced.

“Let’s just say she was delighted with the divorce settlement I negotiated for her.”

Virginia smiled. “So how do I get hold of Mrs. Frampton’s invitation?”

“I slipped it under the door of your room an hour ago. Didn’t want to disturb you.”

Virginia dropped the phone, jumped out of bed, ran to the door and picked up a large cream envelope. She ripped it open, to find an invitation from Mr. and Mrs. Larry Campbell to the wedding of their only daughter, Ellie May Campbell, to Cyrus T. Grant III.

Virginia picked the phone back up. “I’ve got it.”

“Be sure to make it a memorable occasion for Cyrus,” said Trend. “I look forward to hearing all about it when we meet up again tomorrow morning.”

“Ellie May, will you take this man to be your...”

Virginia was seated in the eighth row of the congregation, among the cadet branch of the Campbell family. She had an excellent view of the nuptials, and had to give Ellie May some credit because Cyrus looked almost acceptable in morning dress, and may even have shed a few pounds. And from the look on his face, he clearly adored the about-to-be-pronounced Mrs. Grant. Although, in truth, even a devoted mother would have been hard pressed to describe the bride as anything other than plain, which gave Virginia some satisfaction.

Virginia had taken a seat as close to the aisle as possible, in the hope that Cyrus would spot her as he and his bride left the church. But at the last moment, a family of three rushed in and edged her toward the center of the pew. Despite her staring fixedly at the groom as the new Mr. and Mrs. Cyrus T. Grant proceeded down the aisle together, Cyrus appeared oblivious to anyone other than his bride and marched happily straight past her.

After Virginia had left the church, she checked the instructions neatly printed on the back of her invitation card. She was on coach B, which, along with seven other buses, countless limousines and even the odd car, stretched as far as the eye could see. She climbed on board and selected a seat near the back.

“Hello,” said an elegant white-haired old lady, offering a gloved hand as Virginia sat down next to her. “I’m Winifred Grant. Cyrus is my nephew.”

“Kathy Frampton,” said Virginia. “I’m a cousin of Ellie May.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” said Winifred as the bus moved off.