Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“I’ll take all six,” said Seb, as he removed his wallet.

“That will be one thousand dollars,” said the woman, making no attempt to hide her surprise.

Seb opened his wallet and realized immediately that, in his rush to get the cab, he’d left most of his cash in the hotel safe. “Can you reserve them for me?” he asked. “I’ll make sure you have the money long before the show closes.” He didn’t want to explain to her why he couldn’t just sign a check. That wasn’t part of plan A.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that,” she said. Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Seb froze and turned in panic to see Dr. Wolfe smiling at him.

“Miss Tomkins,” she said firmly. “That will be quite all right.”

“Of course, headmistress.” Looking back at Seb, she asked, “What name shall I put on the sales sheet?”

“Put them all in my name,” said Dr. Wolfe before Seb could reply.

“Thank you,” said Seb. “When can I collect them?”

“Any time on Sunday afternoon,” said Miss Tomkins. “The show closes at five.”

“Thank you again,” said Seb, before turning back to Dr. Wolfe.

“I came to warn you that I’ve just spotted Samantha and Jessica driving into the car park.” Seb looked across to the door, which seemed to be only one way out. “If you follow me,” said Dr. Wolfe, “I’ll take you to my study.”

“Thank you,” said Seb as she led him to the far end of the hall and through a door marked PRIVATE.

Once she’d closed her study door, Dr. Wolfe asked, “Why won’t you let me tell Samantha that you’ve flown over specially to see Jessica’s work? I’m sure they’d both be delighted to see you and Jessica would be so flattered.”

“I’m afraid that’s a risk I’m not willing to take at the moment. But can I ask how Jessica’s getting on?”

“As you can see from the paintings you’ve just bought, your bursary proved a wise investment, and I’m still confident that she’ll be the first girl from Jefferson to win a scholarship to the American College of Art.” Seb couldn’t hide a parent’s pride. “Now, I’d better get back before they begin to wonder where I am. If you go to the far end of the corridor, Mr. Clifton, you’ll find a back door leading into the yard, so no one will see you leaving. And if you change your mind before Sunday, you have my number. Just give me a call and I’ll do everything I can to help.”

Hakim Bishara climbed the aircraft steps, feeling his journey to Nigeria had been a complete waste of time. He was a patient man but on this occasion even his patience had been stretched to the limit. The oil minister had kept him waiting for five hours and, when he was finally ushered into his presence, he didn’t seem to be fully briefed on the new port project and suggested they meet again in a couple of weeks’ time, as if Bishara’s office was just around the corner. Bishara left fifteen minutes later with a promise that the minister would look into the matter and get back to him. He wasn’t holding his breath.

He returned to his hotel, checked out and took a taxi to the airport.

Whenever Hakim stepped onto a plane, he always hoped for one of two things: to be seated next to either a beautiful woman who would be spending a few days in a city where she was a stranger, or a businessman he normally would not have come across and who he might be able to interest in opening an account with Farthings. He corrected himself, Farthings Kaufman, and wondered how long it would take him to think it without thinking. Over the years, he’d closed three major deals because of someone he’d sat next to on a plane, and met countless women, one of whom had broken his heart after five idyllic days in Rome when she told him she was married and then flew home. He made his way to seat 3A. In the next seat was a woman of such extraordinary beauty it was hard not to just stare at her. Once he’d fastened his seatbelt, he glanced across to see she was engrossed in a novel Harry Clifton had recommended he should read. He couldn’t imagine how a book about rabbits could have any appeal.

Hakim always enjoyed trying to work out a person’s nationality, background and profession simply by observing them, a skill his father had taught him, whenever he was trying to sell a customer an expensive carpet. First, check the basics, her jewelry, his watch, their clothes and shoes, and anything else unusual.

The book suggested intelligence, the wedding ring, and even more obviously the engagement ring, spelled understated wealth. The watch was a classic Cartier Tank, no longer in production. The suit was Yves Saint Laurent and the shoes Halston. An untutored observer might have described her as a woman of a certain age; a discerning one, like Sky Masterson, as a classy broad. Her slim, elegant figure and long fair hair suggested she was Scandinavian.

He would have liked to begin a conversation with her, but as she seemed so engrossed in her novel and didn’t give him so much as a glance, he decided to settle for a few hours’ sleep, although he did wonder if he’d later regret it.

Samantha walked slowly around the exhibition with a nervous Jessica just a pace behind.

“What do you think, Mom? Will anybody buy one?”

“Well, I will for a start.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t want to be the only girl who couldn’t sell a picture.”

Samantha laughed. “I don’t think that will be your problem.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Yes, number thirty-seven. I think it’s the best thing you’ve ever done.” Samantha was still admiring My Father when Miss Tomkins came up and placed a red dot next to it. “But I was hoping to buy that one,” said Samantha, unable to hide her disappointment.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Brewer, but all of Jessica’s pictures were sold within a few minutes of the show opening.”

“Are you sure?” asked Jessica. “I put a price of five hundred dollars on that picture to make certain nobody would buy it because I wanted to give it to my mom.”

“It was also the gentleman’s favorite,” said Miss Tomkins. “And the price didn’t seem to bother him.”

“What was this gentleman’s name?” asked Samantha, quietly.

“I’ve no idea. He came just before the show opened and bought every one of Jessica’s pictures.” She looked around the room. “But he seems to have left.”

“I wish I’d seen him,” said Jessica.

“Why?” asked Samantha.

“Because then I could have filled in the face.”

“How much?” said Ellie May in disbelief.

“About a million and a half dollars,” admitted Cyrus.

“That must be the most expensive one-night stand in history, and I’m damned if I’m going to let the little hussy get away with it.”

“But she’s a lady,” said Cyrus.

“She won’t be the first lady who recognizes a sucker when she sees one.”

“But there’s still a possibility that little Freddie is mine.”

“I have a feeling,” said Ellie May, “that little Freddie isn’t even hers.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“Make damn sure Lady Virginia realizes she hasn’t got away with it.”

Hakim drifted out of a shallow sleep. He blinked, pressed a button in his armrest and his seat straightened up. Moments later a stewardess offered him a warm flannel. He gently rubbed his eyes, forehead and finally the back of his neck, until he felt half awake.

“Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Bishara?” the stewardess asked as she removed the flannel with a pair of tongs.

“Just orange juice and a black coffee, please.”

He glanced at the woman on his right but he could see that she only had a few more pages of her book to read, so he reluctantly decided not to interrupt her.