Jeffrey Archer - Cometh the Hour

“Not a hope. You’ve already had my letter of resignation, and if I’m not on the Flying Scotsman this evening I don’t know which one of us Jean will kill first.”

“You I can handle, but not Jean. Does that mean you’ve closed the deal on that idyllic cottage you told me about?”

“Almost,” said Ross. “I still have to sell my flat in Edinburgh before I can sign the contract.”

“Please give Jean my love and tell her how grateful I am that she allowed you to come out of retirement for five months. Have a wonderful time in Burma, and thank you once again.” Ross was about to shake hands with the chairman when Hakim threw his arms around him and gave him a bear hug, something the Scotsman had never experienced before.

Once Ross had left, Hakim walked across to the window and waited until he saw him leave the building and hail a taxi. He then returned to his desk and asked his secretary to get Mr. Vaughan of Savills on the line.

“Mr. Bishara, good to hear from you. Can I possibly interest you in a duplex flat in Mayfair, prime location, excellent park views—”

“No, Mr. Vaughan, you cannot. But you could sell me a flat in Edinburgh that I know has been on your books for several months.”

“We’ve already got a bid for Mr. Buchanan’s property in Argyll Street, but it’s still a couple of thousand shy of the asking price.”

“Fine, then take it off the market, sell it to the underbidder and I’ll cover the shortfall.”

“We’re talking a couple of thousand pounds, Mr. Bishara.”

“Cheap at double the price,” said Hakim.

June 12th, 1976

Dear Lord Barrington

You may not remember me but we met some twelve years ago, on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York. At that time I was a congressman for the eleventh district of Louisiana, better known as Baton Rouge. Since then, I’ve become State Governor, and have recently been reelected to serve a second term. May I congratulate you on your own return to the Cabinet as Leader of the Lords.

I’m writing to let you know that I will be in London for a few days toward the end of July, and wondered if you could spare the time to see me on a private matter, concerning a close friend, constituent and major backer of my party.

My friend had an unfortunate experience with a certain Lady Virginia Fenwick when visiting London some five years ago, who I subsequently discovered is your former wife. The matter I wish to seek your advice on does not reflect well on Lady Virginia, with whom you may still be on good terms. If that is the case, I will of course understand, and will seek to resolve the problem in some other way.

I look forward to hearing from you.

Yours sincerely

Giles remembered the governor only too well. His shrewd advice and discretion had helped to avert a major catastrophe when the IRA attempted to sink the Buckingham on her maiden voyage, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten Hayden Rankin’s parting words on the subject, “You owe me one.”

Giles wrote back immediately to say he would be delighted to see Hayden when he was in London. Not least — which he didn’t say in his letter — because he couldn’t wait to find out how his ex-wife could possibly have come across one of the governor of Louisiana’s closest friends. And it might also finally solve the mystery of little Freddie.

He was delighted that Hayden had been reelected for a second term but didn’t feel as confident about his own party’s chances of success at the next election, even though he wasn’t willing to admit as much, especially to Emma.

Following the surprise resignation of Harold Wilson in April 1976, the new prime minister, Jim Callaghan, had asked Giles to once again take charge of the marginal seat campaign, and for the past two months he had been visiting constituencies as far-flung as Aberdeen and Plymouth. When Callaghan asked Giles for his realistic assessment of what the next election result would be, he had warned “Lucky Jim” that they might not be quite as lucky this time.

“Can I speak to Sebastian Clifton please?”

“This is Sebastian Clifton.”

“Mr. Clifton, I’m ringing from the United States. Will you accept a reverse charge call from a Miss Jessica Clifton?”

“Yes, I will.”

“Hi, Pops.”

“Hi, Jessie, how are you?”

“Great, thanks.”

“And your mother?”

“I’m still working on her, but I was calling to make sure you’ll be joining us in Rome next month.”

“I’m already booked into the Albergo del Senato, in the Piazza della Rotonda. It’s just opposite the Pantheon. Where will you be staying?”

“With my grandparents at the American Embassy. I can’t remember if you’ve ever met Grandpops, he’s super cool.”

“Yes, I have. In fact I visited him when he was the chef de mission at the Embassy in Grosvenor Square, and asked his permission to marry your mother.”

“How beautifully old-fashioned of you, Pops, but you needn’t bother to ask him again, because I’ve already got his approval, and I can’t think of a more romantic city than Rome in which to propose to Mom.”

“Please don’t tell me you phone the ambassador in Rome and reverse the charges!”

“Yes, but only once a week. I can’t wait to meet Grandpops Harry and Great-uncle Giles. Then I can add them to my list and let them know you’re planning to propose to Mom.”

“Should I presume you’ve already picked the date, the time and the place?”

“Yes, of course. It will have to be on Thursday, when we have tickets for the Borghese Gallery. I know Mom’s looking forward to seeing the Berninis, and Canova’s Paolina Borghese .”

“Did you know that the gallery is named after Napoleon’s sister?”

“I didn’t know you’d been to Rome, Pops.”

“It may come as a surprise to you, Jessie, but there were people roaming the earth before 1965.”

“Yes, I knew that. I’ve read about them in my history books.”

“You wouldn’t like to run a bank, by any chance?”

“No thanks, Pops, I just haven’t got the time, what with preparing for my next exhibition and trying to organize you two.”

“I can’t imagine how we survived before you came along.”

“Not very well, by all accounts. By the way, have you ever come across a man called Maurice Swann, from Shifnal in Shropshire?”

“Yes, but surely he can’t still be alive.”

“And kicking, it would seem, because he’s invited Mom to open his school theatre. What’s that all about?”

“It’s a long story,” said Seb.

Desmond Mellor was a few minutes late and, once Virginia had poured him a whisky, he got straight to the point.

“I’ve kept my word, and the time has come for you to keep yours.” Virginia didn’t comment. “I’ve made a lot of money over the years, Virginia, and I’ve recently had a serious offer for Mellor Travel, that might even make it possible for me to gain a controlling interest in Farthings Bank.”

Virginia refilled his glass with Glen Fenwick. “So, what can I do for you?”

“The long and short of it is, I want that knighthood you promised you could fix when you needed my help to convince those American detectives that you were legit.”

Virginia was well aware that the very idea of Desmond Mellor being offered a knighthood was preposterous, but she had already seen a way of turning this to her advantage. “Frankly, Desmond, I’m surprised you haven’t been nominated for an honor already.”