Jeffrey Archer - The Sins of the Father

Emma selected a gap between two rows of shelves from which she would have a clear view of Lloyd while he was signing, and would be able to observe her prey while setting him a trap.

She left Doubleday’s just before 1 p.m., and made her way across Fifth Avenue to the Brasserie. A waiter showed her to a table that would never have been considered acceptable by either of her grandfathers. But the meal was, as promised, first class, and when the bill was presented, she took a deep breath, and left a large tip.

‘I’ve booked a table for this evening,’ she said to the waiter. ‘Would it be possible to be seated in an alcove?’ The waiter looked doubtful, until Emma produced a dollar bill, which seemed to remove any doubt. She was getting the hang of how things worked in America.

‘What’s your name?’ Emma asked as she passed him the note.

‘Jimmy,’ the waiter replied.

‘And another thing, Jimmy.’

‘Yes, ma’am?’

‘May I keep a copy of the menu?’

‘Of course, ma’am.’

On the way back to the Mayflower, Emma called in at Bloomingdales and picked up her order. She smiled when the clerk showed her an example of the card. ‘I hope it’s satisfactory, madam.’

‘Couldn’t be better,’ said Emma. Once she was back in her room, she went over her prepared questions again and again, and after deciding on the best possible order, she pencilled them neatly on to the back of the menu. Exhausted, she lay down on the bed and fell into a deep sleep.

When the persistent ringing of the phone woke her, it was already dark outside. She checked her watch: 5.10 p.m.

‘Damn,’ she said as she picked up the phone.

‘I know the feeling,’ said a voice on the other end of the line, ‘even if that wasn’t the four-letter word I would have chosen.’ Emma laughed. ‘The name you’re looking for is Brett Elders… I didn’t tell you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma. ‘I’ll try not to bother you again.’

‘I wish,’ said the detective, and the line went dead.

Emma wrote the name ‘Brett Elders’ neatly in pencil at the top right-hand corner of the menu. She would like to have taken a quick shower and changed her clothes, but she was already running late and she couldn’t afford to miss him.

She grabbed the menu and three of the cards. Stuffing them into her bag, she then dashed out of the door and down the staircase, not waiting for the elevator. She hailed a cab and leapt into the back. ‘Doubleday’s on Fifth,’ she said, ‘and make it snappy.’

Oh no, Emma thought, as the taxi sped away. What’s happening to me?

Emma entered the crowded bookstore and took her chosen spot between politics and religion, from where she could observe Max Lloyd at work.

He was signing each book with a flourish, basking in the glow of his adoring fans. Emma knew it should have been Harry sitting there receiving the accolades. Did he even know his work had been published? Would she find out tonight?

As it turned out, she needn’t have rushed, because Lloyd went on signing his runaway bestseller for another hour, until the line began to dwindle. He was taking longer and longer with each message, in the hope that it might entice others to join the queue.

As he was chatting expansively to the last customer in the line, Emma deserted her post and strolled across.

‘And how is your dear mother?’ the customer was asking effusively.

‘Very well, thank you,’ said Lloyd. ‘No longer having to work in a hotel,’ he added, ‘following the success of my book.’

The customer smiled. ‘And Emma, dare I ask?’

‘We’re going to be married in the fall,’ said Lloyd after he’d signed her copy.

Are we indeed? thought Emma.

‘Oh, I’m so glad,’ said the customer. ‘She sacrificed so much for you. Do give her my best wishes.’

Why don’t you turn around and do it in person, Emma wanted to say.

‘I most certainly will,’ said Lloyd, as he handed her the book and gave her his back-cover smile.

Emma stepped forward and handed a card to Lloyd. He studied it for a moment before the same smile reappeared.

‘A fellow agent,’ he said, standing to greet her.

Emma shook his outstretched hand, and somehow managed to return his smile. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and several publishers in London are showing considerable interest in the rights to your book. Of course, if you’ve already signed a contract, or are represented by another agent in England, I wouldn’t want to waste your time.’

‘No, no, dear lady, I’m very happy to consider any proposal you might have.’

‘Then perhaps you would join me for dinner, so we can talk further?’

‘I think they’re expecting me to have dinner with them,’ whispered Lloyd, waving an expansive hand in the direction of some of the members of the Doubleday staff.

‘What a pity,’ said Emma. ‘I’m flying to LA tomorrow to visit Hemingway.’

‘Then I’ll have to disappoint them, won’t I?’ said Lloyd. ‘I’m sure they’ll understand.’

‘Good. Shall we meet at the Brasserie, then, when you’ve finished signing?’

‘You’ll do well to get a table at such short notice.’

‘I don’t think that will be a problem,’ said Emma, before one last customer stepped forward, still hoping to get a signature. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you later, Mr Lloyd.’

‘Max, please.’

Emma made her way out of the bookstore and walked across Fifth Avenue to the Brasserie. This time she wasn’t kept waiting.

‘Jimmy,’ she said as the waiter accompanied her to an alcove table, ‘I have a very important client joining me, and I want it to be an evening he won’t forget.’

‘You can rely on me, madam,’ the waiter said as Emma sat down. After he’d gone she opened her bag, took out the menu and went over her list of questions once more. When she saw Jimmy heading towards her with Max Lloyd in his wake, she turned the menu over.

‘You’re obviously well known here,’ said Lloyd as he slipped into the seat opposite her.

‘It’s my favourite New York restaurant,’ said Emma, returning his smile.

‘Can I get you a drink, sir?’

‘Manhattan, on the rocks.’

‘And you, madam?’

‘My usual, Jimmy.’

The waiter hurried off. Emma was curious to discover what he would come back with. ‘Why don’t we order,’ said Emma, ‘and then we can get down to business.’

‘Good idea,’ replied Lloyd. ‘Although I know exactly what I want,’ he added as the waiter reappeared and placed a Manhattan in front of him and a glass of white wine by Emma’s side; the drink she’d ordered at lunch. Emma was impressed.

‘Jimmy, I think we’re ready to order.’ The waiter nodded and turned to Emma’s guest.

‘I’ll have one of your juicy sirloin steaks. Make it medium, and don’t spare on the trimmings.’

‘Certainly, sir.’ Turning to Emma, he asked, ‘What can I tempt you with this evening, madam?’

‘A Caesar salad please, Jimmy, but light on the dressing.’

Once the waiter was out of earshot, she turned her menu back over, although she didn’t need to be reminded of the first question. ‘The diary only covered eighteen months of your incarceration,’ she said. ‘But you served more than two years, so I hope we can look forward to another volume.’

‘I still have a notebook full of material,’ said Lloyd, relaxing for the first time. ‘I’ve been thinking about incorporating some of the more extraordinary events I experienced in a novel that I have planned.’

Because if you ever wrote them as a diary, any publisher would realize you weren’t the author, Emma wanted to say.