Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

‘But I thought...’

‘That she was back with Elliot?’

‘Yes.’

‘Possibly, but whenever I see her, she prefers to talk about you — in very flattering terms, I might add, though I’m told she tells a different story whenever she’s with Elliot’

‘If that’s the case,’ said Nat, ‘why do you think she’s bothering to chase you?’

Tom pushed aside his empty bowl and began to concentrate on the two boiled eggs in front of him. He cracked the shell and looked at the yolk before he continued. ‘If it’s known that you’re an only child and your father is worth millions, most women view you in a completely different light. So I never can be sure if it’s me, or my money they’re interested in. Just be thankful that you don’t suffer from the same problem.’

‘You’ll know when it’s the right person,’ said Nat.

‘Will I? I wonder. You’re one of the few people who’s never shown the slightest interest in my wealth, and you’re almost the only person I know who always insists on paying his own way. You’d be surprised by how many people assume I’ll pick up the tab just because I can afford it. I despise such people, which means that my circle of friends ends up being very small.’

‘My latest friend is very small,’ said Nat, hoping to snap Tom out of his morose mood, ‘and I know you’ll like her.’

‘The “I held her hand” girl?’

‘Yes, Su Ling — she’s about five foot four, and now that thin is fashionable, she’ll be the most sought-after woman on the campus.’

‘Su Ling?’ said Tom.

‘You know her?’ asked Nat.

‘No, but my father tells me that she’s taken over the new computer lab that his company funded, and the tutors have virtually stopped bothering to try and teach her.’

‘She never mentioned anything about computers to me last night,’ said Nat.

‘Well, you’d better move quickly, because Dad also mentioned that MIT and Harvard are both trying to tempt her away from UConn, so be warned, there’s a big brain on top of that little body.’

‘And I’ve made a complete fool of myself again,’ said Nat, ‘because I even teased her about her English, when she’s obviously mastered a new language that everyone wants to know about. By the way, is that why you wanted to see me?’ asked Nat.

‘No, I had no idea you were dating a genius.’

‘I’m not,’ said Nat, ‘she’s a gentle, thoughtful, beautiful woman, who considers holding hands is one step away from promiscuity.’ He paused. ‘So if it wasn’t to discuss my sex life, why did you call this high-powered breakfast meeting in the first place?’

Tom gave up on the eggs and pushed them to one side. ‘Before I return to Yale, I wanted to know if you’re going to run for president.’ He waited for the usual barrage of count me out, not interested, you’ve got the wrong person, but Nat didn’t respond for some time.

‘I discussed it with Su Ling last night,’ he eventually said, ‘and in her usual disarming way, she told me that it was not so much that they wanted me, as they didn’t want Elliot. The lesser of two evils were her exact words, if I remember correctly.’

‘I’m sure she’s right,’ said Tom, ‘but that could change if you gave them a chance to get to know you. You’ve been pretty much of a recluse since you returned to college.’

‘I’ve had a lot of catching up to do,’ said Nat defensively.

‘Well that’s no longer the case, as your grade point average clearly shows,’ said Tom, ‘and now you’ve been selected to run for the university...’

‘If you were at UConn, Tom, I wouldn’t hesitate to run for president, but while you’re at Yale...’

Fletcher rose from his place to face the jury — ninety-nine years was written on every one of their faces. If he could have turned the clock back and accepted the offer of three years, he would have done so without hesitation. Now he had been left with only one throw of the dice to try and give Mrs Kirsten the rest of her life back. He touched his client’s shoulder, and turned to seek a reassuring smile from Annie, who had felt so strongly that he should defend this woman. The smile disappeared the moment he saw who was seated two rows behind her. Professor Karl Abrahams graced him with a nod. At least Jimmy would discover what it took to get a nod out of Homer.

‘Members of the jury,’ Fletcher began, a slight tremor in his voice. ‘You have listened to the persuasive advocacy of the attorney general as he poured venom on my client, so perhaps the time has come to show where that venom should have been directed. But first may I spend a moment talking about you. The press have made great play of the fact that I did not object to every white juror who was selected; indeed there are ten of you on this jury. They went further, and suggested that had I achieved an all-black jury with a majority of women, then Mrs Kirsten would have been certain to walk free. But I didn’t want that. I chose each one of you for a different reason.’ The jury members looked puzzled.

‘Even the attorney general couldn’t work out why I didn’t object to some of you,’ added Fletcher turning to face Mr Stamp. ‘I crossed my fingers, because neither did any of his vast team fathom why I selected you. So what is it that you all have in common?’ The attorney general was now looking just as puzzled as the jurors. Fletcher swung round and pointed to Mrs Kirsten. ‘Like the defendant, every one of you has been married for more than nine years.’ Fletcher turned his attention back to the jury. ‘No bachelors or spinsters who have never experienced married life, or what goes on between two people behind closed doors.’ Fletcher spotted a woman in the second row who shuddered. He remembered Abrahams saying that in a jury of twelve, there is a strong possibility that one of them will have suffered the same experience as the defendant. He had just identified that juror.

‘Which of you dreads the thought of your spouse returning home after midnight, drunk, with only violence in mind? For Mrs Kirsten, this was something she had come to expect six nights out of seven, for the past nine years. Look at this frail and fragile woman and ask yourself what chance she would have up against a man of six foot two who weighed two hundred and thirty pounds?’

He focused his attention on the woman juror who had shuddered. ‘Which of you arrives home at night and expects their husband to grab the bread board, a cheese grater or even a steak knife for use not in the kitchen for preparing a meal, but in the bedroom to disfigure his wife? And what did Mrs Kirsten have to call on for her defence, this five foot four, one hundred and five pound woman? A pillow? A towel? A fly-swatter perhaps?’ Fletcher paused. ‘It’s never crossed your mind, has it?’ he added, facing the rest of the jurors. ‘Why? Because your husbands and wives are not evil. Ladies and gentlemen, how can you begin to understand what this woman was being subjected to, day in and day out?

‘But not satisfied with such degradation, one night this thug returns home drunk, goes upstairs, drags his wife out of bed by her hair, back down the stairs and into the kitchen; he is bored with simply beating her black and blue.’ Fletcher began to walk in the direction of his client. ‘He needs some other thrill to reach new heights of excitement, and what does Anita Kirsten see immediately she’s dragged into the kitchen? The ring on the stove is already red hot, and waiting for its victim.’ He swung back to face the jury. ‘Can you imagine what must have been going through her mind when she first saw that ring of fire? He grabs her hand like a piece of raw steak, and slams it down on the stove for fifteen seconds.’