Jeffrey Archer - Sons of Fortune

Second voice: ‘Pity about one thing.’

First voice: ‘What’s that?’

Second voice: ‘That you can’t tell those snobs over at Alexander Dupont and Bell that they don’t know how to play poker.’

First voice: ‘True, but I think I’ll have a little sport with...’ — a door opened — ‘... their messenger boy.’ The door closed.

Fletcher rolled up the toilet paper and stuffed it in his pocket. He left the cubicle and quickly washed his hands before slipping out and taking the fire escape stairs to the floor below. Once back in reception, he handed over the executive washroom key.

‘Thank you,’ said the receptionist just as the phone rang. She smiled at Fletcher. ‘That was good timing. If you’ll take the elevator to the eleventh floor, Mr Higgs is available to see you now.’

‘Thank you,’ Fletcher said as he walked back out of the room, stepped into the elevator and pressed the button marked ‘G’.

Matt Cunliffe was unravelling the toilet roll when the phone rang.

‘Mr Higgs is on line one,’ said his secretary.

‘Tell him I’m not available.’ Matt sat back in his chair and winked at Fletcher.

‘He’s asking when you will be available.’

‘Not before close of business on Friday.’

Fletcher couldn’t remember an occasion when he’d disliked someone so much on first meeting, and even the circumstances didn’t help.

The senior partner had asked Fletcher and Logan to join him for coffee in his office — an unusual event in itself. When they arrived, they were introduced to one of the new trainees.

‘I want you both to meet Ralph Elliot,’ were Bill Alexander’s opening words.

Fletcher’s first reaction was to wonder why he’d singled out Elliot from the two successful applicants. He quickly found out.

‘I have decided this year to take on a trainee myself. I’m keen to keep in touch with what the new generation are thinking, and as Ralph’s grades at Stanford were exceptional, he seemed to be the obvious choice.’

Fletcher recalled Logan’s disbelief that Alexander’s nephew had even made the shortlist, and they both came to the conclusion that Mr Alexander must have overruled any objections from the other partners.

‘I hope both of you will make Ralph feel welcome.’

‘Of course,’ said Logan. ‘Why don’t you join us for lunch?’

‘Yes, I feel sure I could fit that in,’ replied Elliot, as if granting them a favour.

Over lunch, Elliot never missed an opportunity to remind them that he was the nephew of the senior partner, with the unspoken implication that if either Fletcher or Logan should cross him, he could slow their progress to a partnership. The threat only served to strengthen the bond between the two men.

‘He’s now telling anyone who will listen that he’s going to be the first person to make partner in under seven years,’ Fletcher told Logan over a drink a few days later.

‘You know he’s such a cunning bastard, it wouldn’t surprise me if he pulled it off,’ was Logan’s only response.

‘How do you think he became student president of UConn if he treated everyone the same way as he does us?’

‘Perhaps no one dared to oppose him.’

‘Is that how you managed it?’ asked Logan.

‘How did you know that?’ asked Fletcher, as the bartender collected their glasses.

‘I checked your CV the day I joined the firm. Don’t tell me you didn’t read mine?’

‘Of course I did,’ admitted Fletcher, raising his glass, ‘I even know that you were the Princeton chess champion.’ Both men laughed. ‘I must run, or I’ll miss my train,’ said Fletcher, ‘and Annie might begin to wonder if there’s another woman in my life.’

‘I envy you that,’ said Logan quietly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘The strength of your marriage. It wouldn’t cross Annie’s mind even for a second that you could look at another woman.’

‘I’m very fortunate,’ said Fletcher. ‘Maybe you’ll be just as lucky one day. Meg on the reception desk can’t take her eyes off you.’

‘Which one is Meg?’ asked Logan as Fletcher left him to pick up his coat.

Fletcher had only walked a few yards down Fifth Avenue, when he spotted Ralph Elliot approaching. Fletcher slipped into a doorway, and waited for him to pass. Stepping back out into a raw cold wind that requires ear muffs even if you’re only walking a single block, he reached into his pocket to retrieve his scarf, but it wasn’t there. He cursed. He must have left it in the bar. He would have to collect it tomorrow, but then he cursed again when he remembered Annie had given it to him for Christmas. He turned round and began to retrace his steps.

Back in the bar, he asked the girl at the coat check if she’d seen a red woollen scarf.

‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it must have fallen out of your sleeve when you put your coat on. I found it on the floor.’

‘Thank you,’ said Fletcher as he turned to leave, not expecting to see Logan still standing at the bar. He froze when he saw the man he was talking to.

Nat was fast asleep.

La Devaluation Francaise — three simple words sent the tapes from a gentle murmur into a chattering panic. The phone by Nat’s bed was ringing thirty seconds later, and he immediately gave Adrian the order, ‘Get out of francs as fast as you can.’ He listened and then replied, ‘Dollars.’

Nat couldn’t remember a day in the last ten years when he hadn’t shaved. He didn’t shave.

Su Ling was awake by the time he came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. ‘Is there a problem?’ she asked, rubbing her eyes.

‘The French have devalued by seven per cent.’

‘Is that good or bad?’ she asked.

‘Depends how many francs we’re holding. I’ll be able to make an assessment just as soon as I can get to a screen.’

‘You’ll have one by the side of your bed in a few years’ time, so you wouldn’t even need to go into your office,’ said Su Ling, letting her head fall back on the pillow when she saw 5.09 flick up on the bedside clock.

Nat picked up the phone; Adrian was still on the other end of the line. ‘It’s proving difficult to get out of francs; there are very few buyers other than the French government and they won’t be able to go on propping up the currency for much longer.’

‘Keep selling. Pick up yen, deutschmarks or Swiss francs, but nothing else. I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes. Is Steven there?’

‘No, he’s on his way. It took me some time to find out whose bed he was in.’

Nat didn’t laugh as he replaced the receiver. He leaned over and kissed his wife before running to the door.

‘You’re not wearing a tie,’ said Su Ling.

‘By tonight I might not be wearing a shirt,’ Nat replied.

When they had moved from Boston to Manhattan, Su Ling had found an apartment only a cab ride away from Wall Street. As each bonus came in, she’d been able to furnish and decorate the four rooms, so that Nat soon felt able to bring his colleagues and even some clients back for dinner. Seven paintings — few that laymen would have recognized — now adorned the walls.

Su Ling fell back into a half sleep as her husband left. Nat broke with his usual routine as he leapt down the stairs in twos and threes, not bothering to wait for the elevator. On a normal day, he would have risen at six, and phoned the office from his study to ask for an update. He rarely had to make any major decisions over the phone, as most of their positions were locked in for several months. He would then shower, shave and be dressed by six thirty. He would read the Wall Street Journal while Su ling prepared breakfast, and leave the apartment around seven, having looked in on Luke. Rain or shine, he would walk the five blocks to work, picking up a copy of the New York Times from a box on the corner of William and John. He immediately turned to the financial section and if the headline grabbed his attention, he would read it on the move, and still be at his desk by seven twenty. The New York Times wouldn’t be informing its readers of the French devaluation until tomorrow morning, by which time, for most bankers, it would be history.