Stephen could never treat any occasion as a celebration, and as soon as the servants had brought in the first course and left, he banged the table with a spoon and declared that the meeting was in progress.
“Make me a promise,” said Jean-Pierre.
“What’s that?” asked Stephen.
“When we have every last penny back, I can sit at the top of the table and you won’t speak until you’re spoken to.”
“Agreed,” said Stephen, “but not until we do have every last penny. The position at the moment is that we’ve received $777,560. Expenses on this operation have totaled $5,178, making a grand total of $27,661.24. Therefore, Metcalfe still owes us $250,101.24.”
Stephen handed around a copy of the current balance sheet.
“These sheets are to be added to your own folders as pages 63C. Any questions?”
“Yes, why were the expenses so high for this operation?” asked Robin.
“Well, over and above the obvious things,” said Stephen, “the truth is that we’ve been hit by the floating exchange rate of sterling against the dollar. At the beginning of this operation you could get $2.44 to the pound. This morning I could only get $2.32. I’m spending in pounds but charging Metcalfe in dollars at the going rate.”
“Not going to let him off with one penny, are you?” said James.
“Not one penny. Now, before we go on I should like to place on record…”
“This gets more like a meeting of the House of Commons every time,” said Jean-Pierre.
“Stop croaking, frog,” said Robin.
“Listen, you Harley Street pimp.”
Uproar broke out. The college scouts, who had seen some rowdy gatherings in their time, wondered if they would have to be called in to help before the evening was completed.
“Quiet,” the sharp, senatorial voice of Stephen brought them all back to order. “I know you’re in high spirits, but we still have to get $250,101.24.”
“We must on no account forget the 24 cents, Stephen.”
“You weren’t as noisy the first time you had dinner here, Jean-Pierre:
The man that once did sell the lion’s skin
While the beast liv’d, was killed with hunting him.” The table went silent.
“Harvey still owes the Team money and it’ll be just as hard to acquire the last quarter as it was with the first three-quarters. Before I hand over to James, I’d like to place on record that his performance at the Clarendon was nothing less than brilliant.”
Robin and Jean-Pierre banged the table in appreciation and agreement.
“Now, James, we’re all ears.”
Once again the room fell into silence.
“My plan is nearly complete,” began James.
The others looked disbelieving.
“But I have something to tell you, which I hope will allow me a short respite before we carry it out.”
“You’re going to get married.”
“Quite right, Jean-Pierre, as usual.”
“I could tell the moment you walked in. When do we meet her, James?”
“Not until it’s too late for her to change her mind, Jean-Pierre.”
Stephen consulted his diary.
“How much reprieve are you asking for?”
“Well, Anne and I are getting married on August 3rd, in Boston. Anne’s mother is American,” explained James, “and although Anne lives in England, it would please her mother if she was married at home. Then there’ll be the honeymoon and after that we anticipate returning to England on August 25th. My plan for Mr. Metcalfe ought to be carried out on September 15th, the closing day of the Stock Exchange account.”
“I’m sure that’s acceptable, James. All agreed?”
Robin and Jean-Pierre nodded.
James launched into his plan.
“I shall require a telex and seven telephones. They’ll need to be installed in my flat. Jean-Pierre will have to be in Paris at the Bourse, Stephen in Chicago on the commodity market and Robin in London at Lloyds. I will present a full blue dossier as soon as I return from my honeymoon.”
They were all struck dumb with admiration and James paused for dramatic effect.
“Very good, James,” said Stephen. “We’ll await the details with interest. What further instructions do you have?”
“First, Stephen, you must know the opening and closing price of gold in Johannesburg, Zürich, New York and London each day for the next month. Jean-Pierre, you must know the price of the Deutsche mark, the French franc and the pound against the dollar every day during the same period, and Robin must master a telex machine and PBX 8-line switchboard by September 2nd. You must be as competent as an international operator.”
“Always get the easy jobs, Robin, don’t you?” said Jean-Pierre.
“You can…”
“Shut up, both of you,” said James.
Their faces registered surprise and respect.
“I’ve made notes for all of you to work on.”
James handed two typewritten sheets to each member of the Team.
“You add these to your dossiers as pages 74 and 75 and they should keep you occupied for at least a month. Finally, you’re all invited to the wedding of Miss Anne Summerton to James Brigsley. I shan’t bother issuing you with formal invitations at such short notice, but I’ve reserved seats for us on a 747 on the afternoon of August 2nd and we’re all booked in at the Ritz in Boston for the night. I hope you’ll honor me by being ushers.”
Even James was impressed by his own efficiency. The others received the plane tickets and instructions with astonishment.
“We’ll meet at the airport at 3 P.M. and during the flight I shall test you on your dossier notes.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jean-Pierre.
“Your test, Jean-Pierre, will be in both French and English, as you’ll be required to converse in two languages over a transatlantic telephone, and appear expert on foreign currency exchange.”
There were no more jokes about James that evening, and as he traveled back up the motorway he felt a new man. Not only had he been the star of the Oxford plan; now he had the other three on the run. He would come out on top and do his old pa yet.
Chapter Nineteen
FOR A CHANGE James was the first to arrive at a meeting and the others joined him at Heathrow. He had gained the upper hand and was determined not to lose it. Robin arrived last, clutching an armful of newspapers.
“We’re only going to be away for two days,” said Stephen.
“I know, but I always miss the English papers, so I’ve brought enough for tomorrow as well.”
Jean-Pierre threw his arms up in Gallic despair.
They checked their luggage through the No. 3 Terminal and boarded the British Airways 747 flight to Logan International Airport.
“It’s more like a football ground,” said Robin, stepping for the first time inside a jumbo jet.
“It holds 350 people. About the size of the crowds most of your English clubs deserve,” said Jean-Pierre.
“Cut it out,” said James sternly, not realizing that they were both nervous passengers and were only trying to relieve the tension. Later, during takeoff, they both pretended to read, but as soon as the plane reached 3,000 feet and the little white light that says “fasten seat belts” switched off, they were back in top form.
The Team chewed its way stolidly through a plastic dinner of cold chicken and Algerian red wine.
“I do hope, James,” said Jean-Pierre, “that your father-in-law will feed us a little better.”
After the meal James allowed them to watch the film, but insisted that as soon as it was over they must prepare to be tested one by one. Robin and Jean-Pierre moved back fifteen rows to watch The Sting. Stephen stayed in his seat to be grilled by James.
James handed Stephen a typewritten sheet of forty questions on the price of gold all over the world and the market movements during the past four weeks. Stephen completed it in twenty-two minutes, and it came
as no surprise to James to find that every answer was correct: Stephen had always been the backbone of the Team, and it was his logical brain that had really defeated Harvey Metcalfe.
Stephen and James dozed intermittently until Robin and Jean-Pierre returned, when they were given their forty questions. Robin took thirty minutes over his and scored 38 out of 40. Jean-Pierre took twenty-seven minutes and scored 37.
“Stephen got 40 out of 40,” said James.
“He would,” said Jean-Pierre.
Robin looked a little sheepish.
“And so will you by September 2nd. Understood?”
They both nodded.
“Have you seen The Sting?” asked Robin.
“No,” replied Stephen. “I rarely go to the cinema.”
“They’re not in our league. One big operation, and they don’t even keep the money.”
“Go to sleep, Robin.”
The meal, the film and James’s quizzes had taken up most of the six-hour flight and they all nodded off in the last hour, to be woken up suddenly by:
“This is your captain speaking. We are approaching Logan International Airport and our flight is running twenty minutes late. We expect to land at 7:15 in approximately ten minutes. We hope you have enjoyed your flight and will travel again with British Airways.”
Customs took a little longer than usual as they all three had brought presents for the wedding and did not want James to know what they were. They had considerable trouble in explaining to the customs officer why one of the two Piaget watches had inscribed on the back: “Part of the illicit profits from Prospecta Oil—the three who had plans.”
When they finally escaped the customs official, they found Anne standing at the entrance by a large Cadillac waiting to chauffeur them to the hotel.
“Now we know why it took you so long to come up with something: you were genuinely distracted. Congratulations, James, you’re entirely forgiven,” said Jean-Pierre, and threw his arms round Anne as only a Frenchman could. Robin introduced himself and kissed her gently on the cheek. Stephen shook hands with her rather formally. They bustled into the car, Jean-Pierre sitting next to Anne.
“Miss Summerton,” stuttered Stephen.
“Do call me Anne.”
“Will the reception be at the hotel?”
“No,” replied Anne, “at my parents’ house, but there’ll be a car to pick you up and take you there after the wedding. Your only responsibility is to see that James gets to the church by 3:30. Other than that you have nothing to worry about. While I think of it, James, your father and mother arrived yesterday and they’re staying with my parents. We thought it might not be a good idea for you to spend this evening at home because Mother’s flapping about everything.”
“Anything you say, darling.”
“If you should change your mind between now and tomorrow,” said Jean-Pierre, “I find myself available. I may not be blessed with noble blood, but there are one or two compensations we French can always offer.”
Anne smiled to herself. “You’re a little late, Jean-Pierre. In any case, I don’t like beards.”
“But I only…” began Jean-Pierre.
The others glared at him.
At the hotel they left Anne and James alone while they went to unpack.
“Do they know, darling?”
“They haven’t the slightest idea,” replied James. “They’re going to get the surprise of their life tomorrow.”
“Is your plan ready?”
“Wait and see.”
“Well, I have one,” said Anne. “When’s yours scheduled for?”
“September 13th.”
“I win then—mine’s for tomorrow.”
“What, you weren’t meant to…”
“Don’t worry. You just concentrate on getting married…to me.”
“Can’t we go somewhere?”
“No, you terrible man. You can wait until tomorrow.”
“I do love you.”
“Go to bed, you silly thing. I love you too, but I must go home, otherwise nothing’ll be ready.”
James took the lift to the seventh floor and joined the others for coffee.
“Anyone for blackjack?”
“Not with you, you pirate,” said Robin. “You’ve been tutored by the biggest crook alive.”
The Team were in top form and looking forward to the wedding. In spite of the transatlantic time dislocation they didn’t depart for their separate rooms until well after midnight. Even then, James lay awake for some time, turning over the same question in his mind:
“I wonder what she’s up to this time?”
Chapter Twenty
BOSTON IN AUGUST is as beautiful a city as any in America, and the Team enjoyed a large breakfast in James’s room.
“I don’t think he looks up to it,” said Jean-Pierre. “You’re the captain of the Team, Stephen. I volunteer to take his place.”
“It’ll cost you $250,000.”
“Agreed,” said Jean-Pierre.
“You don’t have $250,000,” said Stephen. “You have $187,474.69, being one quarter of what’s been raised so far, so my decision is that James must be the bridegroom.”
“It’s an Anglo-Saxon plot,” said Jean-Pierre, “and when James has successfully completed his plan and we have the full amount, I shall reopen negotiations.”
They sat talking and laughing for a long time over the toast and coffee. Stephen regarded them fondly, regretting how rarely they would meet once, if, he corrected himself sternly, James’s operation were accomplished successfully. If Harvey Metcalfe had ever had a team like this on his side instead of against him, he would have been the richest man in the world.
“You’re dreaming, Stephen.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I mustn’t forget that Anne has put me in charge.”
“Here we go again,” said Jean-Pierre. “What time shall we report, Professor?”
“One hour from now, fully dressed to inspect James and take him to the church. Jean-Pierre, you will go and buy four carnations—three red ones and one white. Robin, you will arrange for the taxi and I shall take care of James.”
Robin and Jean-Pierre left, singing the Marseillaise lustily in two different keys. James and Stephen watched them depart.
“How are you feeling, James?”
“Great. I’m only sorry that I didn’t complete my plan before today.”
“Doesn’t matter at all. September 13th will be quite early enough. In any case, the break will do us no harm.”
“We’d never have managed it without you. You know that, don’t you, Stephen? We’d all be facing ruin and I wouldn’t even have met Anne. We all owe you so much.”
Stephen stared fixedly out of the window, unable to reply.
“Three red and one white,” said Jean-Pierre, “as instructed, and I presume the white one is for me.”
“Pin it on James. Not behind his ear, Jean-Pierre.”
“You look fantastic, but I still fail to see what the lady sees in you,” said Jean-Pierre, fixing the white carnation in James’s buttonhole. Although the four of them were ready to leave, they still had half an hour to kill before the taxi was due. Jean-Pierre opened a bottle of champagne and they toasted James’s health, the Team’s health, Her Majesty The Queen, the President of the United States, and finally, with simulated reluctance, the President of France. Having finished the bottle, Stephen thought it wise for them to leave immediately and dragged the other three down to the waiting taxi.
“Keep smiling, James. We’re with you.”
And they bundled him into the back.
The taxi took only a few minutes to reach Trinity Church, Copley Square, and the driver was not unhappy to be rid of the four of them.
“3:15 P.M. Anne will be very pleased with me,” said Stephen.
He escorted the bridegroom to the front pew on the right-hand side of the church, while Jean-Pierre made eyes at the prettiest of the girls. Robin helped hand out the wedding sheets while
one thousand overdressed guests waited for the bride.
Stephen had just come to Robin’s aid on the steps of the church and Jean-Pierre had joined them, suggesting they take their seats, when the Rolls Royce arrived. They were riveted to the steps by the beauty of Anne in her Balenciaga wedding gown. Her father stepped out behind her. She took his arm and proceeded to climb the steps.
The three stood motionless, like sheep in the stare of a python.
“The bastard.”
“Who’s been conning who?”
“She must have known all along.”
Harvey beamed vaguely at them as he walked past with Anne on his arm. They proceeded down the aisle.
“Good God,” thought Stephen. “He didn’t recognize any of us.”
They took their places at the back of the church, out of earshot of the vast congregation. The organist stopped playing when Anne reached the altar.
“Harvey can’t know,” said Stephen.
“How do you work that out?” asked Jean-Pierre.
“Because James would never have put us through this unless he’d passed the test himself at some earlier date.”
“Good thinking,” whispered Robin.
“I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed…”
“I’d like to know one or two secrets right now,” said Jean-Pierre. “To start with, how long has she known?”
“James Clarence Spencer, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the Holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
“Rosalie Arlene, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live…”
“I think,” said Stephen, “we can be sure that she’s a fully fledged member of the Team; otherwise we could never have succeeded at Monte Carlo or Oxford.”
“…so long as ye both shall live?”
“I will.”
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”