Read Online Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less by Jeffrey Archer - Free Book Online

amounts.”
    “Yes, just as before, they all have to tell
their friends they’re on to a good thing. Say nothing to Kesler.”
    “You know, David,” said Richard Elliott, “you
work too hard. Relax. We’re going to be busy once the announcement’s made.”
    “I guess so,” said David. “Work’s just a
habit with me now.”
    “Well, take tonight off. How
about a spot of something at Annabel’s?”
    David was flattered by the invitation to
London’s most exclusive nightclub and accepted enthusiastically.
    David’s hired Ford Cortina looked out of
place that evening in Berkeley Square with so many Rolls Royces and Mercedeses
double parked. He made his way down the little iron staircase into the
basement, which must have at one time been no more than the servants’ quarters
of the elegant town house above. Now it was a splendid club, with a restaurant,
discotheque and a small plush bar, the walls covered in prints and pictures.
The main dining room was dimly lit and crowded with small tables, most already
occupied. The decor was Regency and extravagant. Mark Birley, the owner, had in
the short period of ten years made Annabel’s the most sought-after club in
London with a waiting list for membership of over a thousand. The discotheque
was playing in the far corner, and the dance floor, on which you couldn’t have
parked two Cadillacs, was crowded. Most of the couples were dancing very close
to each other–they didn’t have much choice. David was somewhat surprised to
notice that most of the men on the floor were about twenty years older than the
girls. The headwaiter, Louis, showed David to Richard Elliott’s table,
realising it was David’s first visit to the club by the way he was staring at
all the personalities of the day. Oh well, thought David, perhaps one day they
will stare at me.
    After an exceptional dinner Richard Elliott
and his wife joined the masses on the dance floor while David returned to the
little bar surrounded by comfortable red settees. He struck up a conversation
with someone who introduced himself as James Brigsley. Even if he did not treat
the whole world as such, certainly he treated Annabel’s as a stage. Tall, blond
and cool, his eyes were alight with good humour and he seemed at ease with
everyone around him. David admired his socially assured manner, something he
had never acquired and feared he never would. His accent, even to David’s
unskilled ears, was resonantly upper class.
    David’s new acquaintance talked of his
visits to the States, flattering him by remarking how much he had always liked
the Americans. After some time, David was able quietly to ask the headwaiter
who the Englishman was.
    “He’s Lord Brigsley, the eldest son of the
Earl of Louth, sir.”
    What do you know? thought David, Lords look like anyone else, especially when they have had a few drinks.
Lord Brigsley was tapping David’s glass.
    “Would you care for another?”
    “Thank you very much, my lord,” said David.
    “Don’t bother with all that stupidity. The
name’s James. What are you doing in London?”
    “I work for an oil company. You probably
know my chairman, Lord Hunnisett. I have never met him myself, to tell you the
truth.”
    “Sweet old buffer,” said James. “His son and
I were at Harrow together. If you are in oil, you can tell me what to do with
my Shell and BP shares?”
    “Hold onto them,” said David. “It’s going to
be very safe to be in any commodities, especially oil as long as the British
government don’t get greedy and try and take control of it themselves.”
    Another double whisky arrived. David was
beginning to feel just slightly tipsy.
    “What about your own company?” enquired James.
    “We’re only small,” said David, “but our
shares have gone up more than any other oil company in the last three months,
though I suspect they have nowhere near reached their zenith.”
    “Why?” demanded James.
    David glanced round and lowered his voice to
a