‘Hey, you, weren’t you an usher?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Rosalie is going to leave at any moment and there are no flowers for her. God knows what’s happened to them, but there are no flowers. Grab a car. There’s a florist half a mile down the road, but hurry.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?’
‘Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I’ll go and get the flowers.’
Stephen turned and fled. Robin and Jean-Pierre, who had been watching horrified, thinking that Harvey had at last rumbled them, ran after him. When he reached the back of the house, Stephen came to a halt and stared at the most beautiful bed of roses. Robin and Jean-Pierre shot straight past him, stopped, turned around and staggered back.
‘What the hell are you up to — picking flowers for your own funeral?’
‘It’s only Metcalfe’s wishes. Somebody forgot the flowers for Anne and I have five minutes to get them, so start picking.’
‘Mes enfants, do you see what I see?’
The others looked up. Jean-Pierre was staring rapturously at the conservatory.
Stephen rushed back to the front of the house, the prize orchids in his arms, followed by Robin and Jean-Pierre. He was just in time to pass them over to Harvey before James and Anne came out of the house.
‘Magnificent. They’re my favorite flowers. How much were they?’
‘$100,’ replied Stephen, without thinking.
Harvey handed over two $50 bills. Stephen retreated, sweating, to join Robin and Jean-Pierre.
James and Anne fought their way through the crowd. No man in the gathering could take his eyes off her.
‘Oh Daddy, orchids, how beautiful.’ Anne kissed Harvey. ‘You’ve made this the most wonderful day in my life...’
The Rolls Royce moved slowly down the drive away from the large crowd on its way to the airport, where James and Anne were to catch the flight to San Francisco, their first stop on the way to Hawaii. As the car glided round the house, Anne stared at the empty conservatory and then at the flowers in her arms. James did not notice. He was thinking of other things.
‘Do you think they’ll ever forgive me?’ he said.
‘I’m sure they’ll find a way, darling. But do let me into a secret. Did you really have a plan?’
‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist asking me that, and the truth is...’
The car purred effortlessly along the highway and only the chauffeur heard his reply.
Stephen, Robin and Jean-Pierre watched the guests dispersing, most of them saying their good-byes to the Metcalfes.
‘Don’t let’s risk it,’ said Robin.
‘Agreed,’ said Stephen.
‘Let’s invite him out to dinner,’ said Jean-Pierre.
The other two grabbed him and threw him into a taxi.
‘What’s that you have under your morning coat, Jean-Pierre?’
‘Two bottles of Krug dix-neuf cent soixante-quatre. It seemed such a shame to leave them there on their own. I thought they might get lonely.’
Stephen instructed the driver to take them back to the hotel.
‘What a wedding. Do you think James ever had a plan?’ asked Robin.
‘I don’t know, but if he has it will only have to bring in $1.24.’
‘We should have retrieved the money he made from his win on Rosalie at Ascot,’ mused Jean-Pierre.
After packing and signing out of the hotel, they took another taxi to Logan International Airport and, with considerable help from the British Airways staff, managed to board the plane.
‘Damn,’ said Stephen. ‘I wish we hadn’t left without the $1.24.’
21
Once on board, they drank the champagne Jean-Pierre had captured at the wedding. Even Stephen seemed content, although he did occasionally revert to the theme of the missing $1.24.
‘How much do you imagine this champagne cost?’ teased Jean-Pierre.
‘That’s not the point. Not a penny more, not a penny less.’
Jean-Pierre decided he would never understand academics.
‘Don’t worry, Stephen. I’ve every confidence that James’s plan will bring in $1.24.’
Stephen would have laughed, but it gave him a headache.
‘To think that girl knew everything.’
On arrival at Heathrow, they had little trouble in clearing customs. The purpose of the trip had never been to bring back gifts. Robin made a detour to W. H. Smiths and picked up The Times and the Evening Standard. Jean-Pierre bargained with a taxi driver about the fare to central London.
‘We’re not some bloody Americans who don’t know the rate or the route and can be easily fleeced,’ he was saying, still not yet sober.
The taxi driver grumbled to himself as he nosed his black Austin toward the motorway. It was not going to be his day.
Robin read the papers happily, one of those rare people who could read in a moving car. Stephen and Jean-Pierre satisfied themselves with watching the passing traffic.
‘Jesus Christ.’
Stephen and Jean-Pierre were startled. They had rarely heard Robin swear. It seemed out of character.
‘God Almighty.’
This was too much for them, but before they could inquire, he began to read out loud:
‘ “B.P. announced a strike in the North Sea which is likely to produce 200,000 barrels of oil a day. The strike is described by their Chairman, Sir Eric Drake, as a major find. The British Petroleum Forties Field is one mile from the so far unexplored Prospecta Oil field and rumors of a bid by B.P. have sent Prospecta Oil shares to a record high of $12.25 at the close of business.” ’
‘Nom de Dieu,’ said Jean-Pierre. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Oh well,’ said Stephen. ‘I suppose we’ll have to work out a plan for how to give it all back.’