Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [49]
When I sat down to indulgent applause, Carol didn’t lean across to congratulate me. I avoided her until we all joined the bride and groom on the pavement outside the restaurant. Bob and Fiona waved goodbye before stepping into a white stretch limousine that would take them to Heathrow. From there, they were to board a plane to Acapulco, where they would spend a three-week honeymoon. Neither the transport to Heathrow, which incidentally could have accommodated the entire wedding party, nor the final destination for the honeymoon, had been Bob’s first choice. A piece of information I didn’t pass on to Carol, as she would undoubtedly have accused me of being prejudiced—and she would have been right.
I can’t pretend that I saw a lot of Fiona during their first year of marriage, although Bob called from time to time, but only from his practice in Harley Street. We even managed the occasional lunch, but he no longer seemed to be able to fit in a game of squash in the evening.
Over lunch Bob never failed to expound the virtues of his remarkable wife, as if only too aware of my attitude to his spouse—although I never at any time expressed my true feelings. I could only assume that this was the reason Carol and I were never invited to dinner at their home, and whenever we asked them to join us for supper, Bob made some unconvincing excuse about having to visit a patient, or being out of town on that particular evening.
The change was subtle to begin with, almost imperceptible. Our lunches became more regular, even the occasional game of squash was fitted in, and perhaps more relevant, there were fewer and fewer references to Fiona’s pending sainthood.
It was soon after the death of Bob’s aunt, a Miss Muriel Pembleton, that the change became far less subtle. To be honest, I didn’t even realize that Bob had an aunt, let alone one who was the sole heir to Pembleton Electronics.
The Times revealed that Miss Pembleton had left a little over seven million pounds in shares and property, as well as a considerable art collection. With the exception of a few minor bequests to charitable organizations, her nephew turned out to be the sole beneficiary. God bless the man, because coming into an unexpected fortune didn’t change Bob in any way; but the same couldn’t be said of Fiona.
When I called Bob to congratulate him on his good fortune, he sounded very low. He asked if I could possibly join him for lunch, as he needed to seek my advice on a personal matter.
We met a couple of hours later, at a gastro pub just off Devonshire Place. Bob didn’t talk about anything consequential until after the waiter had taken our order, but once the first course had been served, Fiona was the only other dish on the menu. He had received a letter that morning from Abbott Crombie & Co, Solicitors, stating, in unambiguous terms, that his wife was filing for divorce.
“Can’t fault her timing,” I said tactlessly.
“And I didn’t even spot it,” said Bob.
“Spot it?” I repeated. “Spot what?”
“How Fiona’s attitude to me changed not long after she’d met my aunt Muriel. In fact, that same night, she literally charmed the pants off me.”
I reminded Bob of what Woody Allen had said on the subject. Mr. Allen could not understand why God had given man a penis and a brain, but not enough blood to connect the two. Bob laughed for the first time that day, but it was only moments before he lapsed back into a maudlin silence.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked.
“Only if you know the name of a first-class divorce lawyer,” Bob replied, “because I’m told that Mrs. Abbott has a reputation for extracting the last drop of blood on behalf of her clients, especially following the latest law lords’ ruling in favor of spouses.”
“Can’t say I do,” I responded. “Having been happily married for sixteen years, I fear I’m the wrong man to advise you. Why don’t you have a word with Peter Mitchell? After all, with four ex-wives, he ought to be able to tell you who’s the best advocate available.”
“I called Peter first thing this morning,” admitted