Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [58]
I was released a couple of years before Doug, and if I hadn’t been addressing a literary festival in Lincoln some years later, I might never have discovered what had become of the chief librarian.
As I stared down into the audience during questions, I thought I recognized three vaguely familiar faces looking up at me from the third row. I racked that part of my brain that is meant to store names, but it didn’t respond. That was, until I had a question about the difficulties of writing while in prison. Then it all came flooding back. I had last seen Sally some three years before, when she was visiting Doug accompanied by her two daughters, Kelly and, and . . . Sam.
After I’d taken the final question, we broke for coffee, and the three of them came across to join me.
“Hi, Sally. How’s Doug?” I asked even before they could introduce themselves. An old political ploy, and they looked suitably impressed.
“Retired,” said Sally without explanation.
“But he was younger than me,” I protested, “and never stopped telling everyone what he planned to do once he was released.”
“No doubt,” said Sally, “but I can assure you he’s retired. Haslett Haulage is now run by me and my two daughters, with a backroom staff of twenty-one, not including the drivers.”
“So you’re obviously doing well,” I said, fishing.
“You clearly don’t read the financial pages,” she teased.
“I’m like the Japanese,” I countered, “I always read my papers from back to front. So what have I missed?”
“We went public last year,” chipped in Kelly. “Mum’s chair, I’m in charge of new accounts and Sam is responsible for the drivers.”
“And if I remember correctly, you had about nine lorries?”
“We now have forty-one,” said Sally, “and our turnover last year was just under five million.”
“And Doug doesn’t play any role?”
“Doug plays golf,” said Sally, “which doesn’t require him to travel through Dover, or,” she added with a sigh, as her husband appeared in the doorway, “back via Newhaven.”
Doug remained still, as his eyes searched the room for his family. I waved and caught his attention. Doug waved back and wandered slowly across to join us.
“We still allow him to drive us home from time to time,” whispered Sam with a grin, just as Doug appeared by my side.
I shook hands with my former inmate, and when Sally and the girls had finished their coffee, I accompanied them all back to their car, which gave me the chance to have a word with Doug.
“I’m delighted to hear that Haslett Haulage is doing so well,” I volunteered.
“Put it all down to experience,” said Doug. “Don’t forget I taught them everything they know.”
“And since we last met, Kelly tells me that the company’s gone public.”
“All part of my long-term plan,” said Doug as his wife climbed into the back of the car. He turned and gave me a knowing look. “A lot of people sniffing around at the moment, Jeff, so don’t be surprised if there’s a takeover bid in the near future.” Just as he reached the driver’s side of the car, he added, “Chance for you to make a few bob while the shares are still at their present price. Know what I mean?”
Charity Begins
at Home
Henry Preston, Harry to his friends—and they didn’t number many—wasn’t the sort of person you’d bump into at the local pub, meet at a football match or invite home for a barbecue. Frankly, if there was a club for introverts, Henry would be elected chairman—reluctantly.
At school, the only subject in which he excelled was mathematics, and his mother, the one person who adored him, was determined that Henry would have a profession. His father had been a postman. With one A level in maths, the field was fairly limited—banking or accountancy. His mother chose accountancy.
Henry was articled to Pearson, Clutterbuck & Reynolds, and when he first joined the firm as a clerk he dreamed of the headed notepaper reading Pearson, Clutterbuck, Reynolds & Preston. But as the years went by, and younger and younger men found their names embossed on the left-hand