The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [0]
Table of Contents
Title Page
NEVER STOP ON THE MOTORWAY
OLD LOVE
SHOESHINE BOY
CHEAP AT HALF THE PRICE
BROKEN ROUTINE
AN EYE FOR AN EYE
THE LUNCHEON
THE COUP
THE PERFECT MURDER
YOU’LL NEVER LIVE TO REGRET IT
THE FIRST MIRACLE
THE LOOPHOLE
THE HUNGARIAN PROFESSOR
THE STEAL
CHRISTINA ROSENTHAL
COLONEL BULLFROG
DO NOT PASS GO
CHUNNEL VISION
DOUGIE MORTIMER’S RIGHT ARM
CLEAN SWEEP IGNATIUS
NOT FOR SALE
ONE-NIGHT STAND
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS
CHECKMATE
THE CENTURY
JUST GOOD FRIENDS
HENRY’S HICCUP
A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE
TRIAL AND ERROR
THE PERFECT GENTLEMAN
À LA CARTE
THE CHINESE STATUE
THE WINE TASTER
TIMEO DANAOS …
NOT THE REAL THING
ONE MAN’S MEAT …
RARE
BURNT
OVERDONE
À POINT
ALSO BY JEFFREY ARCHER
PRAISE FOR JEFFREY ARCHER AND HIS BESTSELLING NOVELS
Copyright Page
NEVER STOP ON THE MOTORWAY
Diana had been hoping to get away by 5:00, so she could be at the farm in time for dinner. She tried not to show her true feelings when at 4:37 her deputy, Phil Haskins, presented her with a complex twelve-page document that required the signature of a director before it could be sent out to the client. Haskins didn’t hesitate to remind her that they had lost two similar contracts that week.
It was always the same on a Friday. The phones would go quiet in the middle of the afternoon and then, just as she thought she could slip away, an authorization would land on her desk. One glance at this particular document and Diana knew there would be no chance of escaping before 6:00.
The demands of being a single parent as well as a director of a small but thriving City company meant there were few moments left in any day to relax, so when it came to the one weekend in four that James and Caroline spent with her ex-husband, Diana would try to leave the office a little earlier than usual to avoid getting snarled up in the weekend traffic.
She read through the first page slowly and made a couple of emendations, aware that any mistake made hastily on a Friday evening could be regretted in the weeks to come. She glanced at the clock on her desk as she signed the final page of the document. It was just showing 5:51.
Diana gathered up her bag and walked purposefully toward the door, dropping the contract on Phil’s desk without bothering to suggest that he have a good weekend. She suspected that the paperwork had been on his desk since 9:00 that morning, but that holding it until 4:37 was his only means of revenge now that she had been made head of department. Once she was safely in the elevator, she pressed the button for the basement garage, calculating that the delay would probably add an extra hour to her journey.
She stepped out of the elevator, walked over to her Audi suburban, unlocked the door, and threw her bag onto the back seat. When she drove out into the street the stream of twilight traffic was just about keeping pace with the pin-striped pedestrians who, like worker ants, were hurrying toward the nearest hole in the ground.
She flicked on the six o’clock news. The chimes of Big Ben rang out before spokesmen from each of the three main political parties gave their views on the European election results. John Major was refusing to comment on his future. The Conservative Party’s explanation for its poor showing was that only 36 percent of the country had bothered to go to the polls. Diana felt guilty—she was among the 64 percent who had failed to register their vote.
The newscaster moved on to say that the situation in Bosnia remained desperate, and that the UN was threatening dire consequences if Radovan Karadzic and the Serbs didn’t come to an agreement with the other warring parties. Diana’s mind began to drift—such a threat was hardly news any longer. She suspected that if she turned on the radio in a year’s time they would probably be repeating it word for word.
As her car crawled round Russell Square, she began to think about the weekend ahead. It had been over a year since John had told her that he had met another woman and wanted a divorce. She still