The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [231]
“I see you were runner-up in the club backgammon championship just before the war. You must have been a fine player.”
“No, not really,” he replied. “Not many people bothered about the game in those days. There is a different attitude today with all the youngsters taking it so seriously.”
“What about the champion?” I said, pushing my luck.
“Harry Newman? He was an outstanding player, and particularly good under pressure. He’s the gentleman who greeted us when we came in. That’s him sitting over there in the corner with his wife.”
I looked obediently toward Mr. Newman’s table but my host added nothing more so I gave up. We ordered coffee, and that would have been the end of Edward’s story if Harry Newman and his wife had not headed straight for us after they had finished their lunch. Edward was on his feet long before I was, despite my twenty-year advantage. Harry Newman looked even bigger standing up, and his little blond wife looked more like the dessert than his spouse.
“Ed,” he boomed, “how are you?”
“I’m well, thank you, Harry,” Edward replied. “May I introduce my guest?”
“Nice to know you,” he said. “Rusty, I’ve always wanted you to meet Ed Shrimpton, because I’ve talked to you about him so often in the past.”
“Have you, Harry?” she squeaked.
“Of course. You remember, honey. Ed is up there on the backgammon honors board,” he said, pointing a stubby finger toward the plaque. “With only one name in front of him, and that’s mine. And Ed was the world champion at the time. Isn’t that right, Ed?”
“That’s right, Harry.”
“So I suppose I really should have been the world champion that year, wouldn’t you say?”
“I couldn’t quarrel with that conclusion,” replied Edward.
“On the big day, Rusty, when it really mattered, and the pressure was on, I beat him fair and square.”
I stood in silent disbelief as Edward Shrimpton still volunteered no disagreement.
“We must play again for old times’ sake, Ed,” the fat man continued. “It would be fun to see if you could beat me now. Mind you, I’m a bit rusty nowadays, Rusty.” He laughed loudly at his own joke, but his spouse’s face remained blank. I wondered how long it would be before there was a fifth Mrs. Newman.
“It’s been great to see you again, Ed. Take care of yourself.”
“Thank you, Harry,” said Edward.
We both sat down again as Newman and his wife left the dining room. Our coffee was now cold so we ordered a fresh pot. The room was almost empty and when I had poured two cups for us Edward leaned over to me conspiratorially and whispered: “Now there’s a hell of a story for a publisher like you,” he said. “I mean the real truth about Harry Newman.”
My ears pricked up as I anticipated his version of the story of what had actually happened on the night of that pre-war backgammon championship over thirty years before.
“Really?” I said, innocently.
“Oh, yes,” said Edward. “It was not as simple as you might think. Just before the war Harry was let down very badly by his business partner, who not only stole his money, but for good measure his wife as well. The very week that he was at his lowest he won the club backgammon championship, put all his troubles behind him and, against the odds, made a brilliant comeback. You know, he’s worth a fortune today. Now, wouldn’t you agree that that would make one hell of a story?”
À LA CARTE
Arthur Hapgood was demobilized on November 3, 1946. Within a month he was back at his old workplace on the shop floor of the Triumph factory on the outskirts of Coventry.
The five years spent in the Sherwood Foresters, four of them as a quartermaster seconded to a tank regiment, only underlined Arthur’s likely postwar fate, despite his having hoped to find more rewarding work once the war was over. However, on returning to England he quickly discovered that in a “land fit for heroes” jobs were not that easy to come by, and although he did not want to go back to the work he had done for five years before war had been declared, that of fitting wheels on cars, he reluctantly, after four weeks on welfare, went to see his former