The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [245]
Hamilton sipped the wine tentatively, like a man who fears he is about to be poisoned, then began to explain why, in his considered view, judges were far too lenient with petty criminals. I found myself concentrating more on the food than the incessant flow of my neighbor’s views.
I always enjoy Beef Wellington, and Suzanne can produce a pastry that doesn’t flake when cut and meat that’s so tender that once one has finished a first helping, Oliver Twist comes to mind. It certainly helped me to endure Hamilton’s pontificating. Barker managed to pass an appreciative comment to Henry on the quality of the Bordeaux between Hamilton’s opinions on the chances of Paddy Ashdown reviving the Liberal Party and the role of Arthur Scargill in the trade union movement, allowing no one the chance to reply.
“I don’t allow my staff to belong to any union,” Hamilton declared, gulping down his drink. “I run a closed shop.” He laughed once more at his own joke and held his empty glass high in the air as if it would be filled by magic. In fact it was filled by Henry with a discretion that shamed Hamilton— not that he noticed. In the brief pause that followed, my wife suggested that perhaps the trade union movement had been born out of a response to a genuine social need.
“Balderdash, madam,” said Hamilton. “With great respect, the trade unions have been the single most important factor in the decline of Britain as we know it. They’ve no interest in anybody but themselves. You only have to look at Ron Todd and the whole Ford fiasco to understand that.”
Suzanne began to clear the plates away, and I noticed she took the opportunity to nudge Henry, who quickly changed the subject.
Moments later a raspberry meringue glazed with a thick sauce appeared. It seemed a pity to cut such a creation, but Suzanne carefully divided six generous helpings like a nanny feeding her charges, while Henry uncorked a 1981 Sauternes. Barker literally licked his lips in anticipation.
“And another thing,” Hamilton was saying. “The prime minister has got far too many wets in her cabinet for my liking.”
“With whom would you replace them?” asked Barker innocently.
Herod would have had little trouble in convincing the list of gentlemen Hamilton proffered that the slaughter of the innocents was merely an extension of the child care program.
Once again I became more interested in Suzanne’s culinary efforts, especially since she had allowed me an indulgence: Cheddar was to be served as the final course. I knew the moment I tasted it that it had been purchased from the Alvis Brothers’ farm in Keynsham; we all have to be knowledgeable about something, and cheddar is my speciality.
To accompany the cheese, Henry supplied a port that was to be the highlight of the evening. “Sandeman 1970,” he said in an aside to Barker as he poured the first drops into the expert’s glass.
“Yes, of course,” said Barker, holding it to his nose. “I would have known it anywhere. Typical Sandeman warmth but with real body. I hope you’ve laid some down, Henry,” he added. “You’ll enjoy it even more in your old age.”
“‘Think you’re a bit of an authority on wines, do you?” said Hamilton, the first question he had asked all evening.
“Not exactly,” began Barker, “but I—”
“You’re all a bunch of humbugs, the lot of you,” interrupted Hamilton. “You sniff and you swirl, you taste and you spit, then you spout a whole lot of gobbledygook and expect us to swallow it. Body and warmth be damned. You can’t take me in that easily.”
“No one was trying to,” said Barker with feeling.
“You’ve been keen to put one over on us all evening,” replied Hamilton, “with your ‘Yes, of course, I’d have known it anywhere’ routine. Come on, admit it.”
“I didn’t mean to suggest—” added Barker.
“I’ll prove it, if you like,” said Hamilton.
The five of us stared at the ungracious guest and, for the first time that evening, I wondered what could possibly be coming next.
“I have heard it said,” continued Hamilton, “that Sefton Hall boasts one of the finest wine cellars in England. It was laid down by