The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [264]
“I don’t see that it matters that much,” said Angela.
“What do you mean, lass?” asked Gerald. “I’ll be the laughing stock of Hull on mayor-making day.”
“You should start reading the evening papers, Gerald, and stop looking in mirrors, and then you’d know Walter isn’t going to be mayor this year.”
“Not going to be mayor?” repeated Gerald.
“No. The present mayor has opted to do a second term, so Walter won’t be mayor until next year.”
“Is that right?” said Gerald with a smile.
“And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, Gerald Haskins, this time it’s going to cost you a tiara.”
ONE MAN’S MEAT …
Could anyone be that beautiful?
I was driving round the Aldwych on my way to work when I first saw her. She was walking up the steps of the Aldwych Theatre. If I’d stared a moment longer I would have driven into the back of the car in front of me, but before I could confirm my fleeting impression she had disappeared into the throng of theatergoers.
I spotted a parking space on my left-hand side and swung into it at the last possible moment, without signaling, causing the vehicle behind me to let out several appreciative blasts. I leapt out of my car and ran back toward the theater, realizing how unlikely it was that I’d be able to find her in such a melee, and that even if I did, she was probably meeting a boyfriend or husband who would turn out to be about six feet tall and closely to resemble Harrison Ford.
Once I reached the foyer I scanned the chattering crowd. I slowly turned 360 degrees, but could see no sign of her. Should I try to buy a ticket? I wondered. But she could be seated anywhere—the orchestra, the dress circle, even the upper circle. Perhaps I should walk up and down the aisles until I spotted her. But I realized I wouldn’t be allowed into any part of the theater unless I could produce a ticket.
And then I saw her. She was standing in a line in front of the window marked “Tonight’s Performance,” and was just one away from being attended to. There were two other customers, a young woman and a middle-aged man, waiting in line behind her. I quickly joined the line, by which time she had reached the front. I leaned forward and tried to overhear what she was saying, but I could only catch the box office manager’s reply: “Not much chance with the curtain going up in a few minutes’ time, madam,” he was saying. “But if you leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.”
She thanked him and walked off in the direction of the orchestra. My first impression was confirmed. It didn’t matter if you looked from the ankles up or from the head down—she was perfection. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and I noticed that she was having exactly the same effect on several other men in the foyer. I wanted to tell them all not to bother. Didn’t they realize she was with me? Or rather, that she would be by the end of the evening.
After she had disappeared from view, I craned my neck to look into the booth. Her ticket had been placed to one side. I sighed with relief as the young woman two places ahead of me presented her credit card and picked up four tickets for the dress circle.
I began to pray that the man in front of me wasn’t looking for a single.
“Do you have one ticket for tonight’s performance?” he asked hopefully, as the three-minute bell sounded. The man in the booth smiled.
I scowled. Should I knife him in the back, kick him in the groin, or simply scream abuse at him?
“Where would you prefer to sit, sir? The dress circle or the orchestra?”
“Don’t say ‘orchestra,’” I willed. “Say ‘circle’ … ‘circle’ … ‘circle’ …”
“Orchestra,” he said.
“I have one on the aisle in row H,” said the man in the box, checking the computer screen in front of him. I uttered a silent cheer as I realized that the theater would be trying to sell off its remaining tickets before it bothered with returns handed in by members of the public. But then, I thought, how would