The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [76]
The following day Marvin phoned again to say that the paperwork had been completed, and all that was now required was for David to have a medical—“routine” was the word he kept repeating. But because of the size of the sum insured, it would have to be with the company’s doctor in New York.
David made a fuss about having to travel to New York, adding that perhaps he’d made the wrong decision, but after more pleading from Marvin, mixed with some unctuous persuasion, he finally gave in.
Marvin brought all the forms around to the apartment the following evening after Pat had left for work.
David scribbled his signature on three separate documents between two penciled X’s. His final act was to print Pat’s name in a little box Marvin had indicated with his stubby finger. “As your sole dependent,” the broker explained, “should you pass away before September 1, 2027—God forbid. Are you married to Pat?”
“No, we just live together,” replied David.
After a few more “my friend”s and even more “you’ll never live to regret it”s, Marvin left the apartment, clutching the forms.
“All you have to do now is keep your nerve,” David told Pat once he had confirmed that the paperwork had been completed. “Just remember, no one knows me as well as you do, and once it’s all over, you’ll collect a million dollars.”
When they eventually went to bed that night, Pat desperately wanted to make love to David, but they both accepted it was no longer possible.
The two of them traveled down to New York together the following Monday to keep the appointment David had made with Geneva Life’s senior medical consultant. They parted a block away from the insurance company’s head office, since they didn’t want to run the risk of being seen together. They hugged each other once again, but as they parted David was still worried about whether Pat would be able to go through with it.
A couple of minutes before twelve, he arrived at the doctor’s office. A young woman in a long white coat smiled up at him from behind her desk.
“Good morning,” he said. “My name is David Kravits. I have an appointment with Dr. Royston.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Kravits,” said the nurse. “Dr. Royston is expecting you. Please follow me.” She led him down a long, bleak corridor to the last room on the left. A small brass plaque read “Dr. Royston.” She knocked, opened the door, and said, “Mr. Kravits, Doctor.”
Dr. Royston turned out to be a short, elderly man with only a few strands of hair left on his shiny sunburned head. He wore horn-rimmed glasses, and had a look on his face which suggested that his own life insurance policy might not be far from reaching maturity. He rose from his chair, shook his patient by the hand, and said, “It’s for a life insurance policy, if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Shouldn’t take us too long, Mr. Kravits. Fairly routine, but the company does like to be sure you’re fit and well if they’re going to be liable for such a large amount of money. Do have a seat,” he said, pointing to the other side of his desk.
“I thought the sum was far too high myself. I would have been happy to settle for half a million, but the broker was very persuasive …”
“Any serious illness during the past ten years?” the doctor asked, obviously not interested in the broker’s views.
“No. The occasional cold, but nothing I’d describe as serious,” he replied.
“Good. And in your immediate family, any history of heart attacks, cancer, liver complaints?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Father still alive?”
“Very much so.”
“And he’s fit and well?”
“Jogs every morning, and pumps weights at the local gym on weekends.”
“And your mother?”
“Doesn’t do either, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she outlives him comfortably.”
The doctor laughed. “Any of your grandparents still living?”
“All except one. My dad’s father died two years ago.”
“Do you know the cause of death?”
“He just passed away, I think. At least, that was how the priest described