The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [80]
“Did you hear me, Patrick?” asked Levy. “Are you still there?”
A paramedic team broke into the apartment twenty minutes later, but, moments before they reached him, Pat had died of a heart attack brought on by a suffocating bout of asthma.
Mr. Levy did nothing until he was able to confirm with Pat’s bankers that his client’s check for $1,100 had been cleared by the insurance company.
Nineteen months later Pat’s sister Ruth received a payment of one million dollars from Geneva Life, but not until they had gone through a lengthy court battle with Levy, Goldberg & Levy.
The jury finally accepted that Pat had died of natural causes, and that the insurance policy was in existence at the time of his death.
I promise you, Marvin Roebuck lived to regret it.
THE FIRST MIRACLE
Tomorrow it would be A.D. 1, but nobody had told him.
If anyone had, he wouldn’t have understood, because he thought it was the forty-third year of the reign of the emperor. And in any case, he had more important things on his mind.
His mother was still angry with him, and he had to admit that he’d been naughty that day, even by the standards of a normal thirteen-year-old. He hadn’t meant to drop the pitcher when she had sent him to the well for water. He had tried to explain to her that it wasn’t his fault he had tripped over a stone—that bit at least was true. What he hadn’t told her was that he had been chasing a stray dog at the time. And then there was that pomegranate: How was he to know that it was the last one, and that his father had taken a liking to them?
The young Roman was now dreading his father’s return and the possibility that he might be given another leathering. He could still recall the last one: He hadn’t been able to sit down for two days without being reminded of the pain, and the thin red scars hadn’t completely disappeared for three weeks.
He sat on the window ledge in a shaded corner of his room, trying to think of some way he could redeem himself in his mother’s eyes. He had spilled cooking oil all over his tunic and she had thrown him out of the kitchen. “Go and play outside,” she had snapped, but playing outside wasn’t much fun if you were only allowed to play by yourself. Pater had forbidden him to mix with the local boys.
How he hated this uncivilized country! If only he could be back home among his friends, there would be so much for him to do. Still, only another three weeks and he would …
The door swung open and his mother bustled into the room. She was dressed in the thin black garments favored by locals: it was the only way to keep cool, she had explained to her husband when he had seen her wearing them for the first time. He had grunted his disapproval, so now she always changed back into imperial dress before he returned in the evening.
“Can’t you find anything useful to do?” she asked, addressing the sulking figure of her son.
“I was just …”
“Daydreaming as usual. Well, it’s time for you to wake up, because I need you to go into the village and fetch some food.”
“Yes, Mater, I’ll go at once,” the boy said. He jumped off the window ledge, and started running toward the door.
“At least wait until you’ve heard what I want.”
“Sorry, Mater,” he said, coming to an abrupt halt.
“Now listen, and listen carefully,” she began, counting on her fingers as she spoke. “I need a chicken, some raisins, figs, dates, and … ah, yes, two pomegranates.”
The boy’s face reddened at the mention of the pomegranates. He stared down at the stone floor, hoping she might have forgotten. His mother put her hand into the leather purse that hung from her waist and removed two small coins, but before she handed them over she made her son repeat her instructions.
“One chicken, some raisins, figs, dates, and two pomegranates,” he recited, as he might the modern poet Virgil.
“And be sure to see they give you the right change,” she added. “Never forget that the people here are all thieves.”
“Yes, Mater …” For a moment the boy hesitated, wondering if he dared to ask.
“If you remember everything, and bring back the right change,