The Collected Short Stories - Jeffrey Archer [87]
By now most members of the club had cut short their own conversations as they leaned, twisted, turned, and bent in an effort to capture every word coming from the two men seated in the window alcove of the clubroom.
“The loss of those accounts was fully explained in the report to stockholders at this year’s annual meeting,” said Michael.
“But was it explained to those same stockholders how a former employee could afford to buy a new car only a matter of days after being fired?” pursued Philip. “A second car, I might add.” Philip took a sip of his tomato juice.
“It wasn’t new car,” said Michael defensively. “It was a second-hand Mini, and I bought it with part of my severance pay when I had to return the company car. And in any case, you know Carol needs her own car for the job at the bank.”
“Frankly, I am amazed Carol has stuck it as long as she has after all you’ve put her through.”
“All I’ve put her through—what are you implying?” asked Michael.
“I am not implying anything,” Philip retorted. “But the fact is that a certain young woman, who shall remain nameless”—this piece of information seemed to disappoint most eavesdroppers—“was also let ago at about the same time, not to mention pregnant.”
The bartender had not been asked for a drink for nearly seven minutes, and by now there were few members still affecting not to be listening to the altercation between the two men. Some were even staring in open disbelief.
“But I hardly knew her,” protested Michael.
“As I said, that’s not the version I heard. And what’s more I’m told the child bears a striking resemblance—”
“That’s going too far—”
“Only if you have nothing to hide,” said Philip grimly.
“You know I’ve nothing to hide.”
“Not even the blond hairs Carol found all over the back seat of the new Mini? The girl at work was a blond, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, but those hairs came from a golden retriever.”
“You don’t have a golden retriever.”
“I know, but the dog belonged to the last owner.”
“That bitch didn’t belong to the last owner, and I refuse to believe Carol fell for that old chestnut.”
“She believed it because it was the truth.”
“The truth, I fear, is something you lost contact with a long time ago. You were fired first because you couldn’t keep your hands off anything in a skirt under forty, and second because you couldn’t keep your fingers out of the till. I ought to know. Don’t forget I had to get rid of you for the same reasons.”
Michael jumped up, his cheeks almost the color of Philip’s tomato juice. He raised his clenched fist and was about to take a swing at Philip when Colonel Mather, the club president, appeared at his side.
“Good morning, sir,” said Philip calmly, rising for the colonel.
“Good morning, Philip,” the colonel barked. “Don’t you think this little misunderstanding has gone quite far enough?”
“Little misunderstanding?” protested Michael. “Didn’t you hear what he’s been saying about me?”
“Every word, unfortunately, like any other member present,” said the colonel. Turning back to Philip, he added, “Perhaps you two should shake hands like good fellows and call it a day.”
“Shake hands with that philandering, double-crossing shyster? Never,” said Philip. “I tell you, Colonel, he’s not fit to be a member of this club, and I can assure you that you’ve heard only half the story.”
Before the colonel could attempt another round of diplomacy Michael sprang on Philip, and it took three men younger than the club president to pry them apart. The colonel immediately ordered both men off the premises, warning them that their conduct would be reported to the house committee at its next monthly meeting. And until that meeting had taken place, they were both suspended.
The club secretary, Jeremy Howard, escorted the two men off the premises and watched Philip get into his Rolls-Royce and drive sedately down the drive and out through the gates. He had to wait on the steps of the club for several minutes before Michael departed in his Mini. He appeared to be sitting in the front seat writing something. When