And Thereby Hangs a Tale

I would like to thank the following people for their valuable advice and
assistance:

Simon Bainbridge, Rosie de Courcy, Alison Prince, Billy Little, David
Russell, Nisha and Jamwal Singh, Jerome Kerr-Jarrett, Mari Roberts, Jonathan
Ticehurst and Brian Wead.

First published 2010 by Macmillan

This electronic edition published 2010 by Macmillan
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited Pan
Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

Basingstoke and Oxford Associated companies
throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-0-330-52561-9 PDF

ISBN 978-0-330-52545-9 EPUB

Copyright (c) Jeffrey Archer 2010

NOVELS

Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less

Shall We Tell the President?

Kane and Abel

The Prodigal Daughter

First Among Equals

A Matter of Honour

As the Crow Flies

Honour Among Thieves

The Fourth Estate

The Eleventh Commandment

Sons of Fortune

False Impression

The Gospel According to Judas (with the
assistance of Professor Francis J. Moloney)

A Prisoner of Birth

Paths of Glory

SHORT STORIES

A Quiver Full of Arrows

A Twist in the Tale

Twelve Red Herrings

The Collected Short Stories

To Cut a Long Story Short

Cat O' Nine Tales

PLAYS

Beyond Reasonable Doubt

Exclusive

The Accused

PRISON DIARIES

Volume One -- Belmarsh: Hell

Volume Two -- Wayland: Purgatory

Volume Three -- North Sea Camp: Heaven

SCREENPLAYS

Mallory: Walking Off the Map False Impression

First, know my horse is tired, my master and mistress fallen out.

CURTIS

How?

GRUMIO

Out of their saddles into the dirt, and thereby hangs a tale.

CURTIS

Let's ha't, good Grumio.

The
Taming of the Shrew IV, i, ll. 47-52.

During the past six years I have gathered
together several of these stories while on my travels around the world. Ten of
them are based on known incidents and are marked as in my past collections with
an asterisk, while the remaining five are the result of my imagination.

I would like to thank all those people who have
inspired me with their tales, and while there may not be a book in every one of
us, there is so often a damned good short story.

JEFFREY ARCHER

May 2010

* Based on true incidents

J
EREMY LOOKED ACROSS the table at Arabella
and still couldn't believe she had agreed to be his wife. He was the luckiest man
in the world.

She was giving him the shy smile that had so
entranced him the first time they met, when a waiter appeared by his side. 'I'll
have an espresso,' said Jeremy, 'and my fiancée' -- it still sounded strange to
him -- 'will have a mint tea.'

'Very good, sir.'

Jeremy tried to stop himself looking around the
room full of 'at home' people who knew exactly where they were and what was expected
of them, whereas he had never visited the Ritz before. It became clear from the
waves and blown kisses from customers who flitted in and out of the morning
room that Arabella knew everyone, from the maître d' to several of 'the set',
as she often referred to them. Jeremy sat back and tried to relax.

They'd first met at Ascot.
Arabella was inside the royal enclosure looking out, while Jeremy was on the
outside, looking in; that was how he'd assumed it would always be, until she
gave him that beguiling smile as she strolled out of the enclosure and
whispered as she passed him, 'Put your shirt on Trumpeter.' She then
disappeared off in the direction of the private boxes.

Jeremy took her advice, and placed twenty pounds
on Trumpeter -- double his usual wager -- before returning to the stands to see
the horse romp home at 5-1. He hurried back to the royal enclosure to thank
her, at the same time hoping she might give him another tip for the next race,
but she was nowhere to be seen. He was disappointed, but still placed fifty
pounds of his winnings on a horse the Daily Express tipster fancied. It turned
out to be a nag that would be described in tomorrow's paper as an 'also-ran'.

Jeremy returned to the royal enclosure for a
third time in the hope of seeing her again. He searched the paddock full of
elegant men dressed in morning suits with little enclosure badges hanging from
their lapels, all looking exactly like each other. They were accompanied by
wives and girlfriends adorned in designer dresses and outrageous hats,
desperately trying not to look like anyone else.

Then he spotted her, standing next to a
tall, aristocratic-looking man who was bending down and listening intently to a
jockey dressed in red-and-yellow hooped silks. She didn't appear to be
interested in their conversation and began to look around. Her eyes settled on
Jeremy and he received that same friendly smile once again. She whispered something
to the tall man, then walked across the enclosure to join him at the railing.

'I hope you took my advice,' she said.

'Sure did,' said Jeremy. 'But how could you be
so confident?'

'It's my father's horse.'

'Should I back your father's horse in the
next race?'

'Certainly not. You should never bet on
anything unless you're sure it's a certainty. I hope you won enough to take me
to dinner tonight?'

If Jeremy didn't reply immediately, it was only
because he couldn't believe he'd heard her correctly. He eventually stammered
out, 'Where would you like to go?'

'The Ivy, eight o'clock. By the way, my name's
Arabella Warwick.' Without another word she turned on her heel and went back to
join her set.

Jeremy was surprised Arabella had given him
a second look, let alone suggested they should dine together that evening. He
expected that nothing would come of it, but as she'd already paid for dinner,
he had nothing to lose.

Arabella arrived a few minutes after the
appointed hour, and when she entered the restaurant, several pairs of male eyes
followed her progress as she made her way to Jeremy's table. He had been told
they were fully booked until he mentioned her name.

Jeremy rose from his place long before she joined
him. She took the seat opposite him as a waiter
appeared by her side.

'The usual, madam?'

She nodded, but didn't take her eyes off Jeremy.

By the time her Bellini had arrived, Jeremy had
begun to relax a little. She listened intently to everything he had to say,
laughed at his jokes, and even seemed to be interested in his work at the bank.
Well, he had slightly exaggerated his position and the size of the deals he was
working on.

After dinner, which was a little more
expensive than he'd anticipated, he drove her back to her home in Pavilion
Road, and was surprised when she invited him in for coffee, and even more
surprised when they ended up in bed.

Jeremy had never slept with a woman on a first
date before. He could only assume that it was what 'the set' did, and when he
left the next morning, he certainly didn't expect ever to hear from her again.
But she called that afternoon and invited him over for supper at her place.
From that moment, they hardly spent a day apart during the next month.

What pleased Jeremy most was that Arabella didn't
seem to mind that he couldn't afford to take her to her usual haunts, and
appeared quite happy to share a Chinese or Indian meal when they went out for
dinner, often insisting that they split the bill. But he didn't believe it
could last, until one night she said, 'You do realize I'm in love with you, don't
you, Jeremy?'

Jeremy had never expressed his true feelings
for Arabella. He'd assumed their relationship was nothing more than what her
set would describe as a fling. Not that she'd ever introduced him to anyone
from her set.

When he fell on one knee and proposed to her
on the dance floor at Annabel's, he couldn't believe it when she said yes.

'I'll buy a ring tomorrow,' he said, trying
not to think about the parlous state of his bank account, which had turned a
deeper shade of red since he'd met Arabella.

'Why bother to buy one, when you can steal the
best there is?' she said.

Jeremy burst out laughing, but it quickly
became clear Arabella wasn't joking. That was the moment he should have walked
away, but he realized he couldn't if it meant losing her. He knew he wanted to
spend the rest of his life with this beautiful and intoxicating woman, and if
stealing a ring was what it took, it seemed a small price to pay.

'What type shall I steal?' he asked, still
not altogether sure that she was serious.

'The expensive type,' she replied. 'In fact,
I've already chosen the one I want.' She passed him a De Beers catalogue. 'Page
forty-three,' she said. 'It's called the Kandice Diamond.'

'But have you worked out how I'm going to steal
it?' asked Jeremy, studying a photograph of the faultless yellow diamond.

'Oh, that's the easy part, darling,' she
said.

'All you'll have to do is follow my instructions.'

Jeremy didn't say a word until she'd
finished outlining her plan.

That's how he had ended up in the Ritz that morning,
wearing his only tailored suit, a pair of Links cufflinks, a Cartier Tank watch
and an old Etonian tie, all of which belonged to Arabella's father.

'I'll have to return everything by tonight,'
she said, 'otherwise Pa might miss them and start asking questions.'

'Of course,' said Jeremy, who was enjoying becoming
acquainted with the trappings of the rich, even if it was only a fleeting acquaintance.

The waiter returned, carrying a silver tray.

Neither of them spoke as he placed a cup of mint
tea in front of Arabella and a pot of coffee on Jeremy's side of the table.

'Will there be anything else, sir?'

'No, thank you,' said Jeremy with an
assurance he'd acquired during the past month.

'Do you think you're ready?' asked Arabella,
her knee brushing against the inside of his leg while she once again gave him
the smile that had so captivated him at Ascot.

'I'm ready,' said Jeremy, trying to sound convincing.

'Good. I'll wait here until you return, darling.'
That same smile. 'You know how much this means to me.'

Jeremy nodded, rose from his place and, without
another word, walked out of the morning room, across the corridor, through the
swing doors and out on to Piccadilly. He placed a stick of chewing gum in his
mouth, hoping it would help him to relax. Normally Arabella would have
disapproved, but on this occasion she had recommended it. He stood nervously on
the pavement and waited for a gap to appear in the traffic, then nipped across
the road, coming to a halt outside De Beers, the largest diamond merchant in
the world. This was his last chance to walk away.

He knew he should take it, but just the thought
of her made it impossible.

He rang the doorbell, which made him aware that
his palms were sweating. Arabella had warned him that you couldn't just stroll
into De Beers as if it was a supermarket, and that if they didn't like the look
of you, they would not even open the door. That was why he had been measured
for his first hand-tailored suit and acquired a new silk shirt, and was wearing
Arabella's father's watch, cufflinks and old Etonian tie. 'The tie will ensure
that the door is opened immediately,' Arabella had told him, 'and once they
spot the watch and the cufflinks, you'll be invited into the private salon,
because by then they'll be convinced you're one of the rare people who can afford
their wares.'