To Cut a Long Story Short (2000) by Jeffrey Archer Page B

watch - 3.17 p.m. - and tried to remember how long it had taken Mr Botts that morning to dispose of each lot. About a minute, a minute and a half perhaps, he
concluded. The bus came to a halt at every stop on its short journey into town, and Cornelius spent as much time following the progress of the minute hand on his watch as he did the journey. The
driver finally reached the High Street at 3.31 p.m.
    Even the door seemed to open slowly. Cornelius leapt out onto the pavement, and despite not having run for years, sprinted for the second time that day. He covered the two hundred yards to the
auction house in less than record pace, but still arrived exhausted. He charged into the auction room as Mr Botts declared, ‘Lot number 32, a long-case clock originally purchased from the
estate of …’
    Cornelius’s eyes swept the room, coming to rest on an auctioneer’s clerk who was standing in the corner with her catalogue open, entering the hammer price after each lot had been
sold. He walked over to her just as a woman he thought he recognised slipped quickly past him and out of the door.
    ‘Has the chess set come up yet?’ asked a still-out-of-breath Cornelius.
    ‘Let me just check, sir,’ the clerk replied, flicking back through her catalogue. ‘Yes, here it is, lot 27.’
    ‘How much did it fetch?’ asked Cornelius.
    ‘PS450, sir,’ she replied.

    Mr Botts called Cornelius later that evening to inform him that the afternoon sale had raised PS902,800 - far more than he had estimated.
    ‘Do you by any chance know who bought the chess set?’ was Cornelius’s only question.
    ‘No,’ replied Mr Botts. ‘All I can tell you is that it was purchased on behalf of a client. The buyer paid in cash and took the item away.’
    As he climbed the stairs to go to bed, Cornelius had to admit that everything had gone to plan except for the disastrous loss of the chess set, for which he realised he had only himself to
blame. What made it worse was that he knew Frank would never refer to the incident again.

    Cornelius was in the bathroom when the phone rang at 7.30 the following morning. Obviously someone had been lying awake wondering what was the earliest moment they could
possibly disturb him.
    ‘Is that you, Cornelius?’
    ‘Yes,’ he replied, yawning noisily. ‘Who’s this?’ he added, knowing only too well.
    ‘It’s Elizabeth. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I need to see you urgently.’
    ‘Of course, my dear,’ Cornelius replied, ‘why don’t you join me for tea this afternoon?’
    ‘Oh no, it can’t wait until then. I have to see you this morning. Could I come round at nine?’
    ‘I’m sorry, Elizabeth, but I already have an appointment at nine.’ He paused. ‘But I could fit you in at ten for half an hour, then I won’t be late for my meeting
with Mr Botts at eleven.’
    ‘I could give you a lift into town if that would help,’ suggested Elizabeth.
    ‘That’s extremely kind of you, my dear,’ said Cornelius, ‘but I’ve got used to taking the bus, and in any case I wouldn’t want to impose on you. Look forward
to seeing you at ten.’ He put the phone down.
    Cornelius was still in the bath when the phone rang a second time. He wallowed in the warm water until the ringing had ceased. He knew it was Margaret, and he was sure she would call back within
minutes.
    He hadn’t finished drying himself before the phone rang again. He walked slowly to the bedroom, picked up the receiver by his bed and said, ‘Good morning Margaret.’
    ‘Good morning, Cornelius,’ she said, sounding surprised. Recovering quickly, she added, ‘I need to see you urgently.’
    ‘Oh? What’s the problem?’ asked Cornelius, well aware exactly what the problem was.
    ‘I can’t possibly discuss such a delicate matter over the phone, but I could be with you by ten.’
    ‘I’m afraid I’ve already agreed to see Elizabeth at ten. It seems that she also has an urgent matter she needs to discuss with