Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less (34 page)

“You’re dreaming, Stephen.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I mustn’t forget that Anne
has put me in charge.”

“Here we go again,” said Jean Pierre. “What
time shall we report, Professor?”

“One hour from now, fully dressed to inspect
James and take him to the church. Jean Pierre, you will go and buy four
carnations–three red ones and one white. Adrian, you will arrange the taxi and
I shall take care of James.”

Adrian and Jean Pierre left singing the “Marseillaise”
lustily in two different keys. James and Stephen watched them depart.

“How are you feeling, James?”

“Great. I’m only sorry that I did not
complete my plan before today.”

“Doesn’t matter at all.
September thirteenth will be just as good.
In any case, the break will do us no harm.”

“We would never have managed it without you.
You know that, don’t you, Stephen? We would all be facing ruin and I wouldn’t
even have met Anne but for you. We all owe you so much.”

Stephen stared fixedly out of the window,
unable to reply.

“Three red and one white,” said Jean Pierre,
“as instructed, and I presume the white one is for me.”

“Pin it on James. Not behind his ear, Jean
Pierre.”

“You look fantastic, but I still haven’t
been able to work out what she sees in you,” said Jean Pierre, fixing the white
carnation in James’s buttonhole. The four of them were ready to leave, but
still had half an hour to kill before the taxi was due. Jean Pierre opened a
bottle of champagne. They toasted James’s health, then the Team’s health, then
Her Majesty the Queen, then the President of the United States, and finally,
with simulated reluctance, the President of France. Having finished the bottle,
Stephen thought it wise to leave immediately, and dragged the other three down
to the waiting taxi.

“Keep smiling, James. We’re with you.”

And they bundled him into the back.

The taxi took twenty minutes to reach
Trinity Church, Copley Square, and the driver was not unhappy to be rid of the
four of them.

“Three-fifteen.
Anne will be very pleased with me,” said
Stephen. He escorted the bridegroom to the front pew on the right-hand side of
the church, while Jean Pierre made eyes at the prettiest of the girls. Adrian
helped hand out the wedding sheets. One thousand overdressed guests waited for
the bride.

Stephen had just come to Adrian’s aid on the
steps of the church and Jean Pierre had joined them, suggesting they take their
seats, when the Rolls Royce arrived. They were riveted to the steps by the
beauty of Anne in her Balenciaga wedding gown. Her father stepped out behind
her. She took his arm and proceeded to mount the steps.

The three stood motionless, like sheep in
the stare of a python.

“The bastard!”

“Who is conning who?”

“She must have known all along!”

Harvey beamed vaguely at them as he walked
past with Anne on his arm.

“Good God!” thought Stephen. “He didn’t
recognise any of us.” They took their places at the back of the church, out of
earshot of the vast congregation. The organist stopped playing when Anne
reached the altar.

“Harvey can’t know,” said Stephen.

“How do you work that out?” enquired Jean
Pierre.

“Because James would never have let us
go
through this unless he had passed the test himself at
some earlier date.”

“Clever,” whispered Adrian.

“I require and charge you both, as ye will
answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be
disclosed...”

“I should like to know some secrets now,”
said Jean Pierre. “To start with, how long has she known?”

“James Clarence Spencer, wilt thou have this
woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the Holy
estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in
sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so
long as ye both shall live?”

“I will.”

“Rosalie Arlene, wilt thou have this man to
thy wedded husband to live...”

“I think,” said Stephen, “we can be sure
that she is a fully-fledged member of the Team, otherwise we would never have
succeeded at Monte Carlo or Oxford.”

“...
so
long as ye
both shall live?”

“I will.”

“Who giveth this woman to be married to this
man?”

Harvey bustled forward and took Anne’s hand
and gave it to the priest.

“I, James Clarence Spencer, take thee,
Rosalie Arlene, to my wedded wife...”

“And what’s more, he didn’t recognise us
because he’s only seen each of us once, and then never as we really are,”
continued Stephen.

“And thereto I plight thee my troth.”

“I, Rosalie Arlene, take thee, James
Clarence Spencer, to my wedded husband.”

“But he must have a chance of working it out
if we hang around,” said Adrian.

“Not true,” said Stephen. “Now, don’t panic.
Our secret has always been to catch him off his own ground.”

“But he is on his ground,” said Jean Pierre.

“No, he isn’t. It’s his daughter’s wedding
day and it’s totally strange to him. Naturally, we avoid him at the reception,
but we don’t make it obvious.”

“You’ll have to hold my hand,” said Adrian.

“I will,” volunteered Jean Pierre.

“Just remember to act naturally.”

“... and thereto I give thee my troth.”

Anne was quiet and shy, her voice only just
reaching the astonished three at the back. James’s was clear and firm.

“With this ring I
thee
wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow...”

“And with some of ours too,” said Jean
Pierre.

“In the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.
Amen.”

“Let us pray,” intoned the priest.

“I know what I’m going to pray,” said
Adrian. “To be delivered out of the power of our enemy and from the hands of
all that hate us.”

“O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all
mankind...”

“We’re near the end now,” said Stephen.

“An unfortunate turn of phrase,” replied
Adrian.

“Silence,” said Jean Pierre. “I agree with
Stephen. We’ve got the measure of Metcalfe, just relax.”

“Those whom God hath joined let no man put
asunder.”

Jean Pierre continued mumbling to himself,
but it didn’t sound like a prayer.

The blast of Handel’s Wedding March from the
organ brought them back to the occasion. The ceremony was over and Lord and
Lady Brigsley walked down the aisle to two thousand smiling eyes. Stephen
amused, Jean Pierre looked envious and Adrian looked nervous. James smiled
beatifically as he passed them.

After a ten-minute photographic session on
the steps of the church, the Rolls Royce carried the newly married couple back
to the Metcalfes’ house in Lincoln. Harvey and the Countess of Louth took the
second car, and the Earl and Arlene, Anne’s mother, took the third. Stephen,
Adrian and Jean Pierre followed some twenty minutes later, still arguing the
pros and cons of bearding the lion in his own den.

Harvey Metcalfe’s Georgian house was
magnificent, with an oriental garden leading down to the lake, great beds of
roses and in the conservatory his pride and joy, a rare orchid collection.

“I never thought I’d see this,” said Jean
Pierre.

“Nor me,” said Adrian, “and now that I have,
I’m not too happy.”

“Now we run the gauntlet,” said Stephen. “I
suggest that we join the receiving line at well-separated intervals. I’ll go
first. Adrian, you come second at least twenty places behind, and, Jean Pierre,
you come third at least twenty places behind Adrian, and act naturally. We’re
just friends of James’s from England. Now, when you take your places in the
queue, listen to the conversation. Try and find someone who’s a close friend of
Harvey’s and jump immediately in front of them. When it comes to your turn to
shake hands, Harvey’s eyes will already be on the next person because he won’t
know you and will know them. That way we should escape.”

“Brilliant, Professor,” said Jean Pierre.

The queue seemed interminably long. A
thousand people shuffled past the outstretched hands of Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe,
the Earl and Countess of Louth, and Anne and James. Stephen eventually made it
and passed with flying colours.

“So glad you could come,” said Anne.

Stephen did not reply.

“Good to see you, Stephen.”

“We all admire your plan, James.”

Stephen slipped into the main ballroom and
hid behind a pillar on the far side of the room, as far as he could be from the
multi-storey wedding cake in the centre.

Adrian was next, and avoided looking Harvey
in the eyes.

“How kind of you to come all this way,” said
Anne.

Adrian mumbled something under his breath.

“Hope you have enjoyed yourself today, Adrian?”
James was obviously having the time of his life. He’s been put through it by
Anne, and was relishing the Team having to go through the same discomfiture.

“You’re a bastard, James.”

“Not too loud, old fellow. My mother and
father might hear you.” Adrian slipped through to the ballroom and after a
search behind all the pillars, found Stephen.

“Did you get through all right?”

“I think so, but I don’t want to see him
ever again. What time is the plane back?”

“Eight o’clock. Now, don’t panic. Keep your
eye out for Jean Pierre.”

“Bloody good thing he kept his beard,” said
Adrian.

Jean Pierre shook hands with Harvey, who was
already intent on the next guest as Jean Pierre had, by shameless
queue-barging, managed to secure a place in front of a Boston banker who was
obviously a close friend of Harvey’s.

“Good to see you, Marvin.”

Jean Pierre had escaped. He kissed Anne on
both cheeks and whispered in her ear.

“Game, set and match to James,” and went off
in search of Stephen and Adrian, but forgot his original instructions when he
found himself face to face with the chief bridesmaid.

“Did you enjoy the wedding?” she enquired.

“Of course.
I always judge weddings by the bridesmaids,
not the bride.” She blushed with pleasure.

“This must have cost a fortune,” she
continued.

“Yes, my dear, and I know whose,” said Jean
Pierre, slipping his arm around her waist.

Four arms grabbed a protesting Jean Pierre
and unceremoniously dragged him behind the pillar.

“For God’s sake, Jean
Pierre.
She’s not a day
over seventeen. We don’t want to go to jail for rape as well as theft. Drink
this and behave yourself.” Adrian thrust a glass into his hand.

The champagne flowed and even Stephen had a
little too much. They were clinging to their pillar for support by the time the
toast-master called for silence.

“My lords, ladies and
gentlemen.
Pray silence
for the Viscount Brigsley, the bridegroom.”

James made an impressive speech. The actor
in him took over and the Americans adored it. Even his father had a look of
admiration on his face. The toastmaster then introduced Harvey, who spoke long
and loud. He cracked his favourite joke about marrying his daughter off to
Prince Charles, at which the assembled guests roared heartily as they always
will, even for the weakest joke, at a wedding, and he ended by calling the
toast for the bride and groom.

When the applause had died down, and the
hubbub of chatter had struck up again, Harvey took an envelope from his pocket
and kissed his daughter’s cheek.

“Rosalie, here is a little wedding present
for you, to make up for letting me keep the Van Gogh. I know you will put it to
good use.”

Harvey passed her the white envelope. Inside
there was a cheque for $250,000. Anne kissed her father with genuine affection.

“Thank you, Daddy, I promise you it will be
wisely used.” She hurried in pursuit of James, whom she found besieged by a
group of American matrons.