Not a Penny More Not a Penny Less Read online

  Harvey was in a dream world. Flashbulbs popped and film cameras followed him as he walked toward the Queen. He bowed and received his trophy. The Queen, resplendent in a turquoise silk suit and matching turban that could only have been designed by Norman Hartnell, said a few words, but for the first time in his life Harvey was speechless. Taking a pace backward, he bowed again and returned to his place accompanied by loud applause.

  Back in his box the champagne flowed and everybody was Harvey’s friend. Stephen realized this was not the moment to try anything clever. He must bide his time and watch his quarry’s reaction to these changed circumstances. He stayed quietly in a corner, letting the excitement subside, and observed Harvey carefully.

  It took another race before Harvey was half back to normal and Stephen decided the time had now come to act. He made as if to leave.

  “Are you going already, Professor?”

  “Yes, Mr. Metcalfe. I must return to Oxford and mark some scripts before tomorrow morning.”

  “I always admire the work you boys put in. I hope you enjoyed yourself?” Stephen avoided Shaw’s famous riposte, “I had to, there was nothing else to enjoy.”

  “Yes, thank you, Mr. Metcalfe. An amazing achievement. You must be a very proud man.”

  “Well, I guess so. It’s been a long time coming, but it all seems worthwhile now…Rod, it’s too bad you have to leave us. Can’t you stay on a little longer and join my party at Claridge’s tonight?”

  “I should have liked that, Mr. Metcalfe, but you must visit me at my college at Oxford and allow me to show you the university.”

  “That’s swell. I have a couple of days after Ascot and I’ve always wanted to see Oxford, but I never seem to have found the time.”

  “It’s the university Garden Party next Wednesday. Why don’t you join me for dinner at my college on Tuesday evening and then we can spend the following day looking at the university and go on to the Garden Party?” Stephen scribbled a few directions on a card.

  “Fantastic. This is turning out to be the best vacation I’ve ever had in Europe. How are you getting back to Oxford, Professor?”

  “By train.”

  “No, no,” said Harvey. “My Rolls Royce will take you. It’ll be back well in time for the last race.”

  And before Stephen could protest, the chauffeur was called for.

  “Take Professor Porter back to Oxford and then return here. Have a good trip, Professor. I’ll look forward to seeing you next Tuesday at 8 P.M. Great meeting you.”

  “Thank you for a wonderful day, Mr. Metcalfe, and congratulations on your splendid victory.”

  Seated in the back of the white Rolls Royce on his way to Oxford, the car which Robin had boasted he and he alone would travel in, Stephen relaxed and smiled to himself. Taking a small notebook from his pocket he made an entry:

  “Deduct 98 pence from expenses, the price of a single second-class ticket from Ascot to Oxford.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “BRADLEY,” SAID THE senior tutor. “You’re going a bit gray at the edges, dear boy. Is the office of Junior Dean proving too much for you?”

  Stephen had wondered whether any of the Senior Common Room would think the change in the color of his hair worthy of comment. Dons are seldom surprised by anything their colleagues do.

  “My father went gray at an early age, Senior Tutor, and there seems to be no way of defying heredity…”

  “Ah well, dear boy, you’ll look all the more distinguished at next week’s Garden Party.”

  “Oh yes,” replied Stephen, who had been thinking of nothing else. “I’d quite forgotten about that.”

  He returned to his rooms where the rest of the Team were assembled and waiting for their next briefing.

  “Wednesday is the day of the Encaenia and the Garden Party,” began Stephen without as much as a “Good morning, gentlemen.” His students made no protest. “Now the one thing we’ve learned about our millionaire friend is that when we take him away from his own environment he still continues to assume he knows everything. We’ve now shown that his bluff can be called, as long as we know what’s going to happen next and he doesn’t. It’s only the same skill he used when promoting Prospecta Oil—always keeping one step ahead of us. Now, we’re going to keep two steps ahead of him by having a rehearsal today and a full dress rehearsal tomorrow.”

  “Time spent on reconnaissance is seldom wasted,” muttered James. It was about the only sentiment he could recall from his Army Cadet days at Harrow.

  “Haven’t had to spend much time on reconnaissance for your plan, have we?” chipped in Jean-Pierre.

  Stephen ignored the interruptions.

  “Now, the whole process on the day will take about seven hours for me and four hours for you, which includes the time required for makeup; we’ll need an extra session on that from James the day before.”

  “How often will you need my two sons?” asked Robin.

  “Only once, on the Wednesday. Too many runs at it will make them look stiff and awkward.”

  “When do you imagine Harvey will want to return to London?” inquired Jean-Pierre.

  “I rang Guy Salmon to check their timetable and they’ve been instructed to have him back at Claridge’s by 7 P.M., so I’ve assumed we have only until 5:30.”

  “Clever,” said Robin.

  “It’s awful,” said Stephen. “I even think like the man now. Right, let’s go over the whole plan once again. We’ll take it from the red dossier, halfway down page 16. When I leave All Souls…”

  On Sunday and Monday they carried out full rehearsals. By the Tuesday they knew every route Harvey could take and where he would be at any given moment of the day from 9 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. Stephen hoped he had covered every eventuality. He had little choice. They were only going to be allowed one crack at this one. Any mistakes like Monte Carlo and there would be no second chance. The dress rehearsal went to a second.

  “I haven’t worn clothes like this since I was six years old and attending a fancy-dress party,” said Jean-Pierre. “We’re going to be anything but inconspicuous.”

  “There’ll be red and blue and black all around you on the day,” said Stephen. “It’s like a circus for peacocks. No one will give us a second look, not even you, Jean-Pierre.”

  They were all nervous again, waiting for the curtain to go up. Stephen was glad they were on edge: he had no doubt that the moment they relaxed with Harvey Metcalfe, they would be found out.

  The Team spent a quiet weekend. Stephen watched the College Dramatic Society’s annual effort in Magdalen gardens, Robin took his wife to Glyndebourne and was uncommonly attentive, Jean-Pierre read Goodbye Picasso by David Douglas Duncan, and James took Anne to Tathwell Hall in Lincolnshire, to meet his father, the fifth earl.

  Even Anne was nervous that weekend.

  “Harry?”

  “Doctor Bradley.”

  “I have an American guest dining with me in my rooms tonight. His name is Harvey Metcalfe. When he arrives will you see he is brought over to my rooms, please.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “And one small thing. He seems to have mistaken me for Professor Porter of Trinity College. Don’t correct the mistake, will you? Just humor him.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Harry retreated into the Porter’s Lodge shaking his head sadly. Of course, all academics went dotty in the end, but Dr. Bradley had been afflicted at an unusually tender age.

  Harvey arrived at eight. He was always on time in England. The head porter guided him through the cloisters and up the old stone staircase to Stephen’s rooms.

  “Mr. Metcalfe, sir.”

  “How are you, Professor?”

  “I’m well, Mr. Metcalfe. Good of you to be so punctual.”

  “Punctuality is the politeness of princes.”

  “I think you’ll find it is the politeness of kings, and, in this particular instance, of Louis XVIII.” For a moment Stephen forgot that Harvey wasn’t a pupil