Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page B

London, Mr.
Kesler?”
    “I’m with an oil company in the City. I
expect you’ve heard of us–Discovery Oil?”
    “No,” said Adrian. “Can’t
say I have. Bend your legs up, please.”
    He hit David’s kneecaps smartly, one after
the other, with a patella hammer. The legs jumped wildly.
    “Nothing wrong with those
reflexes.”
    “You will, Dr. Tryner, you will. Things are
going very well for us. Look out for our name in the papers.”
    “Why,” said Adrian, smiling, “struck oil
have you?”
    “Yes,” said David quietly, pleased with the
impression he was creating, “we have done just that, as a matter of fact.”
    Adrian prodded David’s abdomen for a few
seconds. Good muscular wall, no fat, no sign of an enlarged liver. The young
American was in good physical shape. Adrian left him in the examination room to
get dressed and thoughtfully wrote out a brief report on Kesler for his
records. An oil strike. Should he dig a little deeper?
    Harley Street doctors, although they
routinely keep private patients waiting for three quarters of an hour in a
gas-fired waiting room equipped with one out-of-date copy of Punch, never let them feel rushed once
they are in the consulting room. Adrian certainly didn’t want to rush David.
    “There is very little wrong with you, Mr.
Kesler. Some signs of anaemia, which I suspect are caused by overwork and your
recent rushing about. I am going to give you some iron tablets, which should
take care of that. Take two a day, morning and night.” He scribbled an
illegible prescription for tablets, and handed it to David.
    “Many thanks. It is kind of you to give me
so much of your time.”
    “Not at all. How do you like London?” said Adrian. “Very
different from America, I expect.”
    “Sure–the pace is much slower. Once I have
mastered how long it takes to get something done here I will be halfway to
victory.”
    “Do you have any friends in London?”
    “No,” replied David, “I have one or two
buddies at Oxford from my Harvard days, but I have not yet made contact with
many people in London.”
    Good, thought Adrian, here was a chance for
him to find out a bit more about this oil and to spend some time with someone
who made most of his patients look as if they had both feet in the grave. It
might even shake him out of his present lethargy. He continued, “Would you care
to join me for lunch later in the week? You might like to see one of our
antique London clubs.”
    “How very kind of you.”
    “Excellent. Will Friday suit you?”
    “It certainly will.”
    “Then make it one o’clock at the Athenaeum
Club in Pall Mall.”
    David returned to his City desk, picking up
his tablets on the way. He took one immediately for luck. He was beginning to
enjoy his stay in London. Silverstein seemed pleased with him, Discovery Oil
was doing well and he was already meeting some interesting people. Yes, he felt
this was going to be a very happy period in his life.
    He arrived at the Athenaeum on Friday at
twelve forty-five, a massive white building on the corner of Pall Mall,
overlooked by a statue of the Duke of Wellington. David was amazed by the vast
rooms and his commercial mind could not help wondering what price they might
fetch as office space. The place seemed to be full of moving waxworks, who
Adrian later assured him were distinguished generals and diplomats.
    They lunched in the Coffee Room, dominated
by a Rubens of Charles I, and Adrian told David the famous Athenaeum story
about the man who walked into the club from the street and asked the head
porter if he could cash a cheque: “Are you a member of this club, sir?” asked
the porter. “No,” said the visitor. “Certainly, sir,” was the reply.
    Over coffee in the Members’ Room, David
readily told Adrian the details of the geologist’s findings on the Discovery
Oil site. The shares were now at $7.15 on the Montreal Stock Exchange and were
still going up.
    “Sounds like a good investment,”