And Thereby Hangs a Tale

And Thereby Hangs a Tale

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by Jeffrey Archer
     
 

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International bestselling author Jeffrey Archer has spent the last five years gathering spellbinding stories from around the globe. These fifteen brand-new tales showcase Archer's talent for capturing an unforgettable moment in time, whether tragic, comic, or outrageous.

In India, Jamwal and Nisha fall in love while waiting for a traffic light to turn green

Overview

International bestselling author Jeffrey Archer has spent the last five years gathering spellbinding stories from around the globe. These fifteen brand-new tales showcase Archer's talent for capturing an unforgettable moment in time, whether tragic, comic, or outrageous.

In India, Jamwal and Nisha fall in love while waiting for a traffic light to turn green on the streets of Delhi.

From Germany comes "A Good Eye," the tale of a priceless oil painting that has remained in the same family for over two hundred years, until...

To the Channel Islands and "Members Only," where a golf ball falls out of a Christmas cracker, and a young man's life will never be the same...

To Italy and "No Room at the Inn," where a young man who is trying to book a room at a hotel ends up in bed with the receptionist, unaware that she...

To England, where, in "High Heels," a woman has to explain to her husband why a pair of designer shoes couldn't have gone up in flames...

Some of these stories will make you laugh while others will bring you to tears but, once again, every one of them will demand that you keep turning the page until you finally discover what happens to this remarkable cast of characters.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Bestseller Archer assembles 15 more of the clever stories for which he is known. They are split between tales of trickery, as with "Stuck on You," where an eager young man is played by a diamond thief, and decidedly sentimental stories, such as "Members Only," about a man who wants nothing more than to join a private country club. Archer marks with an asterisk stories that are based on true incidents (10 in this collection), and whether it is the weight of credibility these stories' genesis lends or if the author works better with some starting material, the entirely imagined stories are also the weakest. "Politically Correct" never gets out of the shallows in its attempt to be provocative, and "Better the Devil You Know," with its evil executive making a deal with the devil (aka Mr. De Ath), is silly even for this author, who usually writes with a winningly light touch. Still, Archer's writing exudes a certain charm and is mostly satisfying. His trademark twists--sometimes a surprise to the reader, sometimes not--and genial tone will endear these mostly cozy stories to his many fans. (Sept.)
From the Publisher

“One of the top ten storytellers in the world.” —Los Angeles Times on JEFFREY ARCHER

“There isn't a better story-teller alive.” —Larry King on JEFFREY ARCHER

“Archer plots with skill, and keeps you turning the pages.” —The Boston Globe on JEFFREY ARCHER

“Cunning plots, silken style…. Archer plays a cat-and-mouse game with the reader.” —The New York Times on JEFFREY ARCHER

“Archer is a master entertainer.” —Time on JEFFREY ARCHER

“A storyteller in the class of Alexandre Dumas…unsurpassed skill.” —Washington Post on JEFFREY ARCHER

“Outrageous and top-notch terror.” —Vogue on SHALL WE TELL THE PRESIDENT?

“The only difference between this book and The Day of the Jackal is that Archer is a better writer.” —Chicago Tribune on SHALL WE TELL THE PRESIDENT?

“Authentic, literate, and scary.” —Cosmopolitan on SHALL WE TELL THE PRESIDENT?

“The countdown is the thing; the pace, the pursuit, the what-next, the how-is-it-going-to-come-out…” —Boston Globe on SHALL WE TELL THE PRESIDENT?

“Holds the reader in a vicelike grip.” —Penthouse on SHALL WE TELL THE PRESIDENT?

“A compelling read.” —Newsday on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Dynamite…plot twists and a slam-bang finale.” —The Washington Post on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Archer plots with skill, and keeps you turning the pages.” —The Boston Globe on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Thoroughly enjoyable.” —Publishers Weekly on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Compulsively readable.” —Library Journal on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Gripping.” —The Vancouver Sun on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“An exercise in wish fulfillment. The good may suffer, but the bad will get theirs in the end. The fun is watching it unfold.” —St. Petersburg Times (Florida) on A PRISONER OF BIRTH

“Archer plots with skill, and keeps you turning the pages.” —The Boston Globe on CAT O'NINE TALES

“The economy and precision of Archer's prose never fails to delight. The criminal doesn't always get away with his crime and justice doesn't always prevail, but the reader wins with each and every story.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review) on CAT O'NINE TALES

“A worthy successor to The Da Vinci Code.” —Liz Smith, New York Post on FALSE IMPRESSION

“Archer is back in top form with [this] latest thriller.” —Library Journal (starred review) on FALSE IMPRESSION

“Thoroughly imagined...entertaining...thrilling.” —Denver Post on FALSE IMPRESSION

“Murder and a high-stakes art-world theft are cleverly blended [in this] exciting...global thrill-ride.” —Vancouver Sun on FALSE IMPRESSION

Library Journal
Archer's bibliography contains 18 novels, three plays, and, with this newest title, six short story collections. During his recent travels, Archer, inevitably aware that short stories have their root in oral storytelling, gathered these colorful anecdotes, then spun them into whimsical tales. His refined characterization, penchant for British history, and trademark inclusion of cunning twists typify these 15 tales, three of which he situates outside the British Isles. However, although readers have been drawn to his works for over 30 years, reviewers panned his most recent novel, Paths of Glory, for its excessive fictionalization of history. Likewise, critics of his previous stories anticipated a future Cheever or Fitzgerald; this collection may diminish their optimism. Here, awaiting the upcoming twist upon which hangs each tale also requires absorption of excessive plot developments. Archer is now in his 70s and has written for over 34 years; his noted style seems tedious and worn.Verdict For appreciative short story readers as well as for comprehensive, contemporary short story collections.—Jerry P. Miller, Cambridge, MA
Kirkus Reviews

A collection of O. Henry–esque stories from British author Archer (Sons of Fortune, 2003, etc.).

The prolific author of novels, plays and screenplays returns to the story format with this book of whimsical, sometimes ironic pieces. Some work, some don't, but even the least of these is entertaining. The title, taken from a line penned by Shakespeare, sets up the premise of the book, which opens with the tale of a young man betrothed to a beautiful woman who is clearly above his station. After he successfully proposes, she in turn proposes an endeavor that tests their relationship, as well as his mettle. This story, like the others, is designed to give the reader a bit of an O. Henry moment and hinges on the idea that nothing is as it seems. "Better the Devil You Know" is a particularly satisfying tale in which an evil, ailing corporate mogul is given a second chance at life, while an innocent pays the price. In the end, though, true to Archer's theme, someone gets an unexpected and unpalatable comeuppance. There is nothing in this collection that will stick with readers once the covers close. It's not great art, but it is great, slightly old-fashioned entertainment, marked by simplicity and unpretentiousness—that's good enough to turn someone who doesn't normally read short stories into a fan of the genre.

This is the ideal book to pop into a bag or keep in the car and carry to pass the time, since the stories are short, easy to read and simple.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781429984171
Publisher:
St. Martin's Press
Publication date:
09/14/2010
Sold by:
Macmillan
Format:
NOOK Book
Pages:
320
Sales rank:
268,914
File size:
225 KB

Read an Excerpt

And Thereby Hangs a Tale


By Jeffrey Archer

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2010 Jeffrey Archer
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-8417-1



CHAPTER 1

Jeremy 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 round 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 round. 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 catalog. "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 onto 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."

Arabella turned out to be correct, because when the doorman appeared, he took one look at Jeremy and immediately unlocked the door.

"Good morning, sir. How may I help you?"

"I was hoping to buy an engagement ring."

"Of course, sir. Please step inside."

Jeremy followed him down a long corridor, glancing at photographs on the walls that depicted the history of the company since its foundation in 1888. Once they had reached the end of the corridor, the doorman melted away, to be replaced by a tall, middle-aged man wearing a well-cut dark suit, a white silk shirt, and a black tie.

"Good morning, sir," he said, giving a slight bow. "My name is Crombie," he added, before ushering Jeremy into his private lair. Jeremy walked into a small, well-lit room. In the center was an oval table covered in a black velvet cloth, with comfortable-looking leather chairs on either side. The assistant waited until Jeremy had sat down before he took the seat opposite him.

"Would you care for some coffee, sir?" Crombie inquired solicitously.

"No, thank you," said Jeremy, who had no desire to hold up proceedings any longer than necessary, for fear he might lose his nerve.

"And how may I help you today, sir?" Crombie asked, as if Jeremy were a regular customer.

"I've just become engaged ..."

"Many congratulations, sir."

"Thank you," said Jeremy, beginning to feel a little more relaxed. "I'm looking for a ring, something a bit special," he added, still sticking to the script.

"You've certainly come to the right place, sir," said Crombie, and pressed a button under the table.

The door opened immediately, and a man in an identical dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie entered the room.

"The gentleman would like to see some engagement rings, Partridge."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Crombie," replied the porter, and disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

"Good weather for this time of year," said Crombie as he waited for the porter to reappear.

"Not bad," said Jeremy.

"No doubt you'll be going to Wimbledon, sir."

"Yes, we've got tickets for the women's semifinals," said Jeremy, feeling rather pleased with himself, remembering that he'd strayed off script.

A moment later, the door opened and the porter reappeared carrying a large oak box which he placed reverentially in the center of the table, before leaving without uttering a word. Crombie waited until the door had closed before selecting a small key from a chain that hung from the waistband of his trousers, unlocking the box and opening the lid slowly to reveal three rows of assorted gems that took Jeremy's breath away. Definitely not the sort of thing he was used to seeing in the window of his local H. Samuel.

It was a few moments before he fully recovered, and then he remembered Arabella telling him he would be presented with a wide choice of stones so the salesman could estimate his price range without having to ask him directly.

Jeremy studied the box's contents intently, and after some thought selected a ring from the bottom row with three perfectly cut small emeralds set proud on a gold band.

"Quite beautiful," said Jeremy as he studied the stones more carefully. "What is the price of this ring?"

"One hundred and twenty-four thousand, sir," said Crombie, as if the amount was of little consequence.

Jeremy placed the ring back in the box, and turned his attention to the row above. This time he selected a ring with a circle of sapphires on a white-gold band. He removed it from the box and pretended to study it more closely before asking the price.

"Two hundred and sixty-nine thousand pounds," replied the same unctuous voice, accompanied by a smile that suggested the customer was heading in the right direction.

Jeremy replaced the ring and turned his attention to a large single diamond that lodged alone in the top row, leaving no doubt of its superiority. He removed it and, as with the others, studied it closely. "And this magnificent stone," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Can you tell me a little about its provenance?"

"I can indeed, sir," said Crombie. "It's a flawless, eighteen-point-four carat cushion-cut yellow diamond that was recently extracted from our Rhodes mine. It has been certified by the Gemmological Institute of America as a Fancy Intense Yellow, and was cut from the original stone by one of our master craftsmen in Amsterdam. The stone has been set on a platinum band. I can assure sir that it is quite unique, and therefore worthy of a unique lady."

Jeremy had a feeling that Mr. Crombie might just have delivered that line before. "No doubt there's a quite unique price to go with it." He handed the ring to Crombie, who placed it back in the box.

"Eight hundred and fifty-four thousand pounds," he said in a hushed voice.

"Do you have a loupe?" asked Jeremy. "I'd like to study the stone more closely." Arabella had taught him the word diamond merchants use when referring to a small magnifying glass, assuring him that it would make him sound as if he regularly frequented such establishments.

"Yes, of course, sir," said Crombie, pulling open a drawer on his side of the table and extracting a small tortoiseshell loupe. When he looked back up, there was no sign of the Kandice Diamond, just a gaping space in the top row of the box.

"Do you still have the ring?" he asked, trying not to sound concerned.

"No," said Jeremy. "I handed it back to you a moment ago."

Without another word, the assistant snapped the box closed and pressed the button below his side of the table. This time he didn't indulge in any small talk while he waited. A moment later, two burly, flat-nosed men who looked as if they'd be more at home in a boxing ring than De Beers entered the room. One remained by the door while the other stood a few inches behind Jeremy.

"Perhaps you'd be kind enough to return the ring," said Crombie in a firm, flat, unemotional voice.

"I've never been so insulted," said Jeremy, trying to sound insulted.

"I'm going to say this only once, sir. If you return the ring, we will not press charges, but if you do not —"

"And I'm going to say this only once," said Jeremy, rising from his seat. "The last time I saw the ring was when I handed it back to you."

Jeremy turned to leave, but the man behind him placed a hand firmly on his shoulder and pushed him back down into the chair. Arabella had promised him there would be no rough stuff as long as he cooperated and did exactly what they told him. Jeremy remained seated, not moving a muscle. Crombie rose from his place and said, "Please follow me."

One of the heavyweights opened the door and led Jeremy out of the room, while the other remained a pace behind him. At the end of the corridor they stopped outside a door marked PRIVATE. The first guard opened the door and they entered another room which once again contained only one table, but this time it wasn't covered in a velvet cloth. Behind it sat a man who looked as if he'd been waiting for them. He didn't invite Jeremy to sit, as there wasn't another chair in the room.

"My name is Granger," the man said without expression. "I've been the head of security at De Beers for the past fourteen years, having previously served as a detective inspector with the Metropolitan Police. I can tell you there's nothing I haven't seen, and no story I haven't heard before. So do not imagine even for one moment that you're going to get away with this, young man."

How quickly the fawning sir had been replaced by the demeaning young man, thought Jeremy.

Granger paused to allow the full weight of his words to sink in. "First, I am obliged to ask if you are willing to assist me with my inquiries, or whether you would prefer us to call in the police, in which case you will be entitled to have a solicitor present."

"I have nothing to hide," said Jeremy haughtily, "so naturally I'm happy to cooperate." Back on script.

"In that case," said Granger, "perhaps you'd be kind enough to take off your shoes, jacket, and trousers."

Jeremy kicked off his loafers, which Granger picked up and placed on the table. He then removed his jacket and handed it to Granger as if he was his valet. After taking off his trousers he stood there, trying to look appalled at the treatment he was being subjected to.


(Continues...)

Excerpted from And Thereby Hangs a Tale by Jeffrey Archer. Copyright © 2010 Jeffrey Archer. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

Meet the Author

Jeffrey Archer was educated at Oxford University. He has served five years in Britain's House of Commons and fourteen years in the House of Lords. All of his novels and short story collections--including Kane and Abel, Paths of Glory and False Impression--have been international bestselling books. Archer is married with two sons and lives in London and Cambridge.


Jeffrey Archer was educated at Oxford University. He has served five years in Britain’s House of Commons and twenty-two years in the House of Lords. All of his novels and short story collections—including Best Kept Secret, The Sins of the Father, Only Time Will Tell, and Kane and Abel—have been international bestselling books. Archer is married with two sons and lives in London and Cambridge.

Brief Biography

Hometown:
London and the Old Vicarage, Grantchester
Date of Birth:
April 15, 1940
Education:
Attended Brasenose College, Oxford, 1963-66. Received a diploma in sports education from Oxford Institute

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And Thereby Hangs a Tale 3.9 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 22 reviews.
crusherve More than 1 year ago
Is it just me? i find that archer surpasses himself anytime he decides to write short stories and he goes and does it again. Many times when he finishes a story i end up wishing it had been longer. Loved them all
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