A Quiver Full of Arrows by Jeffrey Archer Page B

After that, the two
men quickly fell back into their old routine. Any help they could give each
other was provided unstintingly, creating no conflict of interests because of
their different tastes. Their married lives were not suffering – or so they
convinced each other- and at thirty-five, having come through the swinging
sixties unscathed, they began to make the most of the seventies.
    Early in that decade, Thames Television
decided to send Michael off to America to edit an ABC film about living in New
York, for consumption by British viewers. Adrian, who had always wanted to see
the eastern seaboard, did not find it hard to arrange a trip at the same time
as he claimed it was necessary for him to carry out some more than usually
spurious research for an Anglo-American tobacco company. The two men enjoyed a
lively week together in New York, the highlight of which was a party held by
ABC on the final evening to view the edited edition of Michael’s film on New
York, “An Englishman’s View of the Big Apple”.
    When Michael and Adrian arrived at the ABC
studios they found the party was already well under way, and both entered the
room together, looking forward to a few drinks and an early night before their
journey back to England the next day.
    They spotted her at exactly the same moment.
    She was of medium height and build, with
soft green eyes and auburn hair - a striking combination of both men’s
fantasies. Without another thought each knew exactly where he desired to end up
that particular night and, two minds with but a single idea, they advanced
purposefully upon her.
    “Hello, my name is Michael Thompson.”
    “Hello,” she replied. “I’m Debbie Kendall.”
    “And I’m Adrian Townsend.”
    She offered her hand and both tried to grab
it. When the party had come to an end, they had, between them, discovered that
Debbie Kendall was an ABC floor producer on the evening news spot. She was
divorced and had two children who lived with her in New York. But neither of them
was any nearer to impressing her, if only because each worked so hard to outdo
the other; they both showed off 87
    abominably and even squabbled over fetching
their new companion her food and drink. In the other’s absence they found
themselves running down their closest friend in a subtle but damning way.
    “Adrian’s a nice chap if it wasn’t for his
drinking,” said Michael.
    “Super fellow Michael, such a lovely wife
and you should see his three adorable children,” added Adrian.
    They both escorted Debbie home and
reluctantly left her on the doorstep of her th Street apartment. She kissed the
two of them perfunctorily on the cheek, thanked them and said goodnight. They
walked back to their hotel in silence.
    When they reached their room on the
nineteenth floor of the Plaza, it was Michael who spoke first.
    “I’m sorry,” he said. “I made a bloody fool
of myself.”
    “I was every bit as bad,” said Adrian, “we
shouldn’t fight over a woman. We never have done in the past.”
    “Agreed,” said Michael. “So why not an
honourable compromise?”
    “What do you suggest?”
    “As we both return to London tomorrow
morning, let’s agree whichever one of us comes back first...”
    “Perfect,” said Adrian and they shook hands
to seal the bargain, as if they were both back at school playing a cricket match,
and had to decide on who should bat first. The deal made, they climbed into
their respective beds, and slept soundly.
    Once back in London both men did everything
in their power to find an excuse for returning to New York.
    Neither contacted Debbie Kendall by phone or
letter as it would have broken their gentleman’s agreement, but when the weeks
grew to be months both became despondent and it seemed that neither was going
to be given the opportunity to return. Then Adrian was invited to Los Angeles
to address a Media Conference. He remained unbearably smug about the whole
trip, confident he would be able to drop into