The Collected Short Stories by Jeffrey Archer

had not yet returned from the bank. She used the time to take a long bath, and to contemplate how the trap should be set Once she was dry and powdered, she dabbed a suggestion of a new scent on her throat, then slipped into some of her newly acquired clothes.
    She was checking herself once again in the full-length mirror when Victor entered the room. He stopped on the spot, dropping his briefcase on the carpet. Consuela turned to face him.
    â€œYou look stunning,” he declared, with the same look of desire she had lavished on the Kanemarra heirloom a few hours before.
    â€œThank you, darling,” she replied. “And how did your day go?”
    â€œA triumph. The takeover has been agreed, and at half the price it would have cost me only a year ago.”
    Consuela smiled. An unexpected bonus.
    â€œThose of us who are still in possession of cash need have no fear of the recession,” Victor added with satisfaction.
    Over a quiet supper in the Ritz’s dining room, Victor described to his wife in great detail what had taken place at the bank that day. During the occasional break in this monologue Consuela indulged her husband by remarking, “How clever of you, Victor,” “How amazing,” “How you managed it I will never understand.” When he finally ordered a large brandy, lit a cigar, and leaned back in his chair, she began to run her elegantly stockinged right foot gently along the inside of his thigh. For the first time that evening, Victor stopped thinking about the takeover.
    As they left the dining room and strolled toward the elevator, Victor placed an arm around his wife’s slim waist. By the time the elevator had reached the sixth floor he had already taken off his jacket, and his hand had slipped a few inches further down. Consuela giggled. Long before they
had reached the door of their suite, he had begun tugging off his tie.
    When they entered the room, Consuela placed the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside doorknob. For the next few minutes Victor was transfixed to the spot as he watched his slim wife slowly remove each garment she had purchased that afternoon. He quickly pulled off his own clothes, and wished once again that he had carried out his New Year’s resolution.
    Forty minutes later, Victor lay exhausted on the bed. After a few moments of sighing, he began to snore. Consuela pulled the sheet over their naked bodies, but her eyes remained wide open. She was already going over the next step in her plan.
    Victor awoke the following morning to discover his wife’s hand gently stroking the inside of his leg. He rolled over to face her, the memory of the previous night still vivid in his mind. They made love a second time, something they had not done for as long as he could recall.
    It was not until he stepped out of the shower that Victor remembered that it was his wife’s birthday, and that he had promised to spend the morning with her selecting a gift. He only hoped that her eye had already settled on something she wanted, as he needed to spend most of the day closeted in the City with his lawyers, going over the offer document line by line.
    â€œHappy birthday, darling,” he said as he padded back into the bedroom. “By the way, did you have any luck finding a present?” he added as he scanned the front page of the Financial Times , which was already speculating on the possible takeover, describing it as a coup. A smile of satisfaction appeared on Victor’s face for the second time that morning.
    â€œYes, my darling,” Consuela replied. “I did come across one little bauble that I rather liked. I just hope it isn’t too expensive.”
    â€œAnd how much is this ‘little bauble’?” Victor asked. Consuela turned to face him. She was wearing only two garments,
both of them black, and both of them remarkably skimpy.
    Victor started to wonder if he still had the time, but then he remembered the lawyers,