Chapters (71)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- Family Tree
- Prologue
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1970–1971
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Giles Barrington: 1971
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1971
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Sebastian Clifton: 1971
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Lady Virginia Fenwick: 1972
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Maisie Clifton: 1972
- Chapter 25
- Emma Clifton: 1972–1975
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Sebastian Clifton: 1975
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Hakim Bishara: 1975
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Giles Barrington: 1976–1977
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Harry and Emma Clifton: 1978
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Epilogue: 1978
- About the Author
- Also by Jeffrey Archer
- Newsletter Sign-up
Sebastian arrived at the Royal Opera House a few minutes before seven, surprised by how nervous he felt. But then, as Clive had so helpfully reminded him, it was his first date for some time. He scanned the crowd streaming through the front doors, and then he saw her. Not that he could have missed her. Priya’s long dark hair and deep brown eyes were complemented by a striking red silk dress that made him feel she should be gracing the cover of Vogue rather than hidden away analyzing profits and losses in the deep recesses of a bank. Her face lit up the moment she spotted him.
“Wow,” he said. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you,” Priya replied, as Seb kissed her on the cheek as if she were his aunt Grace.
“I’m sure you’ve been to the House many times before,” she said, “so you’ll be familiar with the routine.”
“No, it’s my first visit,” admitted Seb. “In fact, I’ve never been to the ballet before.”
“Lucky you!”
“What do you mean?” asked Seb as they entered the restaurant on the ground floor.
“You’ll either be hooked for life, or you won’t ever want to come again.”
“Yes, I know what you mean,” said Seb.
Priya stopped at the entrance. “We have a booking in the name of Ghuman.”
“Please follow me, madam,” said the maître d’, who led them to their table and, once they were seated, handed each of them a menu.
“They serve the first course before the curtain goes up, and we have to order the main course at the same time so they can have it ready for us at the interval.”
“Are you always this organized?”
“I’m so sorry,” said Priya. “I was only trying to help.”
“And I was only teasing,” said Seb. “But then, when you’ve got a mother like mine, it goes with the territory.”
“Your mother is a remarkable lady, Seb. I wonder if she knows just how many women look upon her as a role model?”
A waiter appeared at their side, his order pad open.
“I’ll have the asparagus, and Dover sole,” said Priya.
“And I’ll have the duck pâté, and a lamb chop,” said Seb, “and I’d like to order a bottle of wine.”
“I don’t drink,” said Priya.
“I’m sorry. What would you like?”
“Water will be fine, thank you. But don’t let me stop you.”
Seb checked the wine list. “I’ll have a glass of Merlot,” he said.
“As a banker,” said Priya, “you’d approve of how well this place is run. Most of the courses are simple and easy to prepare, so when you return to your table at the end of each act, they can serve you quickly.”
“I can see why you’re an analyst.”