1977 - I Hold the Four Aces Read Online Free Page B

patted Archer on his shoulder. “You’re doing all right, Archer.” He took out his wallet and produced a hundred-dollar bill. “Here, go buy yourself a drink.”
    As Archer’s fingers closed over the bill, Patterson, slightly unsteady, stumped off down the corridor to the elevator.
     
    * * *
     
    Seated at a corner table in l'Espadon grillroom of the Ritz Hotel, with Patterson at his side, Archer watched Grenville make his entrance.
    “Here he is, Mr. Patterson,” Archer said.
    Grenville had kept them waiting a quarter of an hour, and Patterson was now in an ugly mood.
    “Who the hell does he think he is?” he kept muttering as the minutes ticked away. “A goddamn gigolo!”
    But Grenville’s entrance impressed him. Wearing an immaculate beige-coloured suit, Grenville paused at the entrance: nonchalant, confident, and imposingly handsome.
    The maître d’hôtel hurried towards him.
    “Monsieur Grenville! This is a pleasure! You have been deserting us!”
    As this was in French, Patterson squinted at Archer.
    “What’s he say?”
    “The maître d’hôtel says it is a pleasure to see Mr. Grenville again,” Archer told him.
    “Is that right? The fink didn’t say that to me!”
    Patterson watched Grenville shake hands with the maître d’hôtel, and then talk briefly; then the maître d’hôtel conducted him towards Patterson’s table. On the way Grenville paused as an elderly waiter, fat, balding, bowed to him.
    “Why, Henri, I thought you had retired,” he said and shook hands.
    “Hell!” Patterson muttered, obviously impressed. “This guy seems to be known here.”
    “And is known at all the most important restaurants in Paris,” Archer said, delighted by the way Grenville was making his entrance. “I told you, Mr. Patterson, he is very high-class.”
    Grenville reached their table.
    “Hello, Jack,” he said, smiling at Archer, then he turned to Patterson. “You will be Mr. Patterson. I am Grenville.”
    Patterson stared up at him, his mean little eyes probing. Archer was scared that Patterson was going to be difficult, but obviously, Grenville’s smooth, forcible personality had made an impact.
    “Yeah. Archer has been telling me about you.”
    There was a waiter to pull out Grenville’s chair and he settled at the table.
    “It is over a year since I have been here,” Grenville said. “I have many happy memories of this great hotel.”
    The wine waiter was at his elbow.
    “Your usual, Mr. Grenville?”
    Grenville nodded as Patterson gaped. The wine waiter went away and the maître d’hôtel arrived with the menus.
    Grenville waved to Patterson.
    “Mr. Patterson is our host, Jacques,” he said. “Remember him. He is influential and important.”
    “Certainly, Mr. Grenville,” and the maître d’hôtel darted around the table and handed Patterson the menu. Thrown off his stride, Patterson stared at the menu which, being in French, he couldn’t read, then growled, “I’ll take onion soup and a rare steak.”
    Grenville’s martini arrived. He sipped and nodded his approval.
    “Absolutely right, Charles.”
    “And what would you like, Monsieur Grenville?” the maître d’hôtel asked, hovering over Grenville like a mother hen over her chick.
    Grenville didn’t consult the menu.
    “The langoustine, Louis?”
    “Impeccable, monsieur.”
    “Then why not the gratin de langoustine and the cane ton en cocotte?”
    “An excellent choice, Monsieur Grenville.”
    Grenville looked at Archer.
    “I suggest you take the same, Jack. It is extremely good.”
    Archer, who was famished, nodded eagerly.
    The maître d’hôtel left them.
    Grenville turned his flashing smile on Patterson.
    “Jack has explained the situation, Mr. Patterson, and I find it interesting. I suggest we go into details after lunch. It would be a pity to discuss business while we eat.” He gave his baritone, musical laugh. “Pleasure before work.” Then, without giving Patterson a chance to say anything, he