Once on board, they drank the champagne Jean-Pierre had captured at the wedding. Even Stephen seemed content, although he did occasionally revert to the theme of the missing $1.24.
‘How much do you imagine this champagne cost?’ teased Jean-Pierre.
‘That’s not the point. Not a penny more, not a penny less.’
Jean-Pierre decided he would never understand academics.
‘Don’t worry, Stephen. I’ve every confidence that James’s plan will bring in $1.24.’
Stephen would have laughed, but it gave him a headache.
‘To think that girl knew everything.’
On arrival at Heathrow, they had little trouble in clearing customs. The purpose of the trip had never been to bring back gifts. Robin made a detour to W. H. Smiths and picked up The Times and the Evening Standard. Jean-Pierre bargained with a taxi driver about the fare to central London.
‘We’re not some bloody Americans who don’t know the rate or the route and can be easily fleeced,’ he was saying, still not yet sober.
The taxi driver grumbled to himself as he nosed his black Austin toward the motorway. It was not going to be his day.
Robin read the papers happily, one of those rare people who could read in a moving car. Stephen and Jean-Pierre satisfied themselves with watching the passing traffic.
‘Jesus Christ.’
Stephen and Jean-Pierre were startled. They had rarely heard Robin swear. It seemed out of character.
‘God Almighty.’
This was too much for them, but before they could inquire, he began to read out loud:
‘ “B.P. announced a strike in the North Sea which is likely to produce 200,000 barrels of oil a day. The strike is described by their Chairman, Sir Eric Drake, as a major find. The British Petroleum Forties Field is one mile from the so far unexplored Prospecta Oil field and rumors of a bid by B.P. have sent Prospecta Oil shares to a record high of $12.25 at the close of business.” ’
‘Nom de Dieu,’ said Jean-Pierre. ‘What do we do now?’
‘Oh well,’ said Stephen. ‘I suppose we’ll have to work out a plan for how to give it all back.’