Take the lift to the fifth floor of the Berkeley Court Hotel in Dublin on the first properly sunny morning of summer. Enter Jeffrey Archer's suite to see how someone very rich behaves when their breakfast tray has not been taken away. He's in a strop. This is a man who likes order and giving orders. This man, when a guest on Radio 4's Desert Island Discs, selected as one of his eight records the little ditty It's Hard To Be Humble (When You're Perfect In Every Way).
"I was told that tray would be gone by nine," he says sharply, from the window. "Why isn't it?" A young woman scurries in, and removes the offending tray. "And where's the coffee?" he snaps. "It was supposed to be here at nine. Bring the coffee!" There is more of this, quite a lot more. The coffee arrives. The waitress backs out of the room. She looks mortified. There are those who own millions and there are those who say "Thanks a million".
Jeffrey Archer's name is synonymous with many things, some of which are more clearly defined than others. Certain facts: ex-Tory MP, blockbuster author, frontrunner would-be candidate for Mayor of London, fantastically rich. There are other things also associated with Archer, which are not quite so clear, chief among them being the thorny matter of exactly which university he attended, and why he paid £2,000 to a prostitute he claims he never met.
Archer sits, leg over knee, in an armchair. He looks cross. The sun glitters off his cufflinks: little gold cars. He's in Ireland to publicise his latest book, The Eleventh Commandment. Why? This man gets such consistently bad press and reviews that it is mystifying that he actively courts yet more coverage.
Writing in The Guardian, Peter Preston observed that to refer to Archer's characters as cardboard was "to insult the British packaging industry". That's one of the kinder comments. It's as if he is addicted to publicity itself, since he certainly does not need the money.
Then, in the course of our interview, Archer refers to a piece in one of the British papers during the week, which covered his attempt to stand as Tory candidate for Mayor of London. He says: "It was only two inches." It's an illuminating comment, one that suggests he measures his press coverage in terms of length. The people of London have just voted in a referendum to once again have a mayor of London. The elections will be held some time within the coming 18 months. Archer is gunning for the Tory candidacy. "I'm at the stage of my life where I'd like to hold political office of real worth. This job would involve working 364 days a year, 19 hours a day. I have energy!
"Listen," he instructs, leaning out of his armchair. "A man with energy and talent can be a king. A man with energy and no talent can be a prince. But a man with no energy and no talent is a pauper." Muse on appropriately non-regal Irish equivalents. A man with energy and talent has an island, Georgian house, and racehorses. A man with no energy and no talent is a cute hoor.
"My friends," continues Archer, "say I should travel and have an easy life. They think I'm nuts." He sits back in the chair and gives a great, big, toothy grin. "But I suspect I've always been driven."
Different things have driven Archer down the years. In 1991, he co-ordinated the Campaign for Kurdish Relief, which raised more than £57 million. Anti-Saddam and a very Tory thing to do, but asked why he was interested in this particular cause, he says: "My youngest son was about 17 at the time. He brought it to my attention, and said I could do something about it, but that he couldn't. So I did."
Like Everest, the Kurdish problem was there. Archer raised the money not, it would appear, from any personal passion about the Kurdish people, but because he could. This explains why, in a recent BBC Omnibus profile of Archer, it was claimed that when the delegation of Kurds arrived to collect the cheque, Archer addressed them, not by their names, but as Kurd One, Kurd Two and Kurd Three.
Does he still see Margaret Thatcher these days? "Pretty regularly. About once a fortnight. In fact, she's coming to stay with us in a couple of weeks." He looks genuinely delighted at this prospect.
Archer is reported to love art and has his own extensive private collection. Are there any Irish artists among them? "I don't know," is the reply. I meditate briefly on an art collection so large that one does not know what is in it.
Then Archer smiles. "Actually," he says, "funny you should ask me that. I was just looking at the newspapers when you arrived. I've been collecting a lot of Warhol lately and I see he's gone through the roof. Have you seen today's papers yet? It's stupid!" and he puts his fingertips together and looks very pleased indeed. I am gobsmacked. Does this man really think I own an original Warhol or that I look up their market value in the financial pages first thing every morning? It should be hilarious, but somehow it's simply graceless.
At the end, he gives a limp handshake and says "Thanks for coming up." I leave the suite. Going down in the lift again, I keep hearing his last words resounding in my head and wonder what is somehow peculiar about them. Not thanks-for-the-interview/ thanks-for-seeing-me/thanks-for-your-time, but Thanks for coming up. Thanks for coming up. That's it. Jeffrey Archer has thanked me for ascending briefly to his level.
The Eleventh Commandment is published by Harper Collins, price 16.99 in the UK.