Jeffrey Archer lay on the floor during a 2013 Chennai interview about Best Kept Secret

In 2013 at the Taj Coromandel in Chennai, novelist Jeffrey Archer lay on the floor and began brushing the carpet during an interview arranged to discuss Best Kept Secret, the third book in the Clifton Chronicles. What began as an icebreaker about cricket escalated into a brief, tense argument before the conversation resumed.

I arrived early for the meeting as part of a regular workday at a previous media organisation, nervous because Archer’s books had shared prime space on my bookshelf alongside Sidney Sheldon, Michael Chrichton and John Grisham while I was growing up. Waiting in the hotel lobby I scanned newspapers carrying reports of the ongoing India-Australia match at Mohali and decided to open on cricket because I had read that Archer was an ardent cricket fan, with a passion for English county cricket, had played the game in his youth and admired players from the subcontinent such as Sachin Tendulkar and Rahul Dravid.

When I was ushered into his room by an eager PR professional, the television was playing highlights of the previous day’s play; I introduced myself and remarked how good India had been on the cricket field in recent times. Archer looked me straight in the eye, got up and without hesitating lay on the floor and started to brush the carpet. “This,” he thundered at a hapless me, “This is how you wipe your cricket grounds.” Wielding an imaginary towel and mop, he continued the pantomime until it reached my legs.

He followed the gesture with words. “Rubbish,” he said, in a thick English accent, “Mops and buckets...rubbish.” The remark referred to how Indian groundsmen had swept and sponged off rainwater after the first day of the rain-hit Test match at Mohali, a point that briefly shifted the mood from playful to confrontational.

The Indian cricket fan in me protested by pointing out that India had already won a couple of matches in that series, and Archer answered in a booming voice: “But you lost against England at home – so don’t get me started on that!” The room fell silent; the PR professional froze in a corner, the photographer who had accompanied me held his finger on the shutter but did not click, and my hands began to shake as Archer lay on the floor looking up in anticipation.

Sensing the strain, Archer rose and patted my shoulder as a gesture of reassurance, which allowed me to relax. I exhaled and he broke the tension with a simple question: “Shall we begin the interview?” My conversation with the author then proceeded and, by my account, turned out not so bad after all.