by Stan Mason
‘Damn!’ swore Rigby. ‘No continuity! I bet he kept everything in his head! That’s typical of this assignment!’
‘There’s a call for you on line three... ’she went on, only to be halted as he raised his hand in protest.
‘Don’t disturb my line of concentration, Betty!’ he warned her. ‘Contact the BBC and the ITV networks. And you’d better get me the Press. We need media coverage.’
‘The Press is already on the line waiting to speak with you. That’s the call on line three.’
The senior manager nodded and bowed slightly from the waist as if to applaud her efficiency. ‘Rigby,’ he grunted into the receiver.
‘Evans, Daily Tribune and Evening Gazette.’ The rich Welsh tones floated fluently over the public system and brought nostalgia to the bank manager. There were too few Welshmen involved in banking activities in the City and most of them had learned to talk like public schoolboys. It was so refreshing to hear the wonderful tones of a fully-fledged patriot again. ‘I understand you have a man at one of your branches threatening to blow it up with a bomb. Is that correct?’
‘Bad news travels fast, Mr, Evans, but I’m glad you rant because I need your help.’
‘And what can I do to help you?’
‘If you want a scoop, I’ve got one for you. At the side of our Croydon branch is a Swiss bank. The police have evacuated all the buildings nearby but, if you can gain entry, you could take a photograph of the man through the Manager’s window in the side street. You could get that photograph out in your early edition.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Rigby. I see you’re a man of the world. Do you wish to make a comment... something I can print with the photograph?’
The bank manager tapped the fingers of his left hand on the desk impatiently. ‘Evans... be a good fellow and get on with it. You can try to identify the man. Find out who knows him. Perhaps his mother, wife, partner or girl-friend. By the way, isn’t it your normal practice to get in touch with the bank’s Public Relations Department for information?’
‘Indeed,’ came the cool Welsh accent, ‘but they’re pretty useless. Lots of nice politically correct comments and no damned news. That’s why I’ve come to the horse’s mouth. I’ll get back to you later,’
Rigby’s face broke into a broad smile as he adopted an equivalent Welsh accent. ‘don’t worry, boyo! Just you get the picture, that’s all!’ He was still smiling as he returned the receiver into its cradle, but then the sound of his secretary’s voice broke into his day-dream.
‘The two young people... the one’s Mr. Fender asked you to see. They’ve arrived from London South,’ she informed him, failing to understand the amusement.
’Oh Hell!’ he grumbled coming down to earth. ’Do I really have to see them?; He looked at Betty Brewer and then shrugged his shoulders ‘I suppose I do. They certainly chose their moment! I’d better take them to a private office. I’ll go into the next room.’
‘But the next room is the Boardroom!’
‘Is the Board in session this morning?’
‘Not to my knowledge... but it is the Boardroom.’
‘When I took on this job, Betty,’ he told her dolefully, ‘no one said I had to be conventional. If anything urgent crops up I’ll be in there. If the television people come through, you know what to say to them.’
She was taken aback at having to handle such important matters. ‘Perhaps you’d care to put it in a nutshell for me so that I don’t get it wrong,’ she advanced quietly in case he disappeared through the door before she could ask him for clearer instructions. It was all very well for him to shoulder the heavy responsibility. He had the rank and the salary to compensate him for his trouble. It was another thing entirely when he delegated it to her.
‘Right,’ he responded, realising her predicament. ‘Nutshell situation for a very worried secretary.’ It was clear that he was teasing her but it had no effect on her at all. Ger main aim was to ensure she didn’t do something seriously wrong. ‘Swiss bank next door to the branch. Television camera focussed on the Manager’s window. Continuous monitoring of the situation. Close-up of criminal. Request from public to identify the man. Take any calls from his mother, wife, partner, brother, sister, mistress... anyone who knows him. Okay?’
She nodded without looking up at him as he left the room, reading the words she had written on her notepad and shook her head slowly. He may well have reasons to complain about his new appointment however the pressures of their first morning were beginning to overflow into her field of operation and that was difficult to accept even for the hardiest secretary. Her previous job had been pleasant and moderate. Now she was sitting directly in the line of fire for the Press, the police, the television networks and all the major problems facing the bank outside its normal run of business. It was Pandora’s box split wide open and she wasn’t certain that the change was good for her own career pattern or for job satisfaction. Perhaps the fact that wounded her mostly was that Rigby had received all the courtesies of the appointment but no one had bothered to discuss the matter with her. It was a sad reflection on the capability of the Personnel Department but then it was always the same with large organisations when individuals were merely tiny cog in a giant wheel.
Rigby met his two visitors in the corridor and led them away to the Boardroom. It was not the wisest of places to interview the two employees for the magnificence of the room was sufficient to cause both of them to gasp in awe. Their eyes widened like saucers as they perceived the highly-polished veneer walls, the massive ornately-carved marble columns situated at regular intervals within the grand room, and the enormous crystal chandeliers which were of such tremendous size that they took their breath away. In the centre of the room stood a giant oval table with a surface so highly-polished that it reflected the light like a mirror. It was surrounded by no less than fifteen chairs.
The senior manager noticed their wonderment and smiled as he started the conversation. ‘This is probably the first and last time you will venture into the Boardroom of this bank,’ he commented veering them away from the large table to a smaller one at the end of the room. He pointed to two chairs and they sat down gingerly. ‘Now tell me your first names and your ages.’
‘Roger,’ replied the young man quietly. ‘I’m twenty-one.’ He stared beyond Rigby as though expecting a lion rampant to come bounding through the wainscoting at any moment.
‘Valerie,’ responded the young lady, a little hesitantly. ‘I’m nineteen.’
‘Very well, Roger and Valerie. Let’s consider your problem and try to sort it out. We can start with your side of the story Roger, and then you can have your turn, Valerie. Remember I’m not here to judge either of you. I merely want to help.’
‘There’s not much to tell,’ explained the young man softly. ‘We met at the Local District Office about six months ago and became good friends. Last week she told me she was pregnant but we haven’t been going out with each other for over a month. That’s the story.’
Rigby stared at him bleakly. He couldn’t understand why Fender had been so insistent for him to see these young people. There was little that he could do to help them. ‘What do you say to that, Valerie?’ he asked, hoping that something more useful would emerge from her version.
‘It’s true we met six months ago and we went out together. We became good friends and out relationship blossomed. I thought he was going to ask me to marry him... ’
‘That’s a lie!’ denied Roger vehemently. Showing all the passion of a young man.
‘Hold it, son!’ cautioned the senior manager slight taken aback by the violent interruption. ‘You’ll have the opportunity to present your views in a moment. Just give Valeria a chance to tell her side of the story.’
‘I never said I would marry her,’ countered Roger, fearful of being tarred unjustly with a falsehood.
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��It is true,’ continued Valerie firmly. ‘He never actually asked me to marry him but from his words and actions he implied that he would. The things he said to me... ’ she tailed off as tears filled her eyes.
Roger raised his hands in abject despair and raised his eyes towards the ceiling as if to ask for help from a higher authority while Rigby placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. After a few moments, she composed herself and was able to continue.
‘The sad thing, Mr. Rigby,’ she went on, ‘is that he’s in love with me but he refuses to admit it.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked the senior manager, wondering whether she was about to disclose a new aspect of female intuition he had never understood before.
‘Can’t you see it in his eyes? Of course he loves me! Deep down he knows it too. He’s just too scared to take the plunge!’
‘And how do you feel about him?’
‘Would I let myself become pregnant if I didn’t feel that way about him? I don’t think so!’
‘That’s something we’ll come to shortly,’ uttered Rigby uncomfortably, diverting the trend of the conversation. He didn’t need to be a genius to recognise that this problem was way over his head. He had Fender to thank for that! The situation was even worse when the reflected that he couldn’t resolve domestic problems. How on earth was he supposed to assist someone else when he was unable to help himself. ‘What are your comments, Roger?’ he asked through the conflict of his personal thoughts.
‘I wouldn’t insult your intelligence with a reply, sir. It wouldn’t be worthy.’
‘Come on, Roger! The lady declares her love for you. She wants to marry you. You can’t really say it’s not worthy to reply!’
‘She and I... ’
‘Valerie! Her name’s Valerie!’ interrupted Rigby sharply, deciding to take him to task. ‘She claims you took advantage of her and now she’s carrying your child. A life created by both of you. So kindly call her by her name and let’s cut out the acid, shall we?’
Roger glowered at him immaturely for a moment and then began again in a deliberate manner. ‘Valerie and I went out together on a steady basis for two months. Then... one evening... she went out with another man. That was the start of the trouble.’
‘I went out with him because you stood me up, that’s why!’ she shouted unable to control her emotions. The words reverberated around the room so that the crystals rattled on one of the chandeliers. The noise drew their attention for a moment and they paused to look upwards before continuing the conversation.
‘I told you I’d been invited to a friend’s house that evening,’ he explained, ‘and then it wasn’t possible for me to leave. You immediately hunted round to find anything in trousers for the evening.’
‘And what does that prove?’ she demanded defiantly.
‘I’m not saying!’ He clammed up so quickly it was obvious that something further was irritating him although for reasons of his own he refused to divulge.
Rigby drew in a deep breath and shook his head slowly. ‘Roger,’ he charged, trying to coerce the young man to explain his fears, ‘Don’t you think this rift between the two of you has gone far enough? Let’s be adult and express our fears and doubts in private here and now. If you don’t get it off your chest, you never will. This is a watershed. It will have a bearing on both of your for the rest of your lives.’
The young man hesitated for a moment and then decided to come out into the open. ‘All right, if you must know,’ he declared bitterly. ‘I don’t see the point of marrying a woman so that I can raise another man’s child!’ With that declaration he folded his arms and turned away from them.
Valerie put her hand to her mouth, staring at him in disbelief. ‘You monster!’ she raged almost fit to explode. ‘God strike you dumb for uttering such filthy horrible words! Oh. Mr. Rigby!’ she sobbed. This time the tears flowed freely down her face.
The senior manager realised they were all sinking deeper into a giant quicksand from which the only result was certain disaster. Fender must have known how profoundly this matter had gone yet he hadn’t breathed a word of it. ‘Well,’ thought Rigby, ‘there will be a time of retribution and when that arrive there would be no mercy for Mr. Fender. ‘Have you anything to support that allegation, Roger?’ he demanded, with a stern expression on his face.
‘She went out with another man and spent the night with him to spite me. That much I know.’
that without proof?’
‘I’ve all the proof I need. She was angry with me that night. She took the man back to her apartment. Her flat-mate saw him there at three o’clock in the morning and he wasn’t wearing trousers. Is that good enough?’
Rigby turned to the distressed female. ‘Is that true?’
‘Of curse not! All I did was to let him see me home at eleven o’clock and he left outside my front door. Funny thing,’ she mused as more tears ran down her face, ‘he was annoyed because I wouldn’t let him kiss me.’
‘Well how do you account for the evidence of your flat-mate?’ asked Rigby sharply.
‘Four of us share the flat. The other girls often bring men home late at night. I don’t know which one Roger asked or why he’s saying that. He knows there’s no one else in my life.’
‘What do you say to that, Roger?’
‘Don’t let’s have tears. That’s a woman’s way to win an argument,’ complained the young man in an insolent manner.
‘Now you listen to me, son!’ warned Rigby as his blood-pleasure started to rise. ‘You’re on the end of a very short fuse! This lady’s very much in love with you and you seemed reasonable serious too which is reflected in her condition. You come along here with a cock-and-bull story to disclaim all liability. Well you can’t do that an get away with it. No one can force you to do the right thing even though your argument about another man doesn’t hold water so don’t pull the wool over your own eyes. It’s your child she’s carrying. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. Whether you believe she’s betrayed you is your business but at least be honest with yourself. This may be a fantastic opportunity to start a new life with someone who really loves you. Think about it! Think about it carefully! You know what I’m talking about.’
‘Not a clue, sir. Not a clue!’
Rigby shook his head sadly reflecting he was unable to penetrate the resistance offered by the young man. ‘Well I’m going to leave you both for a while to let you discuss this misunderstanding more fully. Clearly you haven’t been afforded the opportunity to thrash this out together. Now that we’ve cut through some of the dross, it may help you to get closer to the solution. All I can say is that you stay here until I return. Do I have your promise on that?’
Valerie nodded readily but although her companion consented, he indicated his reluctance by the expression on his face. Such immaturity cut no ice with the senior manager and he was seething with anger as he left them alone in the Boardroom. There were highly volatile matters requiring top-level decisions to be made in his office yet here he was acting as a nursemaid for Personnel Department on an issue that they were more competent to handle. The reason for his anger, however, was far more deep-rooted, aimed directly at himself for he realised only too well he should have told Fender what to do with his petty staff problems and refused to have become involved. He entered his office and moved quickly to his executive chair.
‘All quiet on the Western front?’ he asked calmly although he was still feeling prickly.
‘Both television networks have taken up the challenge,’ said his secretary. ‘There’ll be an item in the next news broadcast on both channels.’
‘Well done, Betty,’ he commended. ‘Get a television set installed in this office as quick as you can. And I want a helicopter standing on the roof of this building.’
‘A helicopter?’ she echoed in surprise.
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‘I presume the roof will take the strain. Better get on to Premises Department first and ask them to check whether it can take the weight before you get it flown there. Tell them it’s top priority. I want their best man on it!’
‘Why do you need a helicopter?’
‘In case I have to get to Croydon branch fast. If a chopper’s waiting on the roof, I can get there in less than twenty minutes. But I don’t want one to crash through the roof. I’ve enough problems at the moment as it is.’
As Betty Brewer set to her task, the door opened and Sam Elliott breezed in with a smile stealing from the corners of his mouth. ‘Morning, John!’ he greeted mischievously. Somehow Elliott could make a morning greeting sound like a distinct threat,
‘Sorry, Sam!’ the senior executive told him flatly. ‘Too busy for early morning chit-chat or general gossip today. I’ve a man-sized problem on my hands!’
‘So I understand. Rumour has it that you’ve got trouble in Croydon.’
‘Don’t you have enough work in your office to keep you busy these days?’
‘Cool down!’ soothed the other man with the obvious intention of aggravating his colleague. ‘It’s no use taking it out on me.’
‘Well, for your information, as you appear so interested in my work, the police have everything under control.’
‘Don’t be so touchy, John. I’m merely reflecting it’s sad this should happen to you on your first day in the job. But that’s the fortune of war I suppose.’
‘Sam!’ advised Rigby unguardedly, ‘Take your cliches and stuff it down someone else’s throat. I’m not in the mood to play games with you.’
‘Games!’ repeated Elliott, opening his eyes widely in ostensible surprise. ‘I simply don’t want you to forget my name when you jack in this appointment in three months’ time. I want to be certain that every time you see the Old Man you’ll mention me. Look at the advantages! All the pressure will be taken off you to rest on me. What more could you wish?’
