by Stan Mason
‘You can scoff,’ she scolded mockingly, ‘but I’m telling you the truth... and you know it!’
He glanced at his gold cigarette case and then reached across the desk to extract a cigarette from the packet produced by Ben Howard. ‘Do you know, Betty, I feel as though I’m going to wake up in two minutes time to find the bedclothes have fallen off and all this is a nightmare.
He lit the cigarette and thought about his last comment for a few moments. In his present frame of mind, he would have given a lot for his words to come true. But life wasn’t like that... one had to face up to reality. The heart of the matter rested on a much more sensitive issue if everything went pear-shaped. Could he live with the thought of the death of those three men on his conscience? The burden of that responsibility was overwhelming. He couldn’t even expunge a fictional dream from his mind let alone the reality of horror. It was a very daunting prospect!
Chapter Six
The pace of life at Head Office in general terms was pretty punishing. The pressure of work emanated from the policy-makers, and from those directing progress who required dedication and determination from the early hours of the morning into personal leisure time during the evening. There was no easy release from those who entered the rat-race. The effect was the exhibition of emotions under stress which identified flaws in the character of many executives who tried to maintain a polished veneer to colleagues and staff but were unable to hide indefinitely symptoms of cynicism, resentment, anxiety, despair, irrational judgement and an element of anti-establishment The building was a pressure-cooker which pulsed under the shock-waves of domestic and political undertones. With the exception of the periods when the bank staggered under the weight of political indigestion, fuel was added by suspicion and political intrigue, especially where personal progress and promotion was concerned, by the numerous grapevines which sagged under a plethora of rumour... the majority of which veered an uncomfortable distance from the truth.
At the top of the tree, many senior executives had lost touch with the real essence of purpose and activity in the field. They had a tendency to dwell on maintaining parity profit levels with other major banks, fighting fiercely against competition in the banking arena and developing business on a progressive basis regardless of the outcome, It was so long since they had personally dealt with the customers that they had forgotten all about them. As one executive was quoted as saying:’ If it wasn’t for the customers, this job would be really great!’ There were many large departments but, because of the shortage of senior executives at the apex of the pyramid, the fighting to reach a higher scale became more intense. This was all in contrast to the ordinary branch managers who started work at nine o’clock each day and ended at five o’clock, or sometimes earlier. They would go sailing, fishing, walking, or pursue other leisure interests without having to haul home a briefcase full of work. Clearly, there was a lot to be said of the considerable merit for the easy life beyond the realm of the asphalt jungle of the City of London.
In the busy trend of City life, there was always the cut and thrust as well as the parry of exigency; the pace, race and chase of emergency; the hurry, flurry and scurry of necessity, and the need to move faster to cope with the avalanche of applications and projects. The drive required for such prolific activity was tracked down to job satisfaction, personal ambition, a determination to achieve goals and the need to impress superiors. There was also the probability that one had become trapped in the slipstream of a fast-moving business current. It had the effect of sapping the energies of those involved and diverted their minds from personal pleasures to corporate demand, forcing them to dedicate themselves to corporate activity in defiance of personal pleasures and family needs. A further issue was the matter of ill-health which often affected those over the age of fifty as a result of the continued over-concern for their jobs for if they failed to perform for one reason or another they were replaced by another candidate willing to step into their shoes. Each year the list of those retiring grew rapidly, passed off with a pension and thrown on the scrap heap. After all, who wanted to employ a fifty year old ex-banker? Such men and women were removed from their colleagues, their friends, the family had grown up and left the parental home, the wife or husband had lost their attraction of yesteryear and perhaps worst of all was the fact that after all the hard work and sacrifice he had made on behalf of the bank, they didn’t want him any more. Most employees dwelt under the illusion that they were indispensable; suddenly there was nothing! On reflection, life passed by so quickly that there was on a handful of major incidents to recall. It really wasn’t worth it! However, once caught up in the maelstrom of ambitious fever, it was very difficult to find a cure!
The office remained quiet for some time with Rigby, Howard and Betty Brewer left to their own thoughts in an atmosphere of frustrated tension. All that could be heard was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional nervous cough by Ben Howard. Eventually, one of the telephones rang on Betty Brewer’s desk.
‘Sandra for you on line two,’ she told him becoming concerned at the flow of personal calls disturbing her boss in such difficult hours.
Rigby puffed out his cheeks and lifted the receiver to his ear. ‘Sweetheart!’ he admonished in the gentlest way that he could. ‘I’m up to my ears in work her. Is this really important?’
‘It’s important to me,’ she snapped back at him sharply. ‘How you view it is your own affair. You know I wouldn’t ring you if it wasn’t important. At least I felt I ought to warn you.’
His ears perked up at the comment. ‘Warn me? About what?’
‘I don’t like to discuss personal business on the telephone, you know that. I had hoped to speak with you at lunchtime but you were hopping about all over the place. After that, I decided to wait until you came home this evening but now it can’t be delayed.’
‘Sandra!’ he chided irritably. ‘If there’s something you want to tell me please get on with it. You’re talking gibberish!’
‘Do you want it straight from the shoulder or dressed up in frills?’
‘You’ve gone and crashed the car!’ he predicted, anticipating her declaration. ‘I knew it. You crashed the car!’
‘No I haven’t crashed the car!’
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling with relief. ‘All right. Straight from the shoulder then.’ He took a deep breath as he tensed himself for her statement.
‘I went to the doctor this morning... ’
‘You didn’t tell me you were unwell,’ he interrupted rudely. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Will you please let me finish, John!’ she scolded. ‘I went to the doctor and he diagnosed my complaint as serious.’
The banker felt a cold chill run down his spine. He was a very poor nurse when it came to tending the sick. ‘What do you mean by serious?’
‘A chronic case of pregnancy.’ She stopped and waited for the penny to drop.
‘You’re going to have a baby!’ His voice was tempered with enthusiasm as the words sank slowly into his mind.
‘There’s no other form of pregnancy listed in the medical journals,’ she laughed. ‘You’re going to be a father. How do you feel about it?’
‘That’s marvellous!’ he managed to say, trying to find the right words with difficulty. ‘Bloody marvellous!’
‘But we do have a problem.’
He froze for a moment as a wave of concern struck him. ‘There’s some kind of deformity!’
‘Of course not, you fool! The problem’s Diane. I had a telephone call from her ten minutes ago which is why I’m ringing you. We had the usual battle of wits which ended up with a stupid bitchy remark from me. I told her it wasn’t my fault that she was barren and that I was pregnant. You can imagine the impact that had on her.’
He shrugged his shoulders, disregarding the jealousy of his wife in favour of the good news which overwh
elmed him. ’Well it’s too late to do anything about that,’ he told her flatly. ’We need to concentrate on more important matters Did the doctor tell you when our son is due?’
She paused for a moment. ’Firstly,’ she scolded lightly, ’it’ll be our daughter not a son. Secondly, your wife isn’t the sort of person to accept the situation. Be warned and forewarned that she’ll come back at you in any way she can hurt you.’
I fail to see what action she can take to cause us concern. A few telephone calls perhaps. A number of wild threats through her solicitor maybe. She’s doing practically all that at present anyway. She can’t resort to physical force unless she wants to find herself in very deep water. No... this is the end of the line for her.’
’Mark my words, John. She’ll find some means of punishing you for the humiliation she’s suffering on the forthcoming birth of our love child.’
‘I don’t care a damn,’ he told her bluntly. ‘We’ll remain a happy family whatever she tries to do.’
‘It wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you but I didn’t have a choice after she rang me.’
‘I’m only interested in your safety and welfare, sweetheart. Who knows what’s in that woman’s mind?’
Sandra laughed lightly at his concern. ‘Aren’t you over-dramatising, darling?’
Rigby sighed into the receiver, indicating his unease at the situation. ‘I don’t know,’ he said dolefully. ‘Diane can be very vindictive as you know.’
‘If she starts trouble, people will think she’s going through the menopause and ignore her.’
‘She can be a very nasty creature,’ commented the banker. ‘Anyway we’ve talked enough about her. Why don’t you go home and rest?’
‘I can’t do that,’ she laughed. ‘There’s a lot of work to do in the office. I don have work to do, you know. Bye now!’
There was a click and the line went dead. He replaced the instrument and stared at the other two. ‘I’m going to be a father,’ he announced with a foolish grin on his face, although they were fully aware of the news from the conversation that had taken place.
They echoed their congratulations but Rigby’s mind was too clouded and distant to hear their good wishes. He reflected that he could establish his relationship with Sandra on a much sounder footing now without fearing that she might leave him for some younger man. The baby would tie them together in a bond that was as tight as matrimony. Parenthood had been a factor which had been missing from his life so far. If Diane had been fruitful, their marriage would certainly have remained intact. However, who could be wise enough to live with the would-be and could-be of life and still come out on top?
‘Mr. Chesterton is waiting to speak with you on line one,’ Betty Brewer cut into his thoughts but, before he could answer the call, Ben Howard leapt to his feet.
‘Here it is!’ he shouted, pointing to the television screen.
‘Tell Chesterton to hold on for a minutes, will you, Betty.’ instructed Rigby moving forward to turn up the volume.
A newsreader appeared on the screen with a serious expression on his face. ‘Breaking news concerning a man at the Croiydon branch of the Imperial Bank who is sitting in the Manager’s office with a holdall containing a bomb. His demands are that he is given all the money in the downstairs vault or he will blow up the branch. The man is believed to be in his late forties but he has not yet been identified.’ A photograph of the man appeared on the screen. ‘I you recognised him, contact Chief Inspector Church on the following number.’ A telephone number appeared on the screen and the banker turned down the volume.
‘They didn’t put our telephone number on the screen,’ commented Howard, as the newsreader continued with the broadcast.
‘Protocol relates that the police must be the one’s to be notified in such emergency cases,’ explained Rigby solemnly. ‘At least our telephone number was printed in the newspaper. I suppose we have to count our blessings.’
‘What about the other networks?’ asked his assistant. ‘Do they operate in the same way.’
‘I should think so,’ came the reply.
‘I still have Mr. Chesterton on the line,’ persisted his secretary with a gentle reminder, continuing to press her hand over the mouthpiece.
Rigby apologies and picked up the receiver mechanically to speak with the other man ‘Sorry to keep you, Mr. Chesterton,’ he began politely. ‘What can I do for you?’
He had met the man about two years earlier and had a great deal of respect for his work and dedication to the bank. Chesterton was a very likeable person. In his middle fifties, an extremely overweight, he was always full of good humour and cheer. He was one of those rare people who seemed to surface quickly under pressure, against overwhelming odds, and he always came up smiling. The man seemed totally resilient and few colleagues entertained feelings of animosity towards him.
‘I’m a little confused,’ he admitted. ‘Somewhat puzzled, you might say. I attended a meeting of representatives of the other major clearing banks at the Bank of England earlier today. Our normal weekly meeting to discuss matters of credit and advances, and all that. We were talking about long-term lending when Galloway, a senior executive in a competitor’s bank, made a comment that chilled me to the bone.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said, it’s all right for you, Chesterton, your Special Loan Scheme had four months of internal testing so you should be ready to make a final decision on it soon.’
‘Why did that comment cause you so much concern?’
’Our new loan scheme has been a secret project for exactly four months. Only a handful of people are privy to that information. How did he find out about it? Even more important, who told him?’
’Couldn’t it be that this Galloway made a wild guess and happened to get it right? A kind of pot-shot. Who else in this bank is privy to the information?’
‘Myself, Alan Fisher, Peter Pullman, John Hicks in Computer Division and Sam Elliott.’
Rigby’s eyes shot up as the last name was mentioned. For the first time he sensed the possibility of triumph over his arch-enemy. It would be stooping to blackmail but it was a golden opportunity to to stem the ambitious parasite once and for all. It was inconceivable that Elliott would jeopardise his career by passing secret information to competitors... unless it was totally clandestine and he knew he would get away with it. However, what did he hope to gain from such a practice? An information swap perhaps? Important items of interest concerning competitors could enable him to gain an advantage over his colleagues when it came to making decisions or impressing senior executives in the bank. No wonder he always seemed so right in his assumption and so confident when he made them. He sacrificed the secrets of his own bank in order to aspire to the knowledge of the others!
Despite his belief that Elliott was the culprit, Rigby fell back on his view of fair play. What if the man was not the quisling? There was the possibility that any of the other s privy to the information might be guilty. If accusations were made against Elliott and, by some sheer quirk of fate they were false, Sam would certain capitalise on the error.
‘I still say that the man may have made a lucky guess,’ safeguarded Rigby. ‘After all, you haven’t any recurrent situations to provide you with proof.’
‘But I have,’ returned Chesterton, puffing and wheezing at the other end of the line. ‘This isn’t the first time it’s happened. In fact there have been two other cases. I’ve become more suspicious over the past three months. Someone is systematically leaking information from our bank to competitors. We need to do something about it.’
‘You’re right, Chesterton. It has to be stopped before further damage is done. What were the other comments that made you suspicious?’
‘Two months ago, the matter of marketing plans came up. Afterwards, we congregated at the bar talking shop as usual
. Pretty ordinary stuff until one chap bent my ear as to how our seven-year marketing plan was progressing. To tell you the truth, I didn’t even know about that one. It was top-level secret. By golly, we never had a marketing plan that lasted for more than three years before. Suddenly, this competitor’s talking to me about the policy employed by my own bank!’
‘Who was involved in drawing up the marketing plan?’
‘I haven’t a clue. Almost certainly the Head of Marketing but I don’t really know.
‘What was the other one you mentioned?’
‘Now that one’s really interesting. Change in our police concerning corporate customers. About a month ago, after the marketing incident, I was approached by a competitor about our new policy development in the corporate customer field. Our past thinking was that large companies employed their staff to deal with insurance, exporting, computer work, payroll, and all that. Our bank had developed a secret plan to change all that. Twenty per cent of the companies in this country control nearly eighty per cent of the business. It seemed sensible for them to allow the bank to do all that for them. An Account Executive was appointed to look into the project and develop it. Now how did this chap know about it, that’s what I want to know.’
‘Who was aware of this concept within the bank?’
‘Once again, I have no idea. I don’t wish to start a witch hunt but this matter’s getting serious. It’s getting so that if I want to learn about the policy of my own bank I have to ask competitors. Is that not ludicrous? These gems are coming from someone inside our bank. They must be!’
‘Do you have any idea who might be doing this?’
‘You’ll have to do your own homework on this one. It’ll take time to eliminate suspects and get down to the source. I realise that.’
‘There’s nothing we can do about the information given away in the past as long as we stop the blighter for leaking it away in the future,’ uttered Rigby sadly. ‘It’s not fun to learn there’s a fifth-columnist in your organisation. Are you certain there’s nothing that triggers off any clue to whoever is involved? A phrase, an odd sentence, or a word that could set your mind wandering along a path?’
