by Stan Mason
‘I think you should hear the whole story before you misconstrue matters through anger,’ expressed Rigby calmly. ‘If I convinced you by good reason why staff priorities weren’t up to scratch today would you give me a fair hearing?’
‘It would have to be good,’ retorted Roger. ‘Bloody good!’
‘I spent the day trying to coax a man in the Manager’s office in our Croydon branch not to blow up the staff and the branch with a bomb which he had in his holdall. He demanded that we give him the contents of the safe or he would carry out his threat. Is that good enough for you?’
Valerie paled a little, placing her hand to her mouth in horror. ‘Oh, no!’ she gasped.
‘I hope you have some kind of proof of that!’ returned Roger suspiciously.
‘Every evening newspaper will carry the story and it’ll be on the television news as well, I’m certain.’
Roger pulled a face and shrugged, staring at the floor. ‘Well how could we know about that,’ he muttered, coming down to earth.
‘What you also don’t know is that I uncovered one of the biggest computer frauds in the bank today. That caused a great deal of friction, I can tell you. There was also a demonstration of hundreds of people in front of the bank which I had to handle. It threatened to turn into a riot and it’s apparent that there’ll be a strike of banking staff. I was involved in all those problems. Now... do you still feel that I let you down... that I gave you a low priority?’
‘I think perhaps we owe you an apology,’ relented Valerie rapidly. ‘We didn’t know about any of those things.’
‘Well I had no intention of telling you of the affairs of my day but that’s how it happened. More importantly, have you resolved your difficulties yet?’
The young woman smiled for the first time. ‘We’re going to get married... as soon as possible,’ she informed him jubilantly.
‘Wonderful!’ congratulated the senior banker. He pumped the hand of the young man. ‘You have a lot of things to discuss and many plans to make.’
‘We were here for a long time, Mr, Rigby,’ commented Roger dolefully. ‘We discussed practically everything already.’
Rigby nodded sagely. He delved into his pocket and took out some money. ‘Here, take this! Go out and get something to eat and celebrate with a bottle of wine.’
‘Thank you,’ responded Valerie appreciative of the gesture.
‘But heed this,’ he warned with all the authority he could muster. ‘If I have need to counsel either of you about your relationship with each other again, I shall look for blood! Now... off with you!’
They departed quickly, clutching the money he had given them, as Rigby sat down on one of the ornate chairs and basked in the glory of their youthfulness. Experience polished a rough diamond in the effluxion of time but it was refreshing to see pure passion without logic and immaturity in its simplicity. They seemed far too young to get married and have children but that was the illusion which repeated itself throughout history.
He lifted himself tiredly from the chair and returned to his office. It was near the end of the working day and little more activity was expected. Perhaps he could closed the book and end it there. It was a thought close to his heart. He had hardly time to sit at his desk when there was a gentle tapping on the door. HE looked up at his secretary who shrugged her shoulders.
‘Come in!’ she called out.
The door opened and a short nervous lady of about fifty years of age entered the office. ‘I don’t know whether I’m in the right place,’ she broached softly. ‘I’m looking for Clement Davies’s office.’
The banker stared at her for a moment screwing up his face as he knew that he was going to tell her the bad news. ‘What’s our connection with Mr. Davies?’ he asked simply.
‘I’m his wife,’ she declared.
‘His wife?’ repeated Rigby woodenly. ‘I’m sorry but Clement died of a heart attack.’ He waited for the impact with baited breath.
‘I know that,’ she retorted. ‘I’ve come to collect his things.’
Rigby sighed with relief. He turned to Betty Brewer. ‘Arrange for Mr. Davies’s effects to be brought here, will you?’ He turned back to the woman. ‘I wish we had met on a better occasion, Mrs. Davies. He was a fine man. Always so wrapped up in his work.’
‘Tell me about it! The people here might have thought he was great but, as a husband, he was a failure. I’ve had years of experience.’
‘Many people considered him to be dedicated to the bank.’
‘Are you kidding,’ she responded sharply. ‘Was that the impression he gave?’
‘I thought that was the reason why you divorced... because he was a workaholic. He worked day and night at the job.’
‘Day and night?’ she guffawed. ‘Is that your impression. You didn’t know him at all, did you?’
Rigby registered surprise on his face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I have to hand it to Clement. He kept all his lights under a bushel.’
‘As far as I knew he was totally dedicated to the bank.’
’Huh... people often thought far more of him that they should have done. How good is your judgement on people, Mr. Rigby?’
‘Pretty good I would say.’
‘Really!’ she riposted. ‘Well you knew nothing about Clement, that’s for sure. Do you know why my husband left me?’ The senior executive shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. ‘We separated because he decided to life with a woman half his age on a houseboat on the River Thames. It was about four months after she bore his first child.’
‘I didn’t think he had any children,’ uttered Rigby in awe.
‘We have two sons and a daughter. They’re all grown up and married now.
Rigby began to feel extremely uncomfortable in the belief that the worst had not yet been told.
‘Some time after his mistress had her second baby,’ she went on, ‘there was a storm... one of the worst in local history. Clement had been working late that night for once in his life. When he got to the houseboat, it was smashed to pieces and the three occupants were drowned. He went to pieces after that. Well... a man in his early fifties, going through the change in life, falling in love with a young woman, having two children and then losing everything. That’s why his smoking and drinking increased. It wasn’t working in the bank that did it. Then came the South Moluccans.’
There was a long pause as Rigby almost sat on the edge of his seat to pay attention to the story. ‘I’ve never heard anything about them,’ he told her.
‘South Molucca’s in the Pacific Ocean, One of a group of islands controlled by Holland. Over the past twenty years, many South Moluccans campaigned against Holland to gain independence for their homeland. The Dutch government refused and the South Moluccans stepped up their activities. Clement had to visit Holland for the bank. He was approached by some South Moluccans and he did a deal with them.’
‘What sort of deal?’ The story was beginning to gain momentum. The senior executive feared that the bank was involved in an international conspiracy.
‘He rented a flat in London and smuggled two South Moluccans into the country. The three of them lived in a one bed-roomed flat.’
‘The three of them!’
Mrs. Davies took a long hard look at him and smiled. ‘You didn’t know him at all. He wouldn’t live with two men. The South Moluccans were both young women!’
Betty Brewer burst into a bout of coughing and almost fell off the edge of her chair.
‘I find all this hard to believe, Mr. Davies,’ cut in the banker suspiciously, trying hard to come to terms with her story. ‘I didn’t know your husband well but he was always around in the bank... always working.’
‘That’s how the problems began,’ she went on.
‘What problems?’
A chill ran down Rigby’s spine.
‘Someone in the bank made it his business to find out about Clement. Someone else knew what he was up to and they were blackmailing him. You see a child was born to one of the Moluccan women. He could have married her to avoid the immigration authorities sending her back but there was the other woman to consider. He couldn’t marry both of them. She knew people and contacts in Holland and she trafficked drugs to pay for the blackmailer. But the ante was raised. God knows what would have happened to Clement if he hadn’t died.’
‘Do you have any idea of the identity of the person blackmailing him?’ asked Rigby innocuously.
‘That’s the sad part. The man will go free.’
‘Have you any letters or papers from Clement that might show some references?’
‘No, nothing. That’s why I’m here to collect his things. He actually came to see me once for help. He mentioned someone named Sam but my father was called Sam and he died twenty years ago.
The eyes of Betty Brewer and Rigby met briefly and it was clear that the same thought was running through their minds. There was on one Sam they knew in the bank... Sam Elliott! Without further evidence however, it would be impossible to determine whether he was actually the culprit. Elliott knew Davies well and often had lunch with him and he was the kind of heartless character who would delight in blackmailing a colleague.
‘So you see,’ continued the widow, ‘you hardly knew Clement at all.’
‘What happened to both the South Moluccan women?’ he ventured inquisitively.
‘They’re both in the custody of the Home Office who are sorting it all out with the Dutch authorities.’
There was a sharp knock on the door and a messenger entered carrying a small cardboard box which Betty Brewer took from him.
‘Here you are,’ she told the woman, handing her the box. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’
Mrs. Davies left the office and Rigby stared at his secretary glumly.
‘The great illusionist,’ he uttered. ‘Now you see him, now you don’t. Did you believe any of that?’
‘I don’t know but you could always check up with the Home Office about the South Moluccan women.’
‘Was she just trying to get her own back on her ex-husband and spinning us a yarn. That’s the point.’
Betty Brewer looked at him ruefully. ‘A young mistress on a houseboat. Two young children. A tragedy when they all drowned. Two South Moluccan women. Another baby. Trafficking in drugs and blackmail. I’ve always wanted to write fiction... and here it is... the whole story!’
Rigby shook his head. ‘And what about Sam?’
‘Surely it couldn’t be!’ returned his secretary feebly. ‘We have to be really careful.’
‘You’re right. It’ll have to rest there. Can you imagine what would happen if the Press got hold of a story like this?’
His secretary turned her attention to the telephone which began to ring. ‘You’re summoned the office of the Assistant Chief Executive,’ she called out. ‘It’s nearly five o’clock. Do you want me to quit or await your return?’
‘No, you go, Betty. Thanks for your efforts today. You were a great help. Have an nice evening.’
Once again he stood outside MacDonald’s office door. This time he treated the visit much more calmly without the nervous knot of muscles in his stomach. The tension which underpinned nervous worry and imaginary fears would never surface within him again. He rapped on the door filled with new-found confidence.
MacDonald leaned over his desk ostensibly ignorant that anyone had entered the room continuing to write comments on the report in front of him. Rigby coughed lightly and shuffled his feet but he failed to attract the other man’s attention so he waited patiently for an audience. In due course, the senior executive lowered his pen and looked up beneath his bushy eyebrows to face him.
‘Rigby!’ he uttered, as though the Head of Functional Control had materialised out of thin air at a convenient moment. ‘Take a seat. Look at this pile of work. I don’t know how they expect me to read it all.’
The subordinate obeyed the command and sat down crossing his legs to assume a comfortable position. ‘You asked to see me.’
‘I understood that you did a good job today. You won’t get many compliments from me, so don’t ever fish for them. You gave a wonderful performance on how to tackle the work of Functional Control. A superlative performance.’
‘I’m glad you’re satisfied.’
The smile suddenly fell form MacDonald’s face as he recalled the seedier elements of the day’s work. ‘ I cannot condone however, anyone breaking the rules of the bank for any reason whatsoever.’
‘With due respect, sir... ’
‘With due respect nothing, Rigby! I only allow a certain licence with Functional Control.’
‘Well there’s only eighty-nine days of our deal before I come out of Functional Control, Mr. MacDonald,’ he taunted.
‘Don’t tell me that you doubt yourself after the accomplishments of today. My main concern is whether it was a flash-in-the-pan. Can you sustain the effort, I ask myself. Do you have any observations?’
Rigby stared at him thoughtfully. ‘It was quite a first day. The computer fraud interested me. I might have save the bank a fortune in the long run.’
‘I thought about that,’ commented the senior executive quietly placing his hands together in front of him. ‘What would you say if I told you that I intend to do away with Functional Control?’
‘Who would be the trouble-shooter of the bank? Who would do the work?’
‘Everyone would have to deal with their own problems. They all lean on Functional Control to help them instead of handling the problems themselves.’
‘I think it’s a good idea but really it’s up to the Head of Functional Control to tell the Heads of Departments to do it themselves.’
‘I like you, Rigby’ exclaimed the Assistant Chief Executive. ‘I’m really glad the Board chose you. It’s difficult in management progression to fit round pegs into round holes but they seem to have succeeded with you.’
‘The Executive proposes; the Board disposes. Isn’t that what you said.’
MacDonald stared at him with a steely look in his eye. ‘Tell me, how did you know that bomb was real? The police could have been right, you know.’
Rigby offered him a gentle smile before replying to the question. ‘If I told you the answer to that, you’d be as wise as me!’
He rose and went to the door, glancing back and noticing a fraction of a smile on the other man’s face. With such a man at the helm of his department, MacDonald could afford to turn the other cheek occasionally in a battle of wits.
Rigby left the office and stood outside the door for a few moments. There were eighty-nine days left for him to make a decision whether or not to stay as Head of Functional Control. He could live with the work for a while, despite the pressure and problems, but it was his personal life that prompted attention. He still wanted to prove himself to the woman with whom he lived. Sandra might not wish him to be anything more than the man she loved but he needed to prove himself for his own sake. Now that she was expecting his child, however, the danger of losing her had faded quickly. He was astounded by the story told to him by Mrs. Davies about her husband but he was dead so it was of little consequence to him now. As Shakespeare quoted in Macbeth: ‘T’was a tale full of sound and fury, signifying nothing!’ On reflection however, it was surprising in life how much one presumed about people and places but how little one really knew about anyone or anything. If a person could unravel that enigma ,they might be able to find the elixir of life and live in total happiness thereafter!
THE END
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