by Stan Mason
Brenda turned off the television and started at Purdy. ‘Better to be tucked up in bed tonight in London than driving up north,’ she commented. ‘That’s what the man said!’
‘It’s all very well if you don’t have to earn a living,’ he countered curtly. ‘See you when I get back from Manchester!’
‘Friggin’ right!’ added Sally from behind the computer. ‘Friggin’ right!’
He turned and walked out of the building towards the loading bay with a wry expression on his face. The woman pretended that she was a rough diamond but, in reality, she was a real bitch! Once he had delivered his load and received the cheque, he could no anything he wanted with it. What right had she to tell him how to operate his bank account? But then, when you were down, everyone tended to take a swipe. You were an easy target for all and sundry. He drank two cups of tea during the next half hour while his vehicle was being loaded and then geared himself up for the journey ahead. It was by far a favourite location. He was paid by the mile in terms of distance. Manchester was better than Birmingham and it allowed him to race back to London for another load within the next twenty-four hours. With the runs to Newcastle, he would have to stay overnight. On such occasions, he would return the following day to collect a cheque for the bank and reload for another destination. In his mind, he was determined to prove his bank manager wrong identifying that his business was viable after all. He would definitely prove him wrong!
He started the engine and moved off, easing away slowly from the loading bay as he began the long journey. There was likely to be little traffic on the motorway at this time of day. It meant that he would be the first lorry to be unloaded in the morning at the northern depot.
The first part of his plan went without a hitch. He reached the motorway without difficulty and found the road ahead quite clear but then it began to rain. In the beginning, he ran into a fine drizzle. According to the weather forecast on television, the rain would increase in intensity the further north he went. Often weather predictions were inaccurate... but not on this occasion. In fact the rain began to fall so fiercely he was forced to use his double-speed windscreen wipers to flush away the downpour from the shield in front of him. As the rain continued, he knew there would be flooding in the Home Counties and the Midlands. It was his misfortune that he was heading towards the heart of it. An hour later, it still tumbled down in torrents. By this time, the strain of peering through a translucent windscreen, cleared only momentarily by the sweeping wipers, caused his eyes to become more tired. There was a pain in his head which he ignored, knowing by instinct that he would keep driving until fatigue overtook him. After a while, his eyes became almost too tired to see and his head felt as though it was exploding. He was two-thirds of the way towards his destination when the accident occurred. The rain poured down like a heavenly waterfall causing spray to be thrown back long distances behind the rear wheels of vehicles progressing along the motorway. However one of the windscreen wipes became defective and flew off into the high wind to be lost. From that moment onwards, vision became restricted to a local area where the other wiper flipped forwards and backwards. He was forced to move his body to one side to gain a better view, giving him less control of the truck. He had chosen the middle lane to avoid the large puddles forming on the hard shoulder on the near side. Many drivers, in their folly, continued to overtake him in the fast lane regardless of the poor conditions. On a few occasions, due to the high winds accompanying the rain, Purdy’s truck almost collided with cars and lorries on both the inside and the outside lanes. Yet, despite all the problems, he continued to drive onwards at high speed. Eventually, he reached a point where a set of warning lights displaying instructions to reduce speed to twenty miles an hour but few motorists observed the safety precaution, continued to forge ahead as before. Nonetheless, it wasn’t long before they had to slow down as the flooding became abnormal. Purdy was yet another driver to ignore the warning. It was in his interest to reach his destination as quickly as possible. He charged on fearlessly in the middle lane ostensibly counting the money he would earn from the delivery. Shortly, the traffic shuffled together as the outside lane became closed. Less than a mile further on, a large sign indicated that drivers were instructed to follow over a diversion off the motorway. Purdy had been very preoccupied with his thoughts but the sign became a watershed for him. By law, he was directed to take the diversion route but that would mean driving for miles and miles through the country towns and villages. It would add hours to his journey and ruin his plans to take out another load within twenty-four hours. Ignoring the instruction, he stayed on the motorway, avoiding the diversion sign. However, in the time he had to make the decision, as he peered through the only area of the windscreen cleared by the single wiper, he failed to notice a man in yellow oilskins some yards ahead in what would be a relatively safe area. As he hurtled forwards Purdy suddenly saw him in his headlight but he was going too fast to stop. He struck the man with full force at fifty-five miles an hour projecting him high into the air. This time, he didn’t stop. He kept on driving in the middle lane for a very long time as though he was an automaton, devoid of any feeling, thought or reaction. Twice in two days! And both of them wearing yellow oilskins! It was more than a coincidence... it was a nightmare! As he continued along the windswept flooded road ahead of him, he heard Jennifer’s voice echoing in his ears.
‘When you got to London, you said you could have run me down. Well you already did that! You killed both me and my baby. Two deaths!
He veered wildly across the road, ploughing into a giant pool of water which cause the truck to stop. Clouds of steam floated up from the radiator and he placed his arms across the steering-wheel resting his head on them. Tears began to pour down his face again with self-pity. ‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Why don’t you leave me alone!’
Chapter Five
The mood at the Sovereign Bank appeared to be in a depressed state on the following morning. Fierce winds and torrential rain had battered the south-west followed by a bitterly cold wind which swept in from the north. Even though it was daytime, it had been necessary to turn on the electric lights all over the building. The Head Office had once been a large Victorian theatre , and its edifice still bore signs of the excessive craft and artistry of the nineteenth century even though it had been renovated several times during the last one hundred years. The great portico, with its ionic columns, its vast rooms and the superlative sweeping staircase reflected the generosity in architecture of a past age. The grand banking hall with its corresponding furniture, some of which was by necessity reproduction pieces to maintain nineteenth century symmetry, as well as the expensive carpets and rich tapestry, was consistent in upholding the same standards as those previously enjoyed by previous owners of the building when Queen Victoria sat on the throne of England. Unfortunately, the ornate structure, embellished with grotesques and other incongruous stonework, established dark shadows in in gloomy classic corners, exposing a grimness which seemed to drive dismay into the aesthetic soul. None of this was aided with the adverse change in the weather,
As soon as Charles arrived at his desk, Erica Wild entered the office. She paused for a moment to look at him to check whether he was any better before greeting him. ‘Hi! How are you feeling today?’
He shrugged his shoulders disconsolately. ‘I’m all right. Just a little depressed. I think the tablets are helping. Do you know, this is the first time I’ve seen this building in its true light. Senor management claim that all this ostentatious nineteenth century architecture should be reserved for posterity. In my opinion, they ought to knock it all down and start again with something less complicated. Something more suitable for banking and the people who work here. What do you say?’ She paused to think for a moment. ‘I say we forget this ugly building and talk about things that really matter. Did you manage to get through the work I gave you yesterday?’
‘Y
ou’re a hard taskmaster,’ he replied mockingly.
‘Taskmistress, if you don’t mind!’ she corrected with a slight smile appearing at the corners of her mouth. ‘This is an equal employment bank and we’ll have no Chauvinism please!’
He opened his briefcase and removed the folder which he handed to her. ‘You’ll be delighted to know that I finished every single case. And if you find I’ve used Euros instead of Russian roubles return the case to me with a loaded pistol. Then I can go out and shoot myself.’
‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she told him calmly. ‘You see I’d do it for you and save you the trouble.’
He stared at her dark brown eyes noticing the gleam of insolence that lay there. ‘I bet you would at that,’ he responded in jest.
She picked up the folder and tucked it under her arm. ‘Did Tom Cushing catch up with you last night?’
‘I’m afraid he did,’ complained the banker with a heavy sigh. I told him I wanted to spend the evening alone but it didn’t rub off. He still came.’
‘I don’t like to tell tales out of school but he spent all afternoon trying to get hold of someone... a ghost-hunter. Should he really have been doing that?’
‘Who am I to stop a man who wants to prove he’s the best friend I ever had?’
She moved towards the door slowly and then turned to face him. ‘The ghost I presume is Jennifer.’
He looked directly into her eyes. ‘Jennifer doesn’t have a ghost, Erica. Tom Cushing loves to keep himself employed industrially chasing shadows instead of substance. But then, nobody’s perfect.’
‘I hope my friends don’t talk about me in that way.’
He smiled weakly. ‘I hope mind don’t either!’
‘By the way,’ she informed him as an afterthought, changing the subject quickly, ‘the first customer on your daily agenda has arrived. A woman by the name of Rhona Paphos. Miss Rhona Paphos.’
His face screwed up with an old-fashioned expression. ‘I haven’t any information on the woman.’
‘Our General Manager, Mr. Fulton, seems to know an awful lot about her... one way and another.’
‘You’d better explain,’ he commanded seriously.
‘Miss Paphos started a jewellery manufacturing business five years ago which didn’t do very well. So she took on a partner who invested some money. He was a marketing man and his ideas transformed the company into something really worthwhile.’
‘What do you mean by worthwhile?’ interrupted Charles eager to appraise himself of every vestige of information for the interview.
‘Before the investor joined, there were about fifty people making necklaces, bracelets and ear-rings. The company sold its good directly to High Street shops and stores at very low margins. It was a losing battle because the competition in the jewellery trade is very fierce. When the new man arrived, he changed the nature of sales by advertising on the Internet. In that way, sales were boosted by a growing market and profitability soared at a rate of knots. Margins shot up and turnover increases substantially. Then he employed agents in various parts of the country to work entirely on commission, many of them being women holding house parties and selling the goods at the same time. Turnover has rocketed and the company is verging on a plan to operate internationally. The lady wishes to borrow half a million pounds to expand and she’s willing to put up a Certificate of Deposit for one million dollars on an American bank as collateral.’
‘Why can’t the manager of commercial banking downstairs deal with this?’
‘For reasons which no one knows at the moment. I can only presume our General Manager wants to do this by the back door. You may realise the reason when you meet the lady. All we were given was a memo for you to interview her... and to provide recommendations, of course.’
‘Of course. Where would we be without recommendations? Do we have a file on this lady or her company? Anything at all?’
‘She’s bringing all the information with her, I understand. I’ve a feeling that she has a close relationship with someone high up in this bank, if you know what I mean.’
‘Like David Fulton, our General Manager?’
Erica Wild’s eyes twinkled. ‘Give the man a kewpie doll!’
Charles puffed out his cheeks with frustration and looked aggrieved. He believed that if the loan was granted and the company failed, he would end up being the scapegoat.
‘What a way to do business!’ he complained. ‘I don’t like it at all. I should imagine that if I recommend refusal I’ll have him breathing fire down my neck. Do you know the name of a good local Trappist monastery where everyone has to keep a vow of silence for years on end? I feel I ought to join it!’
‘She’s waiting outside. Shall I show her in?’
‘Yes... show her in, but let me tell you this, Miss Wild, if you ever pull the equal opportunities and male Chauvinism junk again, I’ll have your guts for garters! Is that clear!’
His assistant smile and left the room closing the door behind her. Charles sat down and read the memo she had placed on his desk in an atmosphere of silence.
“Rhona Paphos runs a company called Scintillant which means sparkling. It has substantial turnover and high profitability. She seeks accommodation of five hundred thousand pounds in sterling and says she has collateral. This is a one-off banking matter. Would you interview her and send me a report. She has many connections worldwide which could be useful to the bank.
D. Fulton (General Manager)”
Many connections worldwide! He had to be joking! Anyway, why would a General Manager write a memo to a junior manager asking him to interview the director of some non-descript company asking for so much money? It didn’t make sense! The woman would have to be a femme-fatale to achieve banking accommodation of that size. However, Charles was not to be disappointed. When Erica Wild brought the woman into his office, he pretended to be reading a note of some importance, failing to look up when his assistant introduced her. Then he raised his eyes to envisage one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his life. Within a fraction of a second, his attitude change completely and he got to his feet as fast as his legs would carry him.
‘Good morning, Miss Paphos!’ he welcomed, holding out his hand which she took delicately. ‘Please take a seat!’
She sat down opposite him, placing a smart leather briefcase on her lap and he took the opportunity to use the time scanning her face and clothes. She was a woman of about thirty years of age, with high cheekbones, sparkling Eurasian eyes, and a lovely smooth dark complexion. Her figure was exceedingly slender and she was extremely well-dressed with jewellery on her wrist, fingers, neck and ears, all of which embellished her beauty. During his visual investigation, he could not fail to notice the sensual aroma of her perfume which wafted idly across the dull wainscoted room. The woman was so stunning that, for a few moments, Charles forgot all about his own problems.
‘Paphos,’ he remarked slowly. ‘Like the town in Cyprus?’
‘I was born there,’ she explained sweetly. ‘Close to the airport. I started my first factory there too. It still employs a number of people manufacturing and assembling jewellery.’ She unzipped the briefcase and removed a coloured brochure containing details and photographs of her products. We manufacture and assemble a wide range of jewellery for men and women although the emphasis is on the female sex. I don’t have to tell you they’re more attracted to jewellery and have greater purchasing power. We produce the goods in different base metals, many of which are covered in rolled gold or silver. We also use our own gemstones very similar to diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires. .
‘But they’re not truly precious stones,’ interjected the bank manager.
‘True but we’re very careful to point out to customers that we don’t deal or use real precious stones. They’re all aware of that. Equally, the
price of the goods reflect the fact that they’re ordinary stones. One of our rings supports a two-carat white stone which sparkles in various colours and looks exactly like a diamond. It’s priced at one-eighth the cost of an original of the same size. We never cheat our customers. Our concept aims to make it possible for them to obtain exquisite jewellery at reasonable prices.’
‘Tell me about your sales operation. I understand that you took on another person who transformed your company.’
‘Mike Ballantyne was the Sales Director of an engineering company and he came to Cyprus on a business trip. We met by chance in Paphos. He visited our factory, became impressed, and we teamed up together. He’s a very talented experienced marketing man. He now owns forty per cent of the company which means that he’ll never find the grass greener elsewhere. He’s locked in for the rest of his career. There’s a whole world waiting out there for jewellery, Mr. Roach. A whole world waiting for the kind of jewellery that we sell.’
Charles found his eyes drawn to her attractive lips which had been so delicately highlighted with a touch of crimson lipstick. ‘Yes, indeed,’ he managed to say. ‘So you want to expand the business internationally and you need more working capital.’
‘Half a million in sterling.’ The words emerged from her mouth as though it was a minor sum to be granted with a simple nod of the head. ‘I have a Certificate of Deposit valued at one million dollars drawn on the North Continental America Bank in New York as collateral.’
‘Why can’t you cash it in and use the money for your own purpose? Surely it would save you paying interest on the loan!’
‘I could do,’ she responded smoothly, ‘but the expiry date is three years from now. If we discounted it at the present time, the loss would be very considerable with many penalties involved. So while it can’t be used as money itself, it value as collateral is very clear.’ She handed him the document and he examined it closely.
