Джеффри Арчер - Tell Tale - Stories

“He and his wife flew to Miami on Friday. He’ll be away for three weeks, so there couldn’t be a better time for us to rob the bank.”

“And run away together,” laughed Arthur. “Toronto’s answer to Bonnie and Clyde! Still, while I’m the senior officer, could you keep me briefed if anything important arises?”

“Of course,” said Barbara. “But as you well know, not a lot happens in August while so many customers are away on holiday. But I’ll give you a buzz if anything comes up.”

Arthur checked his post every morning, but it wasn’t until the sixth day that the first of the two letters landed on his desk. Arthur didn’t rest on the seventh day, now he felt confident that the Laidlaws were keeping their side of the bargain. He picked up the phone and pressed another button.

“Standing orders,” said a voice he recognized.

“Steve, it’s Arthur Dunbar. I’ve just received a letter from Mr. Macpherson, and he’s instructed the bank to raise Mr. and Mrs. Laidlaw’s monthly allowance.”

“I wish someone would do that for me,” said Steve.

“I’ll send down a copy of the letter for your files,” said Arthur, ignoring the comment. “And can you make sure that everything is in place for the September payment.”

“Of course, Mr. Dunbar.”

The second letter took a little longer to arrive, and Arthur even wondered if the Laidlaws had changed their mind, until the post boy delivered an envelope postmarked Ambrose on Monday morning, leaving him only five working days to complete the next part of his plan. But like a good Boy Scout, Arthur was well prepared.

He checked his watch. Buchan would still be at his desk for at least another couple of hours, but he needed to make an internal call before he contacted Edinburgh. He picked up the phone, pressed another button, and waited until the head of accounts came on the line.

“Have you seen a copy of the Macpherson letter, Reg, that I sent down to your office earlier this morning?”

“Yes I have,” replied Caldercroft, “and I’m sorry, Arthur, because you must be disappointed after all these years.”

“It was bound to happen at some time,” said Arthur.

“But sad that it’s just when you’re leaving. Will you get in touch with Mr. Macpherson and try to persuade him to change his mind?”

“Not much point,” said Arthur. “He hasn’t done so for the past twenty years, so why would he now?”

“I’m sure you’re right,” said Caldercroft. “But shouldn’t we wait until Stratton gets back, and see how he wants to play it?”

“I’m afraid the new banking laws don’t allow us that luxury,” said Arthur. “If a client requests to move his account, we must carry out their wishes within fourteen days, and as you can see, the letter is dated the eleventh.”

“Perhaps we should call Mr. Stratton in Miami, and alert him to the situation?”

“You call him if you want to, Reg...”

“No, no,” said Caldercroft. “You’re in charge during the manager’s absence, so what do you want me to do next?”

“Gather up all Mr. Macpherson’s bonds, stocks, and any other financial instruments, and courier them to a Mr. Buchan at RBS in Edinburgh, who appears to be the person he’s appointed to take over the account. I’m just about to phone Buchan and find out when it will be convenient to complete the transfer. I’ll keep you briefed.” He put the phone down.

Arthur took a deep breath and checked over his script one more time before he picked up the phone again and asked the switchboard operator to get him a number in Edinburgh. He waited to be put through.

“Good morning, Mr. Buchan, my name is Arthur Dunbar, and I’m the senior VP at the National Bank of Toronto.”

“Good morning, Mr. Dunbar,” said his opposite number. “I’ve been expecting your call. I had a visit from a Mr. Macpherson a couple of weeks ago, and he said you’d be in touch.”

“Indeed,” said Arthur, “although we will be sorry to lose Mr. Macpherson, a most valued client, but pleased he’ll be moving to our partner bank in Edinburgh. And to that end,” said Arthur, trying to sound pompous, “I have already given instructions to send all the necessary paperwork to you by courier, which I anticipate should be dealt with by the end of the week.”

“Thank you, said Buchan, “and when will it be convenient for you to transfer Mr. Macpherson’s current account?”

“Would Thursday morning suit you? Around this time.”

“That should be fine. I’ll make sure everything is in place to receive the funds on Thursday afternoon, and may I ask roughly how much we should be looking out for?”

“I can’t be certain of the exact figure,” said Arthur, “because I won’t know the dollar — sterling exchange rate until that morning. But it will certainly be in excess of four million pounds.”

There was no response, and Arthur even wondered if they’d been cut off. “Are you still there, Mr. Buchan?”

“Yes, I am, Mr. Dunbar,” Buchan eventually managed. “And I look forward to hearing from you again on Thursday.”

Mr. Stratton returned from his holiday the following Monday, and had only been in his office for a few minutes before he called for the senior vice president.

“Why didn’t you try and contact me in Miami?” were his first words as Arthur entered the room.

“As you can see,” said Arthur, placing his own typewritten letter on the desk, “Mr. Macpherson’s instructions couldn’t have been clearer, and as I have no way of contacting him other than by post, there wasn’t a lot I could do.”

“You could have held things up, even flown to Scotland to see if you could get him to change his mind, which I would have approved.”

“That would have been pointless,” said Arthur, “as he had already visited RBS in Edinburgh and instructed a Mr. Buchan to carry out the transfer as expeditiously as possible.”

“Which I see you did last Thursday.”

“Yes,” said Arthur. “We just managed to complete the transaction within the time stipulated by the new government regulations.” Stratton pursed his lips. “However, a little coup I thought you would appreciate,” continued Arthur, enjoying himself, “the Toronto end handled the exchange from dollars into pounds sterling, earning the bank some seventy three thousand one hundred forty-one dollars.”

“A small compensation,” said Stratton begrudgingly.

“How kind of you to say so, Gerald.”

Arthur spent his last month making sure everything was in apple pie order, no more than his mother would have expected, so by the time Reg Caldercroft moved into his office and took over as the new senior vice president, Arthur had only one responsibility left: preparing a farewell speech for his retirement party.

“I think I can safely say,” said Mr. Stratton, “that few people have served this bank more conscientiously, and certainly none longer, than Arthur Dunbar. Twenty-nine years, in fact.”

“Twenty-nine years and seven months,” said Arthur with some feeling, and several of the longer-serving staff stifled a laugh.

“We’re all going to miss you, Arthur.” The insincere smile returned to the manager’s lips. “And we wish you a long and happy retirement when you leave us to join your family in Vancouver.”

Loud “hear, hears” followed this statement.

“And on behalf of the bank,” continued Stratton, “it’s my pleasure to present you with a Rolex Oyster watch, and I hope whenever you look at it, you will be reminded of your time at the bank. Let’s all raise a glass to our senior vice president, Arthur Dunbar.”

“To Arthur,” said over a hundred voices, as they raised their glasses in the air, which was quickly followed by cries of “speech, speech!” from the guests. They all fell silent when Arthur walked up to the front and took Stratton’s place.