Джеффри Арчер - Cat O'Nine Tales

Henry was well aware that his colleagues considered him to be reliable, competent and thorough, which only added to his sense of failure. The highest praise he ever received was, ‘You can always depend on Henry. He’s a safe pair of hands.’

But all of that changed the day he met Angela.

Angela Forster’s company, Events Unlimited, was neither large enough to be assigned to one of the partners, nor small enough to be handled by an articled clerk, which is how her file ended up on Henry’s desk. He studied the details carefully.

Ms Forster was the sole proprietor of a small business that specialized in organizing events — anything from the local Conservative Association’s annual dinner to a regional Hunt Ball. Angela was a born organizer and after her husband left her for a younger woman — when a man leaves his wife for a younger woman, it’s a short story, when a woman leaves her husband for a younger man, it’s a novel (I digress) — Angela made the decision not to sit at home and feel sorry for herself but, following our Lord’s advice in the parable of the talents, opted to use her one gift, so that she could fully occupy her time while making a little pin money on the side. The problem was that Angela had become a little more successful than she’d anticipated, which is how she ended up having an appointment with Henry.

Before Henry finalized Ms Forster’s accounts, he took her slowly through the figures, column by column, showing his new client how she was entitled to claim for certain items against tax, such as her car, travel and even her clothes. He pointed out that she ought to be dressed appropriately when she attended one of her functions. Henry managed to save Ms Forster a few hundred pounds on her tax bill; after all, he considered it a matter of professional pride that, having heeded his advice, all his clients left the office better off. That was even after they’d settled his company’s fees, which, he pointed out, could also be claimed against tax.

Henry always ended every meeting with the words, I can assure you that your accounts are in apple-pie order, and the tax man will not be troubling you.’ Henry was only too aware that very few of his clients were likely to interest the tax man, let alone be troubled by him. He would then accompany his client to the door with the words, ‘See you next year.’ When he opened the door for Ms Forster, she smiled, and said, ‘Why don’t you come along to one of my functions, Mr Preston? Then you can see what I get up to most evenings.’

Henry couldn’t recall when he’d last been invited to anything. He hesitated, not quite sure how to respond. Angela filled the silence. ‘I’m organizing a ball for African famine relief on Saturday evening. It’s at the town hall. Why don’t you join me?’

Henry heard himself saying, ‘Yes, thank you, how nice. I’ll look forward to it,’ and regretted the decision the moment he had closed the door. After all, on Saturday nights he always watched film of the week on Sky, while enjoying a Chinese takeaway and a gin and tonic. In any case, he needed to be in bed by ten because on Sunday morning he was responsible for checking the church collection. He was also their accountant. Honorary, he assured his mother.

Henry spent most of Saturday morning trying to come up with an excuse: a headache, an emergency meeting, a previous engagement he’d forgotten about, so that he could ring Ms Forster and call the whole thing off. Then he realized that he didn’t have her home number.

At six o’clock that evening Henry put on the dinner jacket his mother had given him on his twenty-first birthday, which didn’t always have an annual outing. He looked at himself in the mirror, nervous that his attire must surely be out of date — wide lapels and flared trousers — unaware that this look was actually back in fashion. He was among the last to arrive at the town hall, and had already made up his mind that he would be among the first to leave.

Angela had placed Henry on the end of the top table, from where he was able to observe proceedings, while only occasionally having to respond to the lady seated on his left.

Once the speeches were over, and the band had struck up, Henry felt he could safely slip away. He looked around for Ms Forster. He had earlier spotted her dashing all over the place, organizing everything from the raffle and the heads-and-tails competition to the ten-pound-note draw and even the auction. When he looked at her more closely, dressed in her long red ball gown, her fair hair falling to her shoulders, he had to admit... Henry stood up and was about to leave, when Angela appeared by his side. ‘Hope you’ve enjoyed yourself,’ she said, touching his arm. Henry couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched him. He prayed she wasn’t going to ask him to dance.

‘I’ve had a wonderful time,’ Henry assured her. ‘How about you?’

‘Run off my feet,’ Angela replied, ‘but I feel confident that we’ll raise a record amount this year.’

‘So how much do you expect to make?’ asked Henry, relieved to find himself on safer ground.

Angela checked her little notebook. ‘Twelve thousand, six hundred in pledges, thirty-nine thousand, four hundred and fifty in cheques, and just over twenty thousand in cash.’ She handed over her notebook for Henry to inspect. He expertly ran a finger down the list of figures, relaxing for the first time that evening.

‘What do you do with the cash?’ Henry asked.

‘I always drop it off on my way home at the nearest bank that has an overnight safe. If you’d like to accompany me, you’ll have experienced the whole cycle from beginning to end.’ Henry nodded. ‘Just give me a few minutes,’ she said. ‘I have to pay the band, as well as my helpers — and they always insist on cash.’

That was probably when Henry first had the idea. Just a passing thought to begin with, which he quickly dismissed. He headed towards the exit and waited for Angela.

‘If I remember correctly,’ said Henry as they walked down the steps of the town hall together, ‘your turnover last year was just under five million, of which over a million was in cash.’

‘What a good memory you have, Mr Preston,’ Angela said as they headed towards the High Street, ‘but I’m hoping to raise over five million this year,’ she added, ‘and I’m already ahead of my target for March.’

‘That may well be the case,’ said Henry, ‘but you still only paid yourself forty-two thousand last year,’ he continued, ‘which is less than one per cent of your turnover.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said Angela, ‘but I enjoy the work, and it keeps me occupied.’

‘But don’t you consider you deserve a better return for your efforts?’

‘Possibly, but I only charge my clients five per cent of the profits, and every time I suggest putting my fee up, they always remind me that they are a charity.’

‘But you’re not,’ said Henry. ‘You’re a professional, and should be recompensed accordingly.’

‘I know you’re right,’ said Angela as they stopped outside the Nat West bank and she dropped the cash into the night safe, ‘but most of my clients have been with me for years.’

‘And have taken advantage of you for years,’ insisted Henry.

‘That may well be so,’ said Angela, ‘but what can I do about it?’

The thought returned to Henry’s mind, but he said nothing other than, ‘Thank you for a most interesting evening, Ms Forster. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years.’ Henry thrust out his right hand, as he always did at the end of every meeting, and had to stop himself saying, ‘See you next year.’