Nicholas Searle - The Good Liar

too risky. Vincent regarded the traditional old go- to, the ubiquitous rubber cheque, as implausible in these connected times. There was

nothing for it, then, but to shell out. Against Roy’s instincts, but needs must.

‘All right, then,’ says Vincent. ‘Are we ready to sign the forms?’

He holds out his ballpoint pen. Roy shuns it, reaching into his

inner pocket for his expensive fountain pen.

‘A touch of style, I think, is required,’ he says.

‘Yes,’ says Betty, a broad smile on her face. ‘We must do things in style. We need to become accustomed to it.’

They each have their sheaf of papers to sign. Betty waits while he

works his way through his, his hand shaking, his signature unsteady and spidery. He hands Betty his pen when he has finished and she

signs with her neat hand. It is then Stephen’s turn, to sign as witness to the proceedings, and Vincent pores over the documents one

more time to check that there are no errors.

‘Good,’ he says finally. ‘Shall we effect the transfers?’

Vincent removes his laptop from his briefcase and switches it on.

Stephen fetches Betty’s laptop.

‘Have you both set up the transfers with your banks?’ asks Vincent.

‘Yes,’ they both reply.

‘Then all there is to do is to confirm them. They will take place

instantaneously.’

‘Shall I go first?’ says Roy, smiling. He knows that it will reinforce the genuine nature of the transaction if he puts his money in before her. ‘You know how to do it, Vincent?’

‘Of course. You’ll have to put in your passwords, but I’ll tell you which buttons to press.’

‘Hopeless, I am,’ he says. ‘You can’t teach an old dog.’

Watched closely by Stephen, Vincent navigates to the home

page of Roy’s bank. He carries his laptop to the other side of

the table. Betty, Stephen and Vincent avert their eyes while Roy

logs in and allows Vincent to navigate to the page they are looking for. Roy watches, grinning – he hopes sufficiently inanely – as 212

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Vincent says, ‘Right then, Roy. All you have to do is to go through this little menu.’

‘Menu?’ he says. ‘Ridiculous word.’

‘All right. Now. “Do you wish to make this transaction?” If you

do, put the cursor in the “yes” box and click.’

He obeys dutifully, moving the cursor with the mouse painfully

slowly and, he hopes, with evident lack of expertise.

‘Now. “Do you wish to confirm this payment?” Click “yes” again.

Or of course “no” if you have any last- minute concerns. This is the point of no return.’

Quickly, he clicks on “yes”.

‘All done,’ says Vincent, returning to his seat. ‘Now, Betty, would you like to do the same? Meanwhile, I’ll log on to the Hayes and

Paulsen site.’

‘Hayes and Paulsen?’ asks Betty.

‘The British Virgin Islands bank,’ says Stephen patiently.

‘Of course. My memory.’

She beckons Stephen over. Careful, thinks Roy. Mustn’t show too

much interest. No chance of that. Years of experience.

Betty points and clicks intently as she gains access to her own

bank account, with Stephen guiding her over her shoulder, and

eventually she has finished. She looks up expectantly.

‘Remember to log off,’ says Stephen.

‘Oh yes,’ she says in her ditziest voice. ‘Silly me.’

‘All right, then,’ says Vincent, standing again and placing his laptop on the table between Betty and Roy. ‘I’ll log on to Hayes and

Paulsen now.’ He plays with a little keypad, the size of a calculator, he has produced from his pocket. Betty looks at him quizzically but he ignores her.

‘Now then. You can see here the current balance at Hayes and

Paulsen.’ He clicks another link. ‘And here is the list of transfers into the account. You can see that both of your transfers are there.’

‘Oh, thank goodness for that,’ says Betty.

Roy observes her wryly.

‘You can both log into the account,’ says Vincent. ‘All I have to do is to take you through how to set up your logins.’

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He takes two envelopes from his briefcase and hands one to each

of them. They contain a set of instructions and a keypad, which, he says, is central to the process. Roy has been taken through this several times already but acts suitably dumb as Vincent runs through it again, prompting him to think up and remember passwords as he

creates his online access.

‘I don’t know why we’re doing this, Vincent,’ he says when they

have finished. ‘I can’t use a computer for toffee and I’ll never remember all that. I don’t even own a computer.’

‘It’s important that you and Betty, as my clients, have twenty-

four- hour access to the account. You need to be able to check the

balance whenever you wish. Call it form if you wish, but it’s

important.’

Too right it’s important. But he simply looks at Betty and shrugs.

‘What did I say, Betty? He’s a stickler. A real stickler.’

Betty too is taken through the process, slightly bewildered it

appears to him.

‘Well then,’ says Vincent. ‘We’re all set up. With these little devices you can log into the account at any time. You have full access, but please don’t make any withdrawals without speaking to me because

at any stage I may be moving money around on your behalf to make

investments. I also have access as your broker. You can see how much remains in the joint account and every so often money will come

back into it. I will provide you with periodic profit and loss statements so that you know exactly how your investments are doing.’

‘Profit and loss?’ says Stephen.

‘A figure of speech. Loss will not come into it, provided my judge-

ments are correct. But I’ve explained the risk factors in depth.’

Betty sighs. ‘Phew. I’m glad that’s all over. It’s given me a bit of a headache. Time to celebrate, I think.’

‘Oh yes,’ says Roy.

Betty fetches glasses from the cabinet and chilled champagne

from the fridge. She asks Stephen to uncork the champagne and

pours four glasses.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ says Roy.

‘Not for me, thank you,’ says Vincent. ‘I’m driving.’

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They toast each other and drink happily, while Vincent places the

signed forms in clear plastic folders, puts his laptop into its protective case and slots his pens into their designated places in his briefcase.

Finally, he offers a terse but civil goodbye.

3

They are alone. Stephen has departed after only one glass, leaving

Roy and Betty to empty the bottle. Roy has had the majority of the

champagne and in truth feels rather tipsy. He cannot hold his drink as he once could. It was a useful facility but it does not matter any more. Not with Betty.

‘Well now. The first day of the rest of our lives.’

‘Yes,’ says Betty. ‘Vincent will look after our money, won’t he?’

‘As if it was his own, my dear. He’ll do us proud.’

‘And we can expect some returns within six months?’

‘Indeed. Let’s start booking those cruises now.’ He smiles, quietly exultant.

‘It’s such a shame that you have to go up to London so soon. We

should be together this weekend. Couldn’t you invite Robert here

instead?’

‘Well no, not really. He’s only over here for a day or so. He’s off to a kitchen convention in Belgium. He’s just stopping off in London overnight. Besides, he’ll be on his way by now.’