CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Late March, only a week to Easter, and Winner and Sally had been back at work for four days since their skiing holiday in Switzerland. Jack Evans was in the office with Winner.
"I thought you might like to see the Expenditure Return forms before we sent them off to the Department of the Environment," he said. "We're only ten days past the deadline. Not bad really."
"Any calls asking why they're late?" Winner asked.
"No. I think most authorities send them in late. Everyone wants to wait until their budgets are finalised."
"I'll have a look through them today," Winner promised.
"Was it a good holiday?" Evans asked. "You're certainly looking well now."
"Yes, it was good fun. Not that I'm much good at skiing." Understatement of the year, thought Winner. It had been all he could do to stand up. Years of watching 'Ski Sunday' hadn't proved much of a help, and memories of standing on a roof ridge had tended to come to mind when he was faced with a slippery slope.
The hours spent touring round a variety of small financial institutions had proved rather more satisfactory.
"I've booked two weeks in the Greek Islands," Evans told him as he stood up to leave. "Profits of the vice racket." He winked.
Winner smiled at Evans' remark. Evans was probably quite happy to keep an air of mystery about his private business. A touch of spice in a dull environment. As the door closed, Winner looked out at his favourite tree. Evans was right, he was feeling well. The tension of the goings on in the winter had finally lifted when the bank-notes had been safely deposited in a Swiss bank. The first big relief had been when they had safely negotiated Swiss customs without the luggage being inspected. Winner knew that there was no law against taking currency into the country, but he didn't want to be accused of being a drug dealer, or anything unsavoury like that. Getting the cash into a bank account could have been difficult for the same reasons, but an old school friend of Winner's had proved very helpful by introducing them to the right people.
The phone rang. It was Westerman, asking if Winner could go to his office to talk over a few things. With Westerman just back from a Treasurers' conference, this was the first opportunity that Winner had had to see him since before the Swiss holiday.
They sat in the corner of the office again, on the sofas behind the shrubbery.
"I thought I'd tell you first," said Westerman, "that Mrs Price won't be coming back. The medical people have signed her off permanently. I went to see her yesterday when I got back from Harrogate. She's all right in herself, but her confidence is all gone, so she's taking early retirement. You can let your staff know."
"Local Government's not quite the cosy life it used to be," ventured Winner.
"No indeed. I was feeling badly weighed down myself a month or two ago, but now that the budgets have been approved and the malpractices exposed, things are looking much better. There's just this problem of how to tell the members about the financing transactions shortfall. We'll have to deal with it now that the financial year's ending."
"Ah," said Winner. "I'm glad you've raised the subject. I wasn't going to say anything before I went on holiday, because I didn't want to raise hopes needlessly. The fact is, the holiday was a bit more than just the skiing. I spent some time extending the negotiations I'd started before I left. You'll be pleased to hear that I've managed to persuade the institutions concerned that they had been acting improperly. They've agreed to fully refund our losses. We're going to be paid by a related Swiss holding company. The money's due in by bank transfer today."
At least the last part was true, though the money was being wired through from his own account, as arranged before leaving Switzerland
"That's amazing," said Westerman. "I was getting nowhere with them. How on earth did you manage it?"
"I haven't told you all the good news yet. As well as getting the losses back, I threatened them with exposure to the regulatory agencies and they agreed to add some compensation on top. I suggested that fifty thousand would be a nice round sum. I suppose I had in mind the money stolen just before Nigel Stewart died."
"Perhaps we should say 'was murdered', in the light of recent revelations."
"It sounds as if that might have been the case, though it's all still rather strange. There is just one string attached to the repayment of the losses and the compensation. I've promised on the Council's behalf that we won't publicise it or make any further reference to the deals if we are in contact with the institutions concerned."
"That seems a small condition to comply with. I suppose they're all rather embarrassed about the whole thing."
"That's right. I know it all sounds a bit secretive, but the main thing is that we've got our money back."
Westerman sat back on the sofa and contemplated the ceiling. He was silent for so long that Winner wondered if he should get up and leave. Eventually the Treasurer spoke again.
"This news has rather thrown me. In a nice way, you understand. You know, we were all very impressed when we learned that you were investigating Cavendish even before we knew about him. The Chairman's agreed that Mrs Price's post can be filled. I hope that you'll apply. This news about the money must add enormously your chances of getting the job." Westerman looked straight at Winner. Was that a wink? "I should say it made you a dead cert for the job, actually."
At lunch time the quayside was busy with people enjoying the mild spring weather. Sally and Winner sat together on a park bench at the end of the ornamental gardens eating salad rolls that they had bought in the High Street. Sheltered from the wind by a hedge that ran along behind the benches, the sun felt warm through his jacket, and Winner was glad that he hadn't bothered to bring his overcoat. As they ate he told her about his conversation with Westerman.
"So paying back the money has probably earned you a regular increase in income," Sally observed.
"Yes, it only goes to show that honesty is the best policy."
Winner took a final bite from his roll and was left with a dry bit of crust that he threw down on the path. Two seagulls collided in an attempt to get there first. After a while, when the seagulls had given up watching them and moved on, they stood up and walked over to the railings where they could look out across the marina. The place once occupied by La Mouette was now host to a smaller but similar vessel. Winner had seen an advertisement in the newspaper for the sale of Cedar Park. Presumably the roof had been repaired by now. Time had a habit of fixing everything.
Winner looked across the glittering waters of the estuary towards the slopes of River Heights.
"Even with the money in the bank," he said, "I don't think there's anywhere else I'd rather live than Sharmouth." He pointed across towards the luxury estate. "There are three for sale, you know."
"I think Cedar park's a bit too large to look after with us both working. It really needs a family to fill it. The other two places are both very suitable though."
"We must make an appointment to see them."
"How are we going to use the Swiss money without attracting the attention of the tax man?" Sally asked.
"I think a rich Swiss relation might be just about to die. Either that or we might get a very low interest rate, one hundred percent mortgage from a little known Swiss lender. We'll work out something."
"Come on," said Sally, looking at her watch. "We're due back in ten minutes."
Winner turned reluctantly from the view of the estuary and they walked arm in arm towards the High Street. He would have to make an extra effort in the next year or two until Westerman retired. Then with luck he too could be Borough Treasurer with a house in River Heights. Perhaps one day he'd tell Sally about the other money that was now safely invested in Switzerland. Or maybe just keep it in reserve, so that he could surprise her with nice presents from time to time. The slim envelope from the bottom of the bedside cabinet had proved more valuable than the suitcase loaded with cash. It had given him the code authority to Cavendish'
s reserve deposits in a Swiss bank.
The final payoff.
More than three million pounds.
Overhead the seagulls screamed and soared, as if celebrating the end of winter.
THE END
Heritage Park by Steve Dockray
Violent deaths, fire and other mishaps hit businessman Mike Tavistock when he buys a long disused copper mine on the foothills of Dartmoor and tries to develop a mining theme park.
Too much is going wrong for it to be just bad luck.
Historical events come back to haunt the 1990s. Facing sabotage in the present and a dangerous legacy from the past, Tavistock and his enigmatic girlfriend Amanda fight for the business, their future, and ultimately their lives.
Fall by Steve Dockray
Britain is flooded with forged banknotes. This is no independent back-street forger. There are powerful men involved who will kill to keep their secrets.
Jim Radford and the Police and Bank Liaison Organisation have been called in to investigate. Jim is helped by Carlotta Mason, his new, mysteriously wealthy girlfriend. Car chases, arson, treachery and violence are a baptism of fire for the desk-jockeys. The trail leads them blundering around Britain, Toronto and Niagara Falls, resulting in a spectacular climax.
About the author:
A former local authority accountant, property manager and puzzle compiler, Steve Dockray wrote three novels in the 1990s. Drawing on his experiences in the world of finance, the books were supposed to be serious, but the humour kept creeping in.
Despite some very favourable comments from publishers (“Enjoyed “The Borough”. If it was by Dick Francis they'd publish it tomorrow and not change a word”, one agent told him), he could not get the books into print.
The era of internet publishing and e-readers brings new possibilities.
Steve lives in South Devon with his wife.
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