CHAPTER SEVEN
Maurice Westerman was a worried man.
Two weeks in the Canary Islands had seemed like a good idea, but already at nine thirty on his first morning back the problems were starting to heap up. It was the first time he'd come back from a holiday to discover that one of his staff was dead. Worse still, it was someone he'd come to depend on as a back-door source of information, a sort of mole in the accountancy office. On top of that, his Assistant Treasurer, Linda Price, had been signed off with stress. Stress indeed. Weren't they all suffering from stress? It could be weeks before she was back. Stewart and Price had been the two staff helping him sort out the financing problems for the new theatre. Now it would all fall back on him. The regulations were impossibly complex and the funds lost on the money market didn't bear thinking about. Perhaps he could come clean and make Stewart the scapegoat. It had mostly been his idea, anyway.
Now, to cap it all, there was this budget that Winner had left on his desk. There would be more meetings and accusations, with members and officers all lobbying for their own particular interests. The cuts would have to be made somewhere, probably involving staff redundancies. Who could feel good about taking away a man's livelihood when there were three million unemployed?
Fifty five, but feeling older despite the holiday, Westerman longed for a return to the days when the treasurer presided over a smooth running organisation that was a source of civic pride. These days it was competition and privatisation, performance measurement and two new taxing systems in as many years. Small wonder the place was in disarray. The staff did their best, but what chance had they? Morale had never been so low. Westerman had never let the decline change his own approach to the job. His suits were always dark, his shirts white and his shoes black. The half-frame glasses that he perched on his nose for reading gave him a sort of wise owl look that intimidated the younger employees. Only Linda Price had ever dared to call him Maurice and even her nerve cracked sometimes. Just a few years to hold it all together before he would get to the safe haven of retirement. He reached out and flicked the switch on the intercom.
"Get Winner to come in please, would you Rita?"
"Of course, Mr Westerman."
"Oh, and a couple of coffees as well."
There was a brief pause. "Would that be for you and Mr Winner?"
"Who do you think. Get on with it."
Westerman switched off the intercom, regretting his abruptness. It wasn't her fault the world was falling apart. He picked up the budget and his other papers and walked over to the window side of the office where two sofas were set at right angles behind two large plant tubs, framing a low table. It was a pity he didn't know Winner better. For some reason their meetings had always been rather brief and factual, making him still something of an unknown quantity, despite the passing of the years. He'd have to play it carefully.
The secretary came in with the coffees and told him Winner was on his way.
The Treasurer's office could only be approached through his secretary's office, essential to protect him from aggrieved benefits claimants and other nutters who didn't view him with the same respect accorded him by his staff. Winner walked in with his budget papers, not surprised to have been called.
"You're honoured today," the secretary told him. "He asked me to get you a cup of coffee. Go right in."
Winner knocked on the door and pushed it open. He looked across at the desk, but there was no-one sitting there. For a moment he thought the room was empty, but then Westerman emerged from behind the potted palms, beckoning him over to the sofas. They both sat down, the psychology of the less formal seating not lost on Winner. Previous encounters had been from opposite sides of Westerman's enormous desk, a far more formal setting for conversation. Westerman shuffled his papers, trying to decide how much to tell Winner.
"How are the staff taking this business of Mr Stewart, David?"
Winner looked across at Westerman. He didn't know the Treasurer knew his first name. That, a cup of coffee and the sofas. Heady stuff.
"Bit of a shock, of course, but he was a bit of a loner. Things are starting to settle down already. The only real problem is his work. I'll have to ask you to press for a replacement."
"You know he was doing quite a lot of work for me directly?"
"Yes, although I didn't come across much paperwork when I sorted through his desk."
"No, I've got those files. You didn't, er, come across anything else that wasn't connected with his regular work?"
Winner looked away, hoping his reply wouldn't sound too shaky.
"Not that I can think of." What did Westerman think he might have found?
"Unfortunately, Linda Price has been signed off with stress for an indefinite period."
"I just heard," said Winner.
"We'd better go through this budget page by page. I shall need to be clear just how serious it is before I see Charles Forbes this afternoon."
Winner was glad to get onto safer ground, the more so since he had come to the meeting equipped with his accountants' lists of possible cutbacks. Peter Vaughan's was the only one he didn't bring, largely because it suggested sacking the Chief Executive and melting down the civic regalia. It took nearly an hour before the Treasurer felt he was sufficiently well informed. Winner had to admit to himself that Westerman had asked all the right questions.
When they had finished, the Treasurer closed his copy of the budget and sat with his hands resting on the top. There was a long silence and Winner wondered if he was supposed to get up and leave. Westerman picked up a ball point pen, then put it down again.
"The situation is such," he said at last, "that I have no option but to take you into my confidence. It isn't a matter of not having trusted you in the past, but there have been some things going on that only a few people have known about."
Winner nodded, wondering what on earth the Treasurer was talking about.
"We, some of us, that is, have taken a course of action that with hindsight we would not have taken."
"Could you be a little more specific?" Winner ventured.
Westerman sighed. "The fact is that in attempt to boost our funds, we've indulged in some financial transactions that now look more and more like speculation. We've lost nearly half a million pounds at the worst possible time. On top of that, Mrs Price told me before I went on holiday that there's a suggestion of some other money missing from the accounts, though it wasn't absolutely certain. I told her to sit on it until I came back. Have you heard anything of this?"
"I know there's something wrong with the accounting system. Councillor Avery came to me with a report that didn't add up. I spent some time this weekend looking through the ledger, but I haven't quite pinned it down. It may just be a bug in the software."
"That's what I'm hoping. I'd rather not get Freeman involved unless there's something fraudulent going on."
"He is your Chief Auditor," Winner suggested.
"Yes, but there's some other work I need him to do for me. Let's say that in this case I'm rather looking to you to help extricate us from this situation."
Winner sat thinking for a moment. What other work could Westerman have for Barry Freeman that was more important than losing half a million pounds? The Council must be in desperate trouble. How much did Charles Grenville Forbes know of all this? Still, it did present an opportunity.
"I know it's not a good time to ask," said Winner, "but is there any possibility at all of moving Sally Travis across from Audit on a temporary basis. I'd have to let her know what the ledger problems are, but she's the only one with the systems skills. We're going to get in an even worse mess if the office stays understaffed."
"I'll speak to Freeman, though he's sure to resist. It'll have to be put forward as a purely temporary solution."
"The members were asking me about the theatre financing at the Recreation Committee. I had to tell them you were dealing with it personally and would let them have a report soon."
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"Soon? Well, that's a suitably vague term. Just between you and me, with this budget you've just given me and our other problems, the thought of trying to reach out for another big project just gives me a queasy feeling."
Westerman looked at his watch and stood up stiffly.
"I'll give you the files on the loans fiasco, but for God's sake don't show them to anyone else. Let me know if you have any ideas yourself about the theatre financing. We'll spend some more time together in a day or two."
The Treasurer walked over to the personal entrance door that led directly into the corridor, turning the Yale type lock and holding the door open for Winner.
"Not a word to anyone about our conversation this morning," he said, as Winner left.
Winner walked back to his office, thinking that Westerman was probably rather lonely at times.