I remembered the paperback, and the socks, and the soap, and I had no quarrel with him.
From Goldenwave Marine, ten minutes later, I learned a good many background facts about big boats in general and Arthur Robinson in particular.
Goldenwave had four more Golden Sixty Fives on the stocks at the moment, all commissioned by private customers, and Arthur Robinson had been one of a stream. Their Golden Sixty Five had been a successful design, they were pleased and proud to say, and their standard of ship-building was respected the world over.
End of commercial.
I replaced the receiver gratefully. Sat, thinking, chewing bits off my fingernails. Decided, without joy, to take a slightly imprudent course.
Debbie, Peter, Bess and Trevor came back, and the place filled up with tap-tap and bustle. Mr Wells arrived for his appointment twenty minutes before the due time, reminding me of the psychiatrists’-eye-view of patients: if they’re early, they’re anxious, if they’re late, they’re aggressive, and if they’re on time, they’re pathological. I often thought the psychiatrists didn’t understand about trains, buses and traffic flow, but in this case there wasn’t much doubt about the anxiety. Mr Wells’ hair, manner and eyes were all out of control.
‘I rang the people you sent the rubber cheque to,’ I said. ‘They were a bit sticky, but they’ve agreed not to prosecute if you take care of them after the inevitable Receiving Order.’
‘I what?’
‘Pay them later,’ I said. Jargon... I did it myself.
‘Oh.’
‘The order of paying,’ I said, ‘will be first the Inland Revenue, who will collect tax in full, and will also charge interest for every day overdue.’
‘But I haven’t anything to pay them with.’
‘Did you sell your car, as we agreed you should?’
He nodded, but wouldn’t meet my eyes.
‘What have you done with the money?’ I said.
‘Nothing.’
‘Pay it to the Revenue, then, on account.’
He looked away evasively, and I sighed at his folly. ‘What have you done with the money?’ I repeated.
He wouldn’t tell me, and I concluded that he had been following the illegal path of many an imminent bankrupt, selling off his goods and banking the proceeds distantly under a false name, so that when the bailiffs came there wouldn’t be much left. I gave him some good advice which I knew he wouldn’t take. The suicidal hysterics of his earlier visit had settled into resentment against everyone pressing him, including me. He listened with a mulish stubborness which I’d seen often enough before, and all he would positively agree to was not to write any more cheques.
By three-thirty I’d had enough of Mr Wells, and he of me.
‘You need a good solicitor,’ I said. ‘He’ll tell you the same as me, but maybe you’ll listen.’
‘It was a solicitor who gave me your name,’ he said glumly.
‘Who’s your solicitor?’
‘Fellow called Denby Crest.’
It was a small community, I thought. Touching, overlapping, a patchwork fabric. When the same familiar names kept turning up, things were normal.
As it happened, Trevor was in the outer office when I showed Mr Wells to the door. I introduced them, explaining that Denby had sent him to see us. Trevor cast a benign eye, which would have been jaundiced had he known the Wells state of dickiness, and made affable small talk. Mr Wells took in Trevor’s substantial air, seniority, and general impression of worldliness, and I practically saw the thought cross his mind that perhaps he had consulted the wrong partner.
And perhaps, I thought cynically, he had.
When he’d gone, Trevor looked at me sombrely.
‘Come into my office,’ he sighed.
17
I sat in one of the clients’ chairs, with Trevor magisterially behind his desk. His manner was somewhere between unease and cajoling, as if he were not quite sure of his ground.
‘Denby said he’d be here by four.’
‘Good.’
‘But Ro... he’ll explain. He’ll satisfy you, I’m sure. I think I’ll leave it to him to explain, and then you’ll see... that there’s nothing for us to worry about.’
He raised an unconvincing smile and rippled his fingertips on his blotter. I looked at the familiar, friendly figure, and wished with all my heart that things were not as they were.
Denby came ten minutes early, which would have gratified the psychiatrists, and he was wound up like a tight spring, as well he might be. His backbone was ramrod stiff inside the short plump frame, the moustache bristling on the forward jutting mouth, the irritated air plainer than ever.
He didn’t shake hands with me: merely nodded. Trevor came round his desk to offer a chair, a politeness I thought excessive.
‘Well, Ro,’ Denby said crossly. ‘I hear you have reservations about my certificate.’
‘That’s so.’
‘What, exactly?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘To be exact... fifty thousand pounds missing from the clients’ deposit account.’
‘Rubbish.’
I sighed. ‘You transferred money belonging to three separate clients from the clients’ deposit to the clients’ current account,’ I said. ‘You then drew five cheques from the current account, made out to yourself, in varying sums, over a period of six weeks, three to four months ago. Those cheques add up to fifty thousand pounds exactly.’
‘But I’ve repaid the money. If you’d’ve looked more carefully you’d have seen the counter credits on the bank statement.’ He was irritated. Impatient.
‘I couldn’t make out where those credits had come from,’ I said, ‘so I asked the bank to send a duplicate statement. It came this morning.’
Denby sat as if turned to stone.
‘The duplicate statement,’ I said regretfully, ‘shows no record of the money having been repaid. The bank statement you gave us was... well... a forgery.’
Time ticked by.
Trevor looked unhappy. Denby revised his position.
‘I’ve only borrowed the money,’ he said. There was still no regret, and no real fear. ‘It’s perfectly safe. It will be repaid very shortly. You have my word for it.’
‘Um...’ I said. ‘Your word isn’t enough.’
‘Really, Ro, this is ridiculous. If I say it will be repaid, it will be repaid. Surely you know me well enough for that?’
‘If you mean,’ I said, ‘would I have thought you a thief, then no, I wouldn’t.’
‘I’m not a thief,’ he said angrily. ‘I told you, I borrowed the money. A temporary expediency. It’s unfortunate that... as things turned out... I was not able to repay it before the certificate became due. But as I explained to Trevor, it is only a matter of a few weeks, at the most.’
‘The clients’ money,’ I said reasonably, ‘is not entrusted to you so that you can use it for a private loan to yourself.’
‘We all know that,’ Denby said snappily, in a teaching-grandmother-to-suck-eggs manner. My grandmother, I reflected fleetingly, had never sucked an egg in her life.
‘You’re fifty thousand short,’ I said, ‘and Trevor’s condoned it, and neither of you seems to realise you’ll be out of business if it comes to light.’
They both looked at me as if I were a child.
‘But there’s no need for it to come to light, Ro,’ Trevor said. ‘Denby will repay the money soon, and all will be well. Like I told you.’
‘It isn’t ethical,’ I said.
‘Don’t be so pompous, Ro,’ Trevor said, at his most fatherly, shaking his head with sorrow.
‘Why did you take the money?’ I asked Denby. ‘What for?’
Denby looked across enquiringly at Trevor, who nodded.
‘You’ll have to tell him everything, Denby. He’s very persistent. Better tell him, then he’ll understand, and we can clear the whole thing up.’