During the flight back to Heathrow, Arthur studied Mr. Macpherson’s last will and testament line by line. He had left generous legacies to the Laidlaws, while no other individual was mentioned. The bulk of the estate was to be divided between several local organizations and charities, the two largest amounts being allocated to the Scottish Widows and Orphans Fund, and the Rehabilitation of Young Offenders Trust. Did those simple bequests, Arthur wondered, explain why the young Scot had set sail for Canada, and ended his days as a recluse in a remote part of his homeland?
Arthur knew the passport and birth certificate could prove useful if he was to go ahead with the deception, but had already decided that when he died, the executors would find the will exactly where Mr. Macpherson had left it.
On arrival back at Heathrow, Arthur took a train to Paddington and a taxi on to Petty France. Once he’d entered the building, he spent some considerable time filling in a long form, something he was rather good at.
After double-checking every box, he joined a slow-moving queue, and when he eventually reached the front he handed the document to a young lady seated behind the counter. She studied the application carefully, before asking to see Mr. Macpherson’s old passport, which Arthur handed over immediately. He’d made only one subtle change, 1950 had become 1966, while his own photograph had replaced the original one. She was clearly surprised not to have to make any corrections on his application form, or ask for further information. She smiled up at Arthur and stamped APPROVED.
“If you come back tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Macpherson,” she said, “you’ll be able to pick up your new passport.”
Arthur thought about making a fuss as he had a flight booked for Toronto that night, but simply said, “Thank you,” as he didn’t want to be remembered.
Arthur checked into a nearby hotel, where he spotted a poster advertising a performance of Schubert’s Fifth, to be given at the Festival Hall by the Berlin Philharmonic under their conductor, Simon Rattle.
He was beginning to think the trip couldn’t have gone much better.
3
Arthur picked up the phone on his desk and pressed a button that would put him through to the manager’s office.
“Barbara, it’s Arthur Dunbar.”
“Welcome back, Arthur. Did you have a nice time in Vancouver?”
“Couldn’t have been better. In fact I’m considering moving out there when I retire.”
“We’ll all miss you,” said Barbara. “I’m not sure how the place will survive without you.”
“I’m sure it will,” said Arthur, “but when are you expecting Mr. Stratton back?”
“He and his wife flew to Miami on Friday. He’ll be away for three weeks, so there couldn’t be a better time for us to rob the bank.”
“And run away together,” laughed Arthur. “Toronto’s answer to Bonnie and Clyde! Still, while I’m the senior officer, could you keep me briefed if anything important arises?”
“Of course,” said Barbara. “But as you well know, not a lot happens in August while so many customers are away on holiday. But I’ll give you a buzz if anything comes up.”
Arthur checked his post every morning, but it wasn’t until the sixth day that the first of the two letters landed on his desk. Arthur didn’t rest on the seventh day, now he felt confident that the Laidlaws were keeping their side of the bargain. He picked up the phone and pressed another button.
“Standing orders,” said a voice he recognized.
“Steve, it’s Arthur Dunbar. I’ve just received a letter from Mr. Macpherson, and he’s instructed the bank to raise Mr. and Mrs. Laidlaw’s monthly allowance.”
“I wish someone would do that for me,” said Steve.
“I’ll send down a copy of the letter for your files,” said Arthur, ignoring the comment. “And can you make sure that everything is in place for the September payment.”
“Of course, Mr. Dunbar.”
The second letter took a little longer to arrive, and Arthur even wondered if the Laidlaws had changed their mind, until the post boy delivered an envelope postmarked Ambrose on Monday morning, leaving him only five working days to complete the next part of his plan. But like a good Boy Scout, Arthur was well prepared.
He checked his watch. Buchan would still be at his desk for at least another couple of hours, but he needed to make an internal call before he contacted Edinburgh. He picked up the phone, pressed another button, and waited until the head of accounts came on the line.
“Have you seen a copy of the Macpherson letter, Reg, that I sent down to your office earlier this morning?”
“Yes I have,” replied Caldercroft, “and I’m sorry, Arthur, because you must be disappointed after all these years.”
“It was bound to happen at some time,” said Arthur.
“But sad that it’s just when you’re leaving. Will you get in touch with Mr. Macpherson and try to persuade him to change his mind?”
“Not much point,” said Arthur. “He hasn’t done so for the past twenty years, so why would he now?”
“I’m sure you’re right,” said Caldercroft. “But shouldn’t we wait until Stratton gets back, and see how he wants to play it?”
“I’m afraid the new banking laws don’t allow us that luxury,” said Arthur. “If a client requests to move his account, we must carry out their wishes within fourteen days, and as you can see, the letter is dated the eleventh.”
“Perhaps we should call Mr. Stratton in Miami, and alert him to the situation?”
“You call him if you want to, Reg...”
“No, no,” said Caldercroft. “You’re in charge during the manager’s absence, so what do you want me to do next?”
“Gather up all Mr. Macpherson’s bonds, stocks, and any other financial instruments, and courier them to a Mr. Buchan at RBS in Edinburgh, who appears to be the person he’s appointed to take over the account. I’m just about to phone Buchan and find out when it will be convenient to complete the transfer. I’ll keep you briefed.” He put the phone down.
Arthur took a deep breath and checked over his script one more time before he picked up the phone again and asked the switchboard operator to get him a number in Edinburgh. He waited to be put through.
“Good morning, Mr. Buchan, my name is Arthur Dunbar, and I’m the senior VP at the National Bank of Toronto.”
“Good morning, Mr. Dunbar,” said his opposite number. “I’ve been expecting your call. I had a visit from a Mr. Macpherson a couple of weeks ago, and he said you’d be in touch.”
“Indeed,” said Arthur, “although we will be sorry to lose Mr. Macpherson, a most valued client, but pleased he’ll be moving to our partner bank in Edinburgh. And to that end,” said Arthur, trying to sound pompous, “I have already given instructions to send all the necessary paperwork to you by courier, which I anticipate should be dealt with by the end of the week.”
“Thank you, said Buchan, “and when will it be convenient for you to transfer Mr. Macpherson’s current account?”
“Would Thursday morning suit you? Around this time.”
“That should be fine. I’ll make sure everything is in place to receive the funds on Thursday afternoon, and may I ask roughly how much we should be looking out for?”
“I can’t be certain of the exact figure,” said Arthur, “because I won’t know the dollar — sterling exchange rate until that morning. But it will certainly be in excess of four million pounds.”
There was no response, and Arthur even wondered if they’d been cut off. “Are you still there, Mr. Buchan?”
“Yes, I am, Mr. Dunbar,” Buchan eventually managed. “And I look forward to hearing from you again on Thursday.”