Mr. Stratton returned from his holiday the following Monday, and had only been in his office for a few minutes before he called for the senior vice president.
“Why didn’t you try and contact me in Miami?” were his first words as Arthur entered the room.
“As you can see,” said Arthur, placing his own typewritten letter on the desk, “Mr. Macpherson’s instructions couldn’t have been clearer, and as I have no way of contacting him other than by post, there wasn’t a lot I could do.”
“You could have held things up, even flown to Scotland to see if you could get him to change his mind, which I would have approved.”
“That would have been pointless,” said Arthur, “as he had already visited RBS in Edinburgh and instructed a Mr. Buchan to carry out the transfer as expeditiously as possible.”
“Which I see you did last Thursday.”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “We just managed to complete the transaction within the time stipulated by the new government regulations.” Stratton pursed his lips. “However, a little coup I thought you would appreciate,” continued Arthur, enjoying himself, “the Toronto end handled the exchange from dollars into pounds sterling, earning the bank some seventy three thousand one hundred forty-one dollars.”
“A small compensation,” said Stratton begrudgingly.
“How kind of you to say so, Gerald.”
Arthur spent his last month making sure everything was in apple pie order, no more than his mother would have expected, so by the time Reg Caldercroft moved into his office and took over as the new senior vice president, Arthur had only one responsibility left: preparing a farewell speech for his retirement party.
“I think I can safely say,” said Mr. Stratton, “that few people have served this bank more conscientiously, and certainly none longer, than Arthur Dunbar. Twenty-nine years, in fact.”
“Twenty-nine years and seven months,” said Arthur with some feeling, and several of the longer-serving staff stifled a laugh.
“We’re all going to miss you, Arthur.” The insincere smile returned to the manager’s lips. “And we wish you a long and happy retirement when you leave us to join your family in Vancouver.”
Loud “hear, hears” followed this statement.
“And on behalf of the bank,” continued Stratton, “it’s my pleasure to present you with a Rolex Oyster watch, and I hope whenever you look at it, you will be reminded of your time at the bank. Let’s all raise a glass to our senior vice president, Arthur Dunbar.”
“To Arthur,” said over a hundred voices, as they raised their glasses in the air, which was quickly followed by cries of “speech, speech!” from the guests. They all fell silent when Arthur walked up to the front and took Stratton’s place.
“I’d like to begin,” said Arthur, “by thanking those people, and in particular Barbara, for organizing such a splendid party, and to all of you for this magnificent gift. And to you, Gerald,” he said, turning to face the manager, “I must say it will be quite hard to forget who gave me the watch, when engraved on the back is the inscription, ‘To Arthur, from all his colleagues at NBT.’” Everyone laughed and applauded as Arthur strapped the watch on his wrist. “And if any of you should ever find yourself at a loose end in Vancouver, do please look me up.” He didn’t add, but should you do so, you won’t find me.
Arthur was touched by how warm the applause was when he rejoined the guests.
“We’ll all miss you,” said Barbara.
Arthur smiled at the bank’s biggest gem. “And I’ll miss you,” he admitted.
4
Arthur left the bank at six o’clock on quarter day. He took the bus back to his small apartment and packed up all his belongings before spending his last night in Toronto.
The following morning, after handing over the keys to his apartment to the janitor, he took a cab to the airport. He only made one stop on the journey, when he donated four packed suitcases of his past to a grateful volunteer worker at the local Red Cross shop.
After checking in at the domestic terminal, Arthur boarded the midday flight for Vancouver. On arrival on the west coast, he collected his only suitcase from the carousel, and took a shuttle bus across to the international terminal. He waited in line before purchasing a business-class ticket to London, which he paid for with the last of his Canadian dollars. By the time Arthur boarded the plane he was so exhausted he slept for almost the entire flight.
When he landed at Heathrow and had passed through Customs, he once again transferred to terminal five and purchased a ticket to Edinburgh, also with cash. Arthur checked the departure board, and although he had an hour to spare, he made his way slowly across to gate 43. He stopped at every lavatory en route, locked himself into a cubicle, ripped out one page of his Canadian passport, tore it into little pieces, and flushed it down the toilet.
By the time Arthur reached the check-in desk, all he had left of his old passport was the cover. Mr. Dunbar dropped it into the bottom of a waste bin outside McDonald’s.
“Will all passengers...”
Mr. Macpherson stepped onto the plane.
On arrival in Edinburgh, Arthur took a taxi to the Caledonian Hotel and checked in.
“Welcome back,” said the desk clerk, as he checked his credit card against the customer’s reservation. He handed him a room key and said, “You’ve been upgraded, Mr. Macpherson.”
“Thank you,” said Arthur, who was shown up to a small suite on the sixth floor, to be greeted with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and a handwritten note of welcome from the manager. He gave the bellboy a handsome tip.
Once he’d unpacked, he called Mr. Buchan and made an appointment to see him later that afternoon. Following a light lunch in the brasserie, Arthur took a stroll along Princes Street and arrived outside the bank with a few minutes to spare.
“How nice to see you again, Mr. Macpherson,” said Buchan, leaping up from behind his desk when Arthur entered the account manager’s office.
“It’s nice to see you too,” said Arthur, as the two men shook hands.
“Can I offer you a tea or coffee?” asked Buchan once his client was seated.
“No, thank you. I only wanted to check that my bank in Toronto had carried out the transfer, and there hadn’t been any problems.”
“None that I’m aware of,” said Buchan. “In fact, the transfer couldn’t have gone more smoothly, thanks to Mr. Dunbar, and I’m looking forward to representing you in the future. So can I ask, Mr. Macpherson, is there anything you require at the moment?”
“A new credit card and some checkbooks.”
“Can I suggest our gold club card,” said Buchan, “which has a daily credit limit of one thousand pounds, with no security checks, and I’ve already put in an order for some new checkbooks, which should be with us by Monday. Would you like me to forward them on to Ambrose Hall?”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Arthur, “as I intend to spend a few days in Edinburgh before I return to Ambrose. So perhaps I can drop in on Monday and pick them up.”
“Then I’ll put a foot on the pedal and make sure they’re ready for you to collect by then.”
“And my old NBT card?” asked Arthur.
“We’ll cancel that when we hand over the new one on Monday. Do you have enough cash to see you through the weekend?”
“More than enough,” said Arthur.
Arthur left the bank and began walking back down Princes Street. What he hadn’t told Buchan was that he intended to do some shopping before he headed for Ambrose, and even take in a concert or recital. In fact he dropped into four shops on his way back to the hotel, and purchased three suits, six silk shirts, two pairs of Church’s shoes, and an overcoat in the sale. Arthur had done more shopping in three hours than he’d previously managed in three years. As he continued down Princes Street, Arthur stopped to look at the painting in the window of Munro’s, a Peploe of a bowl of fruit that he much admired. But he already had half a dozen of his own. In any case, he decided it might not be wise to enter the gallery where Mr. Macpherson had purchased so many pictures in the past, so he continued on his way back to the hotel.