And Thereby Hangs a Tale (26 page)

T
HE CHAIRMAN CLIMBED OUT of the back of his
car and strode into the bank.

'Good morning, Chairman,' said Rod, the young
man standing behind the reception desk.

The chairman walked straight past without acknowledging
him and headed towards a lift that had just opened. A group of people who'd
been expecting to take it stood aside.

None of them would have considered sharing a
lift with the chairman, not if they wanted to keep their jobs.

The lift whisked him up to the top floor and
he marched into his office. Four separate piles of market reports, telephone
messages, press clippings and emails had been placed neatly on his desk by his
secretary, but today they could wait. He checked his diary, although he knew he
didn't have any appointments before his check-up with the company's doctor at
twelve o'clock.

He walked across to the window and looked out
over the City. The Bank of England, the Guildhall, the Tower, Lloyd's of London
and St Paul's dominated the skyline. But his bank, the bank he'd built up to
such prominence over the past thirty years, looked down on all of them, and now
they wanted to take it away from him.

There had been rumours circulating in the City
for some time. Not everyone approved of his methods, or some of the tactics he
resorted to just before closing a deal. 'Brings the very reputation of
the City into question,' one of his directors had dared to suggest at a recent
board meeting. The chairman had made sure the man was replaced a few weeks later,
but his departure had caused even more unease not only amongst the rest of the board
but also as far as the inner reaches of Threadneedle Street.

Perhaps he'd bent the rules a little over
the years, possibly a few people had suffered on the way, but the bank had
thrived and those who'd remained loyal to him had benefited, while he had built
one of the largest personal fortunes in the City.

The chairman was well aware that some of his
colleagues hoped he would retire on his sixtieth birthday, but they didn't have
the guts to put the knife in and hasten his departure. At least, not until a
story appeared in one of the gossip columns hinting that he'd been seen paying
regular visits to a clinic in Harley Street. They still didn't make a move
until the same story appeared on the front page of the Financial Times.

When the chairman was asked at the next board
meeting to confirm or deny the reports, he procrastinated, but one of his
colleagues, someone he should have got rid of years ago, called his bluff and
insisted on an independent medical report so that the rumours could be
scotched. The chairman called for a vote and didn't get the result he'd
anticipated. The board decided by eleven votes to nine that the company's
doctor, not the chairman's personal physician, should carry out a full medical
examination and make his findings known to the board. The chairman knew it
would be pointless to protest. It was exactly the same procedure he insisted on
for all his staff when they had their annual check-ups. In fact, over the years,
he'd found it a convenient way to rid himself of any incompetent or overzealous
executives who'd dared to question his judgement. Now they intended to use the
same tactic to get rid of him.

The company's doctor was not a man who could
be bought, so the board would find out the truth. He had cancer, and although
his personal physician said he could live for another two years, possibly
three, he knew that once the medical report was made public, the bank's shares
would collapse, with no hope of recovering until he'd resigned and a new chairman
had been appointed in his place.

He'd known for some time that he was dying, but
he'd always beaten the odds in the past, often at the last moment, and he
believed he could do it once again. He'd have given anything, anything for a
second chance...

'Anything?' said a voice from behind him.

The chairman continued to stare out of the window,
as no one was allowed to enter his office without an appointment, even the deputy
chairman. Then he heard the voice again. 'Anything?' it repeated.

He swung round to see a man dressed in a smartly
tailored dark suit, white silk shirt and thin black tie.

'Who the hell are you?'

'My name is Mr De Ath,' the man said, 'and I
represent a lower authority.'

'How did you get into my office?'

'Your secretary can't see or hear me.'

'Get out, before I call security,' said the
chairman, pressing a button under his desk several times.

A moment later the door opened and his
secretary came rushing in. 'You called, Chairman?' she said, a notepad open in
her hand, a pen poised.

'I want to know how this man got into my
office without an appointment,' he said, pointing at the intruder.

'You don't have any appointments this
morning, Chairman,' said his secretary, looking uncertainly around the room, 'other
than with the company doctor at twelve o'clock.'

'As I told you,' said Mr De Ath, 'she can't
see or hear me. I can only be seen by those approaching death.'

The chairman looked at his secretary and said
sharply, 'I don't want to be disturbed again unless I call.'

'Of course, Chairman,' she said and quickly left
the room.

'Now that we've established my credentials,'
said Mr De Ath, 'allow me to ask you again.

When you said you'd do anything to be given a
second chance, did you mean anything? 'Even if I
did say it, we both know that's impossible.'

'For me, anything is possible. After all,
that's how I knew what you were thinking at the time, and at this very moment I
know you're asking yourself, 'Is he for real? And if he is, have I found a way
out?'

'How do you know that?'

'It's my job. I visit those who'll do
anything to be given a second chance. In Hell, we take the long view.'

'So what's the deal?' asked the chairman, folding
his arms and looking at Mr De Ath defiantly.

'I have the authority to allow you to change
places with anyone you choose. For example, the young man working on the front
desk in reception. Even though you're scarcely aware of his existence and
probably don't even know his name.'

'And what does he get, if I agree to change places
with him?' asked the chairman.

'He becomes you.'

'That's not a very good deal for him.'

'You've closed many deals like that in the past
and it's never concerned you before. But if it will ease what passes for your
conscience, when he dies, he will go up,' said De Ath, pointing towards the
ceiling. 'Whereas if you agree to my terms, you will eventually be coming down,
to join me.'

'But he's just a clerk on the front desk.'

'Just as you were forty years ago, although you
rarely admit as much to anyone nowadays.'

'But he doesn't have my brain...'

'Or your character.'

'And I know nothing about his life, or his background,'
said the chairman.

'Once the change has taken place, he'll be supplied
with your memory, and you with his.'

'But will I keep my brain, or be saddled
with his?'

'You'll still have your own brain, and he'll
keep his.'

'And when he dies, he goes to Heaven.'

'And when you die, you'll join me in Hell.

That is, if you sign the contract.'

Mr De Ath took the chairman by the elbow and
led him across to the window, where they looked down on the City of London. 'If
you sign up with me, all this could be yours.'

'Where do I sign?' asked the chairman,
taking the top off his pen.

'Before you even consider signing,' said Mr De
Ath, 'my inferiors have insisted that because of your past record when it comes
to honouring the words 'legal and binding', I'm obliged to point out all the
finer points should you decide to accept our terms. It's part of the lower
authority's new regulations to make sure you can't escape the final judgement.'
The chairman put his pen down.

'Under the terms of this agreement, you will
exchange your life for the clerk at the reception desk. When he dies, he'll go
to Heaven. When you die, you'll join me in Hell.'

'You've already explained all that,' said
the chairman.

'Yes, but I have to warn you that there are
no break clauses. You don't even get a period in Purgatory with a chance to
redeem yourself.

There are no buy-back options, no due
diligence to enable you to get off the hook at the last moment, as you've done
so often in the past. You must understand that if you sign the contract, it's
for eternity.'

'But if I sign, I get the boy's life, and he
gets mine?'

'Yes, but my inferiors have also decreed
that before you put pen to paper, I must honestly answer any questions you
might wish to put to me.'

'What's the boy's name?' asked the chairman.

'Rod.'

'And how old is he?'

'Twenty-five next March.'

'Then I only have one more question. What's his
life expectancy?'

'He's just been put through one of those
rigorous medical examinations all your staff are required to undertake, and he
came out with a triple A rating. He plays football for his local club, goes to
the gym twice a week and plans to run the London Marathon for charity next
April. He doesn't smoke, and drinks only in moderation. He's what life
assurance companies call an actuary's dream.'

'It's a no-brainer,' said the chairman. 'Where
do I sign?'

Mr De Ath produced several sheets of thick parchment.
He turned them over until he had reached the last page of the contract, where
his name was written in what looked a lot like blood. The chairman didn't
bother to read the small print -- he usually left that to his team of lawyers
and in-house advisors, none of whom was available on this occasion.

He signed the document with a flourish and handed
the pen to Mr De Ath, who topped and tailed it on behalf of a lower authority.

'What happens now?' asked the chairman.

'You can get dressed,' said the doctor.

The chairman put on his shirt as the doctor examined
the X-rays. 'For the moment the cancer seems to be in remission,' he said. 'So,
with a bit of luck, you could live for another five, even ten years.'

'That's the best news I've heard in months,'
said the chairman. 'When do you think you'll need to see me again?'

'I think it would be wise for you to
continue with your usual six-monthly check-ups, if for no other reason than to
keep your colleagues happy. I'll write up my report and have it biked over to
your office later today, and I shall make it clear that I can't see any reason
why you shouldn't continue as chairman for a couple more years.'

'Thank you, Doctor, that's a great relief.'

'Mind you, I do think a holiday might be in order,'
said the doctor as he accompanied his patient to the door.

'I certainly can't remember when I last had one,'
said the chairman, 'so I may well take your advice.' He shook the doctor warmly
by the hand. 'Thank you. Thank you very much.'

Later that afternoon a large brown box was delivered
to the surgery.

'What's this?' the doctor asked his
assistant.

'A gift from the chairman.'

'Two surprises in one day,' said the doctor,
examining the label on the box. 'A dozen bottles of a 1994 Côtes du Rhône. How
very generous of him.' He didn't add until his assistant had closed the door, 'And
how out of character.'

The chairman sat in the front seat of his
car and chatted to his chauffeur as he was driven back to the bank. He hadn't
realized that, like him, Fred was an Arsenal supporter.

When the car drew up outside the bank, he leapt
out. The doorman saluted and held the door open for him.

'Good morning, Sam,' said the chairman, then
walked across reception to the lift which a young man was holding open for him.

'Good morning, Chairman,' said the young man.
'Would it be possible to have a word with you?'

'Yes, of course. By the way, what's your name?'

'Rod, sir,' said the young man.

'Well, Rod, what can I do for you?'

'There's a vacancy coming up on the
Commodities floor, and I wondered if I might be considered for it.'

'Of course, Rod. Why not?'

'Well, sir, I don't have any formal qualifications.'

'Neither did I when I was your age,' said
the chairman. 'So why don't you go for it?'

'I hope you know what you're up to,' said
the senior clerk when Rod returned to his place behind the reception desk.

'I sure do. I can tell you I don't intend to
spend the rest of my life on the ground floor like you.'

The chairman held open the lift doors to
allow two women to join him. 'Which floor?' he asked as the doors closed.