Cat O'Nine Tales: And Other Stories (24 page)

Henry liked the
way she’d done her hair, but knew that he wouldn’t have the courage to tell
her. He also approved of the fact that she wore so little make-up and her only
jewelry was a modest string of pearls. Henry rose from his place as she reached
the table. Angela couldn’t remember the last person who’d bothered to do that.

Henry had
feared that they wouldn’t be able to find anything to talk about–small talk had
never been his forte–but Angela made it all so easy that he found himself
ordering a second bottle of wine, long before the meal was over–another first.

Over coffee,
Henry said, “I think I’ve come up with a way of supplementing your income.”

“Oh, don’t
let’s talk business,” said Angela, touching his hand.

“It’s not
business,” Henry assured her.

When Angela
woke the following morning, she smiled as she remembered what a pleasant
evening she’d spent with Henry. All she could recall him saying as they parted
was, “Don’t forget that any winnings made from gambling are
taxfree
.”
What was all that about?

Henry, on the
other hand, could recall every detail of the advice he’d given Angela. He rose
early on the following Sunday and began preparing an outline plan, which
included opening several bank accounts, preparing spreadsheets and working on a
long-term investment program. He nearly missed matins.

The following
evening Henry made his way to the Hilton Hotel on Park Lane, arriving a few
minutes after midnight.

He was carrying
an empty Gladstone bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. After all, he
had to look the part.

The Westminster
and City Conservative Associations annual ball was coming to an end. As Henry
entered the ballroom, party-goers were beginning to burst balloons and drain
the last drops of champagne from any remaining bottles.

He spotted
Angela seated at a table in the far corner, sorting out pledges, checks and
cash before placing them in three separate piles. She looked up and couldn’t
mask her surprise when she saw him. Angela had spent the day convincing
herself
that he didn’t mean it and, if he did turn up, she
wouldn’t go through with it.

“How much cash?” he asked
matterof-factly
,
even before she could say hello.

“Twenty-two
thousand three hundred and seventy pounds,” she heard herself saying.

Henry took his
time.
He
doublechecked
the notes
before placing the cash in his battered bag.
Angela’s calculation had
proved to be accurate. He handed her a receipt for £19,400.

“See you
later,” he said, just as the band struck up “Jerusalem.” Henry left the
ballroom as the words “Bring me my bow of burning gold” were rendered lustily
and out of tune. Angela remained transfixed as she watched Henry walk away. She
knew that if she didn’t chase after him and stop the man before he reached the
bank, there could be no turning back.

“Congratulations
on another well-organized event, Angela,” said
Councillor
Pickering, interrupting her thoughts. “I don’t know how we’d manage without
you.”

‘Thank you,”
said Angela, turning to face the chairman of the ball committee.

Henry pushed
his way through the hotels swing doors and out onto the street, feeling for the
first time that his anonymity was no longer a weakness but a strength. He could
hear his heart beating as he headed toward the local branch of HSBC, the
nearest bank with an overnight safe deposit. Henry dropped £19,400 into the
safe, leaving £2,970 of the cash in his bag. He then hailed a taxi–another
departure from his usual routine–and gave the cabby an address in the West End.

The taxi drew
up outside an establishment that Henry had never entered before, although he
had kept their accounts for over twenty years.

The night
manager of the Black Ace Casino tried not to look surprised when Mr. Preston
walked onto the floor. Had he come to make
a spot-check
?
It seemed unlikely, as the company accountant didn’t acknowledge him but headed
straight for the roulette table.

Henry knew the
odds only too well because he signed off the casino’s end-
ofyear
balance sheet every April, and despite rent, rates, staff wages, security and
even free meals and drinks for favored customers, his client still managed to
declare a handsome profit. But it wasn’t Henry’s intention to make a profit,
or, for that matter, a loss.

Henry took a
seat at the roulette table and saw red. He opened his Gladstone bag, extracted
ten ten-pound notes and handed them across to the croupier, who in turn counted
them slowly before he gave Henry ten little blue and white chips in return.

There were a
number of gamblers already seated at the table, placing bets of different
denominations, five, ten, twenty, fifty and even the occasional hundred-pound
golden chip. Only one punter had a stack of golden chips in front of him, which
he was spreading randomly around the different numbers.

Henry was
pleased to see that he held the attention of most of the onlookers standing
round the table.

While the man
on the far side of the table continued to litter the green baize with golden
chips, Henry placed one of his ten-pound chips on red. The wheel spun and the
little white ball revolved in the opposite direction until it finally settled
in red 19. The croupier returned one ten-pound chip to Henry, while he raked in
over a thousand pounds’ worth of golden chips from the gambler on the other
side of the table.

While the
croupier prepared for the next spin of the wheel, Henry slipped his single chip
in the left-hand pocket of his jacket, while leaving his original stake on red.

The croupier
spun the wheel again and this time the little white ball came to a halt in
black 4, and Henry’s chip was raked in by the croupier. Two
bets,
and Henry had broken even. He placed another ten-pound chip on red. Henry had
already accepted that if he was to exchange all the cash for chips, it would be
a long and arduous process. But then Henry, unlike most gamblers, was a patient
man, whose only purpose was to break even. He placed another ten pounds on red.

Three hours
later, by which time he had managed to exchange all £2,970 of cash for chips
without anyone becoming suspicious, Henry left the table and headed for the
bar. If
any one
had been following closely what Henry
had been up to, they would have observed that he had just about broken even.
But then that was his intention. He only ever meant to exchange all the surplus
cash for chips before he could execute the second part of his plan.

When Henry
reached the bar, his Gladstone bag empty and his pockets bulging with chips, he
took a seat next to a woman who appeared to be on her own. He didn’t speak to
her and she showed no interest in him. When Angela ordered another drink, Henry
bent down and deposited all of his chips into the open handbag she had left on
the floor beside her. He was already walking toward the exit before the barman
could take his order.

The manager
pulled open the front door for him.

“I hope it
won’t be too long before we see you again, sir.”

Henry nodded,
but didn’t bother to explain that the whole exercise was about to become part
of a nightly routine. Once Henry was back outside on the pavement, he walked
toward the nearest tube station, but didn’t start whistling until he’d turned
the corner.

Angela bent
down and closed her bag, but not before she’d finished her drink. Two men had
propositioned her earlier in the evening and she’d felt quite flattered. She
slipped off her stool and walked across to join a short queue of punters at the
cashier’s window. When she reached the front, Angela pushed the pile of
ten-pound chips under the steel grille and waited.

“Cash or check,
madam?” inquired the teller, once he’d counted her chips.

“A check
please,” Angela replied.

“What name
should the check be made out to?” was the teller’s next question.

After a
moment’s hesitation, Angela said, “Mrs. Ruth Richards.”

The cashier
wrote out the name Ruth Richards, and the figure, £2,930, before slipping the
check under the grille. Angela checked the figure. Henry had lost £40. She
smiled, remembering that he had assured her that over a year it would even out.
After all, as he had explained often enough, he wasn’t playing the odds, but
simply exchanging any traceable cash for chips, so that she would end up with a
check which no one would later be able to trace.

Angela slipped
out of the casino when she saw the manager chatting to another customer who had
clearly lost a large sum of money. Henry had warned her that the management
keeps a much closer eye on winners than losers, and that as she was about to
embark on a long and profitable run she shouldn’t draw attention to herself.

One of Henry’s
stipulations was that there should not be any contact between the two of them,
other than when he came to collect the takings, and then again for that brief
moment when he deposited the chips into her open bag. He didn’t want anyone to
think that they might be an item. Angela reluctantly agreed with his reasoning.
Henry’s only other piece of advice was that she should not be seen collecting
the cash herself during any function.

“Leave that to
the volunteers,” he said, “so that if anything goes wrong, no one will suspect
you.”

There are one
hundred and twelve casinos located across central London, so Henry and Angela
didn’t find it necessary to return to any particular establishment more than
once a year.

For the next
three years, Henry and Angela took their holidays at the same time, but never
in the same place, and always in August. Angela explained that not many
organizations hold their annual events in that particular month. During the
season Henry had to make sure that he was never out of town because from
September to December Sunday was the only night Angela could guarantee not to
be working, and in the run-up to Christmas she often had a lunchtime event,
followed by a couple more functions in the evening.

Although Henry
had written the rulebook, Angela had insisted on adding a
subclause
.
Nothing would be deducted from any organization which failed to reach the
previous year’s total. Despite this addendum, which incidentally Henry heartily
agreed with, he rarely left a function with his Gladstone bag empty The two of
them still met once a year at Mr. Preston’s office to go over Ms. Forster’s
annual accounts, which was followed by a dinner a week later at La
Bacha
. Neither of them ever alluded to the fact that she
had siphoned off £267,900, £311,150 and £364,610 during the past three
years,
and after each function deposited the latest check in
different bank accounts right across London, always in the name of Mrs. Ruth
Richards. Henry’s other responsibility was to ensure that their new-found
wealth was invested shrewdly, remembering that he wasn’t a gambler.

However, one of
the advantages of preparing other companies’ accounts is that it isn’t too
difficult to predict who is likely to have a good year. As the checks were
never made out in his or her name, any subsequent profits couldn’t be traced
back to either of them.

After they had
banked the first million, Henry felt that they could risk a celebration dinner.
Angela wanted to go to
Mosimann’s
in West
Halkin
Street, but Henry vetoed the idea. He booked a table
for two at La
Bacha
. No need to draw attention to
their newfound wealth, he reminded her.

Henry made two
other suggestions during dinner. Angela was quite happy to go along with the
first, but didn’t want to talk about the second. Henry had advised her to
transfer the first million to an offshore account in the Cook Islands, while he
carried on with the same investment policy; he also recommended that in future
whenever they cleared another hundred thousand, Angela would immediately
transfer the sum to the same account.

Angela raised
her glass. “Agreed,” she said, “but what is the second item on the agenda, Mr.
Chairman?” she asked, teasing him. Henry took her through the details of a
contingency plan she didn’t even want to think about.

Henry finally
raised his glass. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to
retirement, and joining all his colleagues for a farewell party on his sixtieth
birthday Six months later, the chairman of Pearson,
Clutterbuck
& Reynolds sent out invitations to all the firm’s employees, asking them to
join the partners for drinks at a local three-star hotel to celebrate the
retirement of Henry Preston and to
 
thank him for forty years of dedicated
service to the company.