The New Collected Short Stories (26 page)

‘Fine by me,’ said Bill. ‘Who am I to argue with a Foreign Office directive, especially when all I have to do is move money from one High Commission account to another within
the bank?’

The Chief Administrator didn’t comment on any missing money during the following week, as he had received the same number of kora he had originally expected. Henry assumed he’d got
away with it.

As there wasn’t another payment due for three months, Henry had ample time to refine his plan. During the next quarter, a few of the local businessmen came up with their donations, but
Henry quickly realised that even with this influx of cash, they could only just about afford to start digging. He would have to deliver something a great deal more substantial if he hoped to end up
with more than a hole in the ground.

Then an idea came to him in the middle of the night. But for Henry’s personal coup to be effective, he would need to get his timing spot on.

When Roger Parnell, the BBC’s correspondent, made his weekly call to enquire if there was anything he should be covering other than the swimming pool appeal, Henry asked if he could have a
word with him off the record.

‘Of course,’ said the correspondent. ‘What do you want to discuss?’

‘HMG is a little worried that no one has seen General Olangi for several days, and there are rumours that his recent medical check-up has found him to be HIV positive.’

‘Good God,’ said the BBC man. ‘Have you got any proof?’

‘Can’t say I have,’ admitted Henry, ‘although I did overhear his personal doctor being a little indiscreet with the High Commissioner. Other than that,
nothing.’

‘Good God,’ the BBC man repeated.

‘This is, of course, strictly off the record. If it were traced back to me, we would never be able to speak again.’

‘I never disclose my sources,’ the correspondent assured him indignantly.

The report that came out on the World Service that evening was vague, and hedged with ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’. However, the next day, when Henry visited the golf course, the
Britannia Club and the bank, he found the word ‘AIDS’ on everyone’s lips. Even the High Commissioner asked him if he had heard the rumour.

‘Yes, but I don’t believe it,’ said Henry, without blushing.

The kora dropped 4 per cent the following day, and General Olangi had to appear on television to assure his people that the rumours were false, and were being spread by his enemies. All his
appearance on television did was to inform anyone who hadn’t already heard them about the rumours, and as the General seemed to have lost some weight, the kora dropped another 2 per cent.

‘You did rather well this month,’ Bill told Henry on Monday. ‘After that false alarm about Olangi’s HIV problem, I was able to switch 118,000 kora into the Swimming Pool
Account, which means my committee can go ahead and instruct the architects to draw up some more detailed plans.’

‘Well done,’ said Henry, passing the praise on to Bill for his personal coup. He put the phone down aware that he couldn’t risk repeating the same stunt again.

Despite the architects’ plans being drawn up and a model of the pool placed in the High Commissioner’s office for all to see, another three months went by with only a trickle of
small donations coming in from local businessmen.

Henry wouldn’t normally have seen the fax, but he was in the High Commissioner’s office, going over a speech Sir David was due to make to the Banana Growers’ Annual Convention,
when it was placed on the desk by the High Commissioner’s secretary.

The High Commissioner frowned and pushed the speech to one side. ‘It hasn’t been a good year for bananas,’ he grunted. The frown remained in place as he read the fax. He passed
it across to his First Secretary.

‘
To all Embassies and High Commissions: The government will be suspending Britain’s membership of the Exchange Rate Mechanism. Expect an official announcement later
today.
’

‘If that’s the way of things, I can’t see the Chancellor lasting the day,’ commented Sir David. ‘However, the Foreign Secretary will remain in place, so it’s
not our problem.’ He looked up at Henry. ‘Still, perhaps it would be wise if we were not to mention the subject for at least a couple of hours.’

Henry nodded his agreement and left the High Commissioner to continue working on his speech.

The moment he had closed the door of the High Commissioner’s office, he ran along the corridor for the first time in two years. As soon as he was back at his desk, he dialled a number he
didn’t need to look up.

‘Bill Paterson speaking.’

‘Bill, how much have we got in the Contingency Fund?’ he asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Give me a second and I’ll let you know. Would you like me to call you back?’

‘No, I’ll hold on,’ said Henry. He watched the second hand of the clock on his desk sweep nearly a full circle before the bank manager spoke again.

‘A little over £1 million,’ said Bill. ‘Why did you want to know?’

‘I’ve just been instructed by the Foreign Office to switch all available monies into German marks, Swiss francs and American dollars immediately.’

‘You’d be charged a hefty fee for that,’ said the bank manager, suddenly sounding rather formal. ‘And if the exchange rate were to go against you . . .’

‘I’m aware of the implications,’ said Henry, ‘but the telegram from London doesn’t leave me with any choice.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Bill. ‘Has this been approved by the High Commissioner?’

‘I’ve just left his office,’ said Henry.

‘Then I’d better get on with it, hadn’t I?’

Henry sat sweating in his air-conditioned office for twenty minutes until Bill called back.

‘We’ve converted the full amount into Swiss francs, German marks and American dollars, as instructed. I’ll send you the details in the morning.’

‘And no copies, please,’ said Henry. ‘The High Commissioner isn’t keen that this should be seen by any of his staff.’

‘I quite understand, old boy,’ said Bill.

The Chancellor of the Exchequer announced the suspension of Britain’s membership of the Exchange Rate Mechanism from the steps of the Treasury in Whitehall at 7.30 p.m., by which time all
the banks in St George’s had closed for the day.

Henry contacted Bill the moment the markets opened the following morning, and instructed him to convert the francs, marks and dollars back into sterling as quickly as possible, and let him know
the outcome.

It was to be another twenty minutes of sweating before Bill called back.

‘You made a profit of £64,312. If every Embassy around the world has carried out the same exercise, the government will be able to cut taxes long before the next election.’

‘Quite right,’ said Henry. ‘By the way, could you convert the surplus into kora, and place it in the Swimming Pool Account? And Bill, I assured the High Commissioner the matter
would never be referred to again.’

‘You have my word on it,’ replied the bank manager.

Henry informed the editor of the
St George’s Echo
that contributions to the swimming pool fund were still pouring in, thanks to the generosity of local businessmen
and many private individuals. In truth the outside donations made up only about half of what had been raised to date.

Within a month of Henry’s second coup, a contractor had been selected from a shortlist of three, and lorries, bulldozers and diggers rolled onto the site. Henry paid a visit every day so
that he could keep an eye on progress. But it wasn’t long before Bill was reminding him that unless more funds were forthcoming, they wouldn’t be able to consider his plan for a high
diving board and changing rooms for up to a hundred children.

The
St George’s Echo
continually reminded their readers of the appeal, but after a year, just about everyone who could afford to give anything had already done so. The trickle of
donations had dried up almost entirely, and the income raised from bring-and-buy sales, raffles and coffee mornings was becoming negligible.

Henry began to fear that he would be sent to his next posting long before the project was completed, and that once he left the island Bill and his committee would lose interest and the job might
never be finished.

Henry and Bill visited the site the following day, and stared down into a fifty-by-twenty-metre hole in the ground, surrounded by heavy equipment that had been idle for days and would soon have
to be transferred to another site.

‘It will take a miracle to raise enough funds to finish the project, unless the government finally keeps its promise,’ the First Secretary remarked.

‘And we haven’t been helped by the kora remaining so stable for the past six months,’ added Bill.

Henry began to despair.

At the morning briefing with the High Commissioner the following Monday, Sir David told Henry that he had some good news.

‘Don’t tell me. HMG has finally kept its promise, and . . .’

‘No, nothing as startling as that,’ said Sir David, laughing. ‘But you are on the list for promotion next year, and will probably be given a High Commission of your own.’
He paused. ‘One or two good appointments are coming up, I’m told, so keep your fingers crossed. And by the way, when Carol and I go back to England for our annual leave tomorrow, try to
keep Aranga off the front pages – that is, if you want to get Bermuda rather than the Ascension Islands.’

Henry returned to his office and began to go through the morning post with his secretary. In the ‘Urgent, Action Required’ pile was an invitation to accompany General Olangi back to
his place of birth. This was an annual ritual the President carried out to demonstrate to his people that he hadn’t forgotten his roots. The High Commissioner would usually have accompanied
him, but as he would be back in England at the time, the First Secretary was expected to represent him. Henry wondered if Sir David had organised it that way.

From the ‘For Your Consideration’ pile, Henry had to decide between accompanying a group of businessmen on a banana fact-finding tour around the island, or addressing St
George’s Political Society on the future of the euro. He placed a tick on the businessmen’s letter and wrote a note suggesting to the Political Society that the Controller was better
placed than he to talk about the euro.

He then moved on to the ‘See and Bin’ pile. A letter from Mrs Davidson, donating twenty-five kora to the swimming pool fund; an invitation to the church bazaar on Friday; and a
reminder that it was Bill’s fiftieth birthday on Saturday.

‘Anything else?’ asked Henry.

‘Just a note from the High Commissioner’s office with a suggestion for your trek up into the hills with the President: take a case of fresh water, some anti-malaria pills and a
mobile phone. Otherwise you could become dehydrated, break out in a fever and be out of contact all at the same time.’

Henry laughed. ‘Yes, yes and yes,’ he said, as the phone on his desk rang.

It was Bill, who warned him that the bank could no longer honour cheques drawn on the Swimming Pool Account, as there hadn’t been any substantial deposits for over a month.

‘I don’t need reminding,’ said Henry, staring down at Mrs Davidson’s cheque for twenty-five kora.

‘I’m afraid the contractors have left the site, as we’re unable to cover their next stage payment. What’s more, your quarterly payment of £1.25 million won’t
be yielding any surplus while the President looks so healthy.’

‘Happy fiftieth on Saturday, Bill,’ said Henry.

‘Don’t remind me,’ the bank manager replied. ‘But now you mention it, I hope you’ll be able to join Sue and me for a little celebration that evening.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Henry. ‘Nothing will stop me.’

That evening, Henry began taking his malaria tablets each night before going to bed. On Thursday, he picked up a crate of fresh water from the local supermarket. On Friday
morning his secretary handed him a mobile phone just before he was due to leave. She even checked that he knew how to operate it.

At nine o’clock, Henry left his office and drove his Mini to the Victoria Barracks, having promised that he’d check in with his secretary the moment they arrived at General
Olangi’s village. He parked his car in the compound, and was escorted to a waiting Mercedes near the back of the motorcade that was flying the Union Jack. At 9.30, the President emerged from
the palace and walked over to the open-topped Rolls-Royce at the front of the motorcade. Henry couldn’t help thinking that he had never seen the General looking healthier.

An honour guard sprang to attention and presented arms as the motorcade swept out of the compound. As they drove slowly through St George’s, the streets were lined with children waving
flags, who had been given the day off school so they could cheer their leader as he set off on the long journey to his birthplace.

Henry settled back for the five-hour drive up into the hills, dozing off from time to time, but was rudely woken whenever they passed through a village, where the ritual cheering children would
be paraded to greet their President.

At midday, the motorcade came to a halt in a small village high in the hills where the locals had prepared lunch for their honoured guest. An hour later they moved on. Henry feared that the
tribesmen had probably sacrificed the best part of their winter stores to fill the stomachs of the scores of soldiers and officials who were accompanying the President on his pilgrimage.

When the motorcade set off again, Henry fell into a deep sleep and began dreaming about Bermuda, where, he was confident, there would be no need to build a swimming pool.

He woke with a start. He thought he’d heard a shot. Had it taken place in his dream? He looked up to see his driver jumping out of the car and fleeing into the dense jungle. Henry calmly
opened the back door, stepped out of the limousine, and, seeing a commotion taking place in front of him, decided to go and investigate. He had walked only a few paces when he came across the
massive figure of the President, lying motionless at the side of the road in a pool of blood, surrounded by soldiers. They suddenly turned and, seeing the High Commissioner’s representative,
raised their rifles.