‘St George’s, Minister,’ the High Commissioner whispered in his ear.
‘Yes, of course, St George’s,’ replied Will, without even blushing.
Once they had arrived at the High Commission, Henry left the Minister to have tea with Sir David and his wife, and returned to his office. After even such a short journey, he was convinced that Witless Will was unlikely to carry much clout back in Whitehall; but that wouldn’t stop him pressing ahead with his case. At least the Minister had read the briefing notes, because he told them how much he was looking forward to seeing the new swimming pool.
‘Not yet started,’ Henry had reminded him.
‘Funny,’ said the Minister. ‘I thought I read somewhere that Princess Margaret had already opened it.’
‘No, she only laid the foundation stone, Minister. But perhaps all that will change once the project receives your blessing.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ promised Will. ‘But you know we’ve been told to make even more cutbacks in overseas funding.’ A sure sign that an election was approaching, thought Henry.
At the cocktail party that evening, Henry was able to say no more than ‘Good evening, Minister,’ as the High Commissioner was determined that Will would be introduced to every one of the assembled guests in under sixty minutes. When the two of them departed to have dinner with General Olangi, Henry went back to his office to check over the speech the Minister would be delivering at breakfast the following morning. He was pleased to see that the paragraph he had written on the swimming pool project remained in the final draft, so at least it would be on the record. He checked the seating plan, making sure that he had been placed next to the editor of the St George’s Echo. That way he could be certain that the paper’s next edition would lead on the British government’s support for the swimming pool appeal.
Henry rose early the following morning, and was among the first to arrive at the High Commissioner’s Residence. He took the opportunity to brief as many of the assembled local businessmen as possible on the importance of the swimming pool project in the eyes of the British government, pointing out that Barclays Bank had agreed to open the fund with a substantial donation.
The Minister arrived for breakfast a few minutes late. ‘A call from London,’ he explained, so they didn’t sit down to eat until 8.15. Henry took his place next to the editor of the local paper and waited impatiently for the Minister to make his speech.
Will rose at 8.47. He spent the first five minutes talking about bananas, and finally went on to say: ‘Let me assure you that Her Majesty’s Government have not forgotten the swimming pool project that was inaugurated by Princess Margaret, and we hope to be able to make an announcement on its progress in the near future. I was delighted to learn from Sir David,’ he looked across at Bill Paterson, who was seated opposite him, ‘that the Rotary Club have taken on the project as their Charity of the Year, and several prominent local businessmen have already generously agreed to support the cause.’ This was followed by a round of applause, instigated by Henry.
Once the Minister had resumed his seat, Henry handed the editor of the local paper an envelope which contained a thousand-word article, along with several pictures of the site. Henry felt confident that it would form the centre-page spread in next week’s St George’s Echo.
Henry checked his watch as the Minister sat down: 8.56. It was going to be close. When Will disappeared up to his room, Henry began pacing up and down the hallway, checking his watch as each minute passed.
The Minister stepped into the waiting Rolls at 9.24 and, turning to Henry, said, ‘I fear I’m going to have to forgo the pleasure of seeing the swimming pool site. However,’ he promised, ‘I’ll be sure to read your report on the plane, and will brief the Foreign Secretary the moment I get back to London.’
As the car sped past a barren plot of land on the way to the airport, Henry pointed out the site to the Minister. Will glanced out of the window and said, ‘Admirable, worthwhile, important,’ but never once did he commit himself to spending one penny of government money.
‘I’ll do my damnedest to convince the mandarins at the Treasury,’ were his final words as he boarded the plane.
Henry didn’t need to be told that Will’s ‘damnedest’ was unlikely to convince even the most junior civil servant at the Treasury.
A week later, Henry received a fax from the Foreign Office giving details of the changes the Prime Minister had made in his latest reshuffle. Will Whiting had been sacked, to be replaced by someone Henry had never heard of.
Henry was going over his speech to the Rotary Club when the phone rang. It was Bill Paterson.
‘Henry, there are rumours of another coup brewing, so I was thinking of waiting until Friday before changing the High Commission’s pounds into kora.’
‘Happy to take your advice, Bill – the money market is beyond me. By the way, I’m looking forward to this evening, when we finally get a chance to launch the Appeal.’
Henry’s speech was well received by the Rotarians, but when he discovered the size of the donations some of the members had in mind, he feared it could still be years before the project was completed. He couldn’t help remembering that there were only another eighteen months before his next posting was due.
It was in the car on the way home that he recalled Bill’s words at the Britannia Club. An idea began to form in his mind.
Henry had never taken the slightest interest in the quarterly payments that the British government made to the tiny island of Aranga. The Foreign Office allocated £5 million a year from its contingency fund, made up of four payments of £1.25 million, which was automatically converted into the local currency of kora at the current exchange rate. Once Henry had been informed of the rate by Bill Paterson, the Chief Administrator at the High Commission dealt with all the Commission’s payments over the next three months. That was about to change.
Henry lay awake that night, all too aware that he lacked the training and expertise to carry out such a daring project, and that he must pick up the knowledge he required without anyone else becoming aware of what he was up to.
By the time he rose the following morning, a plan was beginning to form in his mind. He started by spending the weekend at the local library, studying old copies of the Financial Times, noting in particular what caused fluctuating exchange rates and whether they followed any pattern.
Over the next three months, at the golf club, cocktail parties in the Britannia Club, and whenever he was with Bill, he gathered more and more information, until finally he was confident that he was ready to make his first move.
When Bill rang on the Monday morning to say that there would be a small surplus of 22,107 kora on the current account because of the rumours of another coup, Henry gave orders to place the money in the Swimming Pool Account.
‘But I usually switch it into the Contingency Fund,’ said Bill.
‘There’s been a new directive from the Foreign Office – K14792,’ said Henry. ‘It says that surpluses can now be used on local projects, if they’ve been approved by the Minister.’
‘But that Minister was sacked,’ the bank manager reminded the First Secretary.
‘That may well be the case, but I’ve been instructed by my masters that the order still applies.’ Directive K14792 did in fact exist, Henry had discovered, although he doubted that when the Foreign Office issued it they had had swimming pools in mind.
‘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 H
enry 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.
The New Collected Short Stories Page 20