by Ivan B
“When will you see him next?”
Tears filled Charmian’s eyes again,.
“January.”
“Do you write?”
“I write,” said Charmian, “once a week, but whether or not he will even get them is unknown. He writes to me too, but it is even more unlikely that I’ll get his letters. Last time he was away I got one batch of letters after six months.”
She blew her nose hard into a paper hankie.
“When Angus got permission to marry me I was visited by a seedy man who said that the navy wasn’t being mean, it’s just that the submarine’s whereabouts must be kept secret. But I miss him Jo, this time, I really miss him.”
They sat quietly for a few moments and then Charmian closed her eyes.
“Sorry Jo. I go on about my husband when… when…”
Jo touched her arm.
“When I haven’t got one?”
Charmian nodded.
“I didn’t mean to… ”
But Jo put her fingers to her lips.
“I’ve never had a husband Charmian and the last boyfriend I had was nearly twenty years ago.”
Jo could see the puzzled look in Charmian’s eyes.
“I’m legally Danielle’s guardian. We like to think of each other as mother and daughter, and to all intents we probably are, but she is not biologically mine.”
Charmian pondered on .
“Does Peter know?”
“Yes.”
But for the first time Jo wondered if Peter was reluctant about her because of Danielle. Charmian could almost see the uncertainty on her face.
“It is difficult for him you know. You are a parishioner of his. Just supposing he made a move on a parishioner who did not want his attention? You can almost see the tabloid headlines, ‘Vicar gropes for more members.’ I have a friend who fancied one of his church members; it was like a build-up of steam, in the end he had to say something. Just be patient. Sometime or other he will come up with an ambiguous statement and hope you get the message, if you want to”
“What makes you so sure he fancies me anyway, he doesn’t show it?” moaned Jo.
Charmian laughed.
“Because I have Thursdays off and I suspect the only reason he asked me to take that particular day off is so that he can have his coffee time tête-à-têtes with you. Practically speaking there are other, better, days.”
Charmian stood up.
“And speaking of Thursdays and days off, I’m going home.”
She gave Jo a hug and left.
Peter came downstairs about half an hour later and went into the kitchen. Jo was nowhere in sight, but he still made two cups of coffee. When he had poured them out he went into the hall and yelled, “coffees up!”
Jo appeared from the attic and came downstairs carrying a polishing mop, she placed the mop in the broom cupboard and climbed on her barstool. Peter handed her a coffee.
“Thanks for cleaning the lounge yesterday, and thanks for being with Charmian.” He said appreciatively.
“That’s OK, Charmian’s all right you know she’s just missing Angus. It must be hard having a husband who disappears off of the face of the earth for months at a time.”
Rather than talk about his colleague Peter changed the subject.
“How’s Danielle?”
Jo rolled her eyes.
“I tried talking to her about relationships with boys, and the only reaction I got was her saying that she wouldn’t go out with any boys in her class because they are all too juvenile. In any case I am seriously out of favour.”
“Why?”
Jo grinned.
“The school has offered Danielle two weeks at a language college because she wants to take her ‘A’ level French early next October. The Language College is in Paris and the school asked if there were any parents who spoke French who were willing to go.”
“And you speak French like a native.”
“I don’t know about the native bit, but I speak French. The school was a little reluctant to take up my offer at first, but no other parents offered and I heard this morning that I am off to France with my daughter on Monday. That means I shan’t be here for two weeks. Sorry about that, but it’s a chance I didn’t want to miss.”
Peter chuckled.
“I bet Danielle is furious. Her chance to be footloose and fancy free in Paris and you are there to cramp her style!”
“Furious is an understatement, but we have come to a compromise. When she joined the school she was encouraged to take up a musical instrument and she chose the clarinet. At the beginning of this school year she begged me to let her change to the saxophone, her best friend Louise plays the saxophone. I don’t know if she is any good on it or not, but she enjoys it. Directly following our time in France there is some sort of schools music jamboree at the Albert Hall in London. Somehow, don’t ask me how, she and Louise have wangled places in the joint schools swing band. They get fourteen days in London, practicing every day mind, and playing in the hall on the last two nights, courtesy of some music trust. Our compromise is that I go to France with her, but she goes to London alone.”
“That means she misses four weeks schooling.”
“Yes, but it’s her last chance to do so, her GCSEs start next term so it will be nose to the grindstone.”
“Are you going to hear her play?”
“Try and stop me, as a parent I get a free ticket, actually through some mix up I got two free tickets.”
Jo stopped and thought, should she take the risk? She decided nothing ventured, nothing gained, “Would you like to come?”
Peter in turn considered his options.
“Well swing music is not exactly my cup of tea, but yes I would like to.”
“Great,” said Jo, “I don’t have to go by train.”
They chatted for a few more minutes and then Peter had to leave because someone was at the front door.
That someone was Mark. After the usual preliminaries about the weather Mark ushered Peter into his study and closed the door.
“Do you fancy taking a risk?” He said.
Peter had heard this line before.
“What sort of risk?”
“There’s this guy down at the boatyard who wants to sell his fancy yacht; the thing is, he wants to sell it for cash and only cash. So we pay him cash for the yacht, then sell it on for a cheque, and bingo we have laundered some of our bank-notes.”
“How much cash?”
“£110,000.”
Peter was amazed.
“That must be some yacht.”
“It is. We have maintained it for the last five years; at £110,000 it is a bargain.”
Peter was again cautious.
“Is it definitely his to sell?”
“Oh yes. I remember when he bought it as he had us inspect it for him and we were involved in checking the inventory.”
“Are you sure he hasn’t sold it in the meantime?”
“As sure as I can be.”
Peter was still uncertain.
“Why cash?”
“Ah,” said Mark, “I thought you’d ask that.”
“Well?”
“He wants to raise money without passing it through a bank account. He’s lost an awful lot of money and been declared bankrupt. If he passes the money through his bank the receiver will seize it to pay for his debts.”
Peter shook his head.
“You mean he wants to escape with a nest-egg while his creditors lose out.”
“No, he wants to give the money to his wife so that she can buy the company off of the receiver.”
“Why can’t he just buy the company?”
“Because under European legislation he’s barred from being a director and the receiver won’t sell it to him.”
Peter thought, it all sounded dodgy.
“What’s the company?”
“Eco-mine. Apparently the Ministry of Defense pulled the plug on a major contract and the company’
s finances couldn’t take the strain.”
“But if his wife buys the company she won’t be able to sell the product any more than he could.”
“They don’t want to sell anything; they just want to safeguard the technology. If they don’t buy it then the receiver will sell it to the highest bidder, and that will probably be another armaments company that doesn’t want to use the technology, but sit on it so that no-one else can use it or perfect it.”
Peter sat back and thought, then he turned round and unlocked the filing cabinet and handed over to Mark £110,000 in mixed notes. Mark pulled out an old carrier bag from his pocket and placed the money in it.
“How long do you think it will take you to sell the yacht?” Peter asked.
Mark laughed.
“About two days. I have a buyer lined up, but they are using a finance company and of course they won’t pay cash.”
Peter locked the filing cabinet carefully.
“Can you meet me downtown tomorrow, we’d better open a joint bank account.”
Mark nodded, “and call it by a nondescript name.”
Peter smiled.
“Let’s call it The St Cedd Fund. Wherever I go in Felburgh I seem to come across dear old St Cedd, so we might as well name it after him.”
Mark looked thoughtful for a moment and then sat down.
“We need two signatures on a cheque?”
Peter nodded.
“Then we need more than two people just in case one of us gets run over by a bus.”
Again Peter nodded
“But who?” He said.
Mark looked Peter in the eyes.
“I thought about Lucy and Jo, but I don’t think that would work and I don’t want to involve them unless we have to because of your visitors the other day. But I do have a name; it’s someone I would trust and I wouldn’t mind getting involved.”
“Who?”
“Tom – Lord Felburgh.”
Peter considered this.
“That’s OK with me . Will you approach him?”
Mark nodded and stood up and started for the door. Then he stopped and turned back to Peter.
“Peter I’m not a gossip or a slanderer, but watch your back. Cameron’s trying to get his knife into you. He may be sweetness and light at the council meetings, but he’s speaking vehemently against your ideas any chance he gets.”
Peter digested.
“What is it between Marjorie and him?”
“I don’t know, but it runs deep. Cameron moved here to take over the bank five years ago and almost blew a fuse when he came to church and found Marjorie in the congregation. But at least he’s open about his animosity with Marjorie; he’s much more cunning about his opposition to you.”
Peter patted him on the shoulder and thanked him for the warning.
Mark opened the study door and left. Five minutes later Jo popped her head round the door to say goodbye and added, “See you in a fortnight.”
Peter sat down in his old armchair, it was totally ridiculous, but he was glad Jo had invited him to hear Danielle in London. He chided himself that he was acting like a moonstruck schoolboy when the phone rang. It was Bronwyn. Kimberley had partially regained consciousness; she could hold a slurred conversation, but had not yet realized she was in hospital. Peter said a prayer of thanks and then sat at his desk; it was Thursday and he had still not started his sermon for Sunday.
Mark went straight to The Reject Farm and found Tom drinking a cup of tea in the sunshine outside his office hut. Mark sat down beside him.
“Tom,” he said, “can I tell you a story?”
Tom looked dubious.
“Is it clean, legal, honest and truthful?”
“It’s clean and I’ll tell it honestly and truthfully, I’ll leave it up to you to think about the legality.”
Mark then told Tom the story of Revd. Reginald Graye and the basement, from start to finish; he left nothing out. When Mark had finished, Tom sat back in his garden chair looked somewhat amazed.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. Over the last few months you and the vicar have disposed of a dead body, moved a third of a million pounds round and round the vicarage and discovered an old naval set-up. In the meantime Peter has been accosted by a pair of criminal hard-men and you have some records clerk nosing about in the graveyard.”
“That about sums it up.”
Tom picked up a mug of tea and took a swig.
“So why tell me now?”
“We want to start laundering the money and need to open a bank account. We decided that we needed a third person we could trust just in case one of us popped our clogs.”
Tom laughed.
“You mean you would trust me with £300,000!”
Mark said earnestly.
“I’d trust you with my life.”
“You just have. Fraudulent embezzlement and forgery must be worth at least twelve years.” Tom said laughing.
He then leant forward.
“OK I’m in. How are you intending to launder the money?”
Mark explained about the yacht. Tom frowned.
“Sounds reasonable. If you like I’ll launder another £200,000 for you.”
Now it was Mark’s turn to be surprised.
“How on earth can you do that?”
“I’m just about to purchase a bigger warehouse in Felixstowe dock; it would do my image no harm if I paid in cash.”
Mark looked around the old junkyard; the concept of Tom buying a warehouse for such a sum seemed surreal. Tom could see Mark’s bewilderment and leant back in his chair.
“A few years ago I went to a classic car rally and there was a stall there with a young lady selling spares. She also had an RSPB collection tin on her stall so I got talking to her, call it the bird-watchers international fraternity. She was moaning that she could not get enough spares; I said that I had spares aplenty and we sort of formed a loose partnership. In case you haven’t realized the bottom has dropped out of the scrap metal market, but the spares market is quite lucrative. I had a 1930s Riley Kestrel in here the other day, some poor soul had spent years restoring it and then parked it in a barn, which promptly burnt down. It was a total wreck with the ash frame burnt to a cinder and the aluminum panels totally melted, but the epicyclical gearbox was OK; that one component is worth its weight in gold. Anyway four years ago Susie started advertising her classic car spares on the Internet and her firm went bang; she’s now getting orders from all over the country and all over the world. She did not have enough capital to expand her business so I bought in. Basically we have run out of warehouse space. The business has a turnover now of a couple of million pounds a year, that’s turnover not profit, but the secret is to have a good stock of parts, people who order via the Internet expect instant dispatch. If they want a supercharger for a Bentley blower, they want it now. So we’re buying a second warehouse.”
Mark had some trouble digesting this. Tom smiled.
“I know what you are thinking, ‘if this guy is part owner of a million pound business what is he doing sitting here?’”
Mark said.
“It did cross my mind.”
“I prefer this end of the business. Susie has the business head and the marketing skills and the business acumen; I provide the hardware, well at least some of it, she now has nearly two thousand scrap yards offering her parts.”
Mark asked.
“And you have £200,000 to spare?”
“Goodness gracious no, we’ve attacked the bank manager and borrowed the money, the bank manager just happens to have paid the money into my business account as I have agreed to fund the warehouse and Susie has agreed to fund the spares that will go inside it.”
“If this company goes under you stand to lose it all, isn’t that one hell of a risk?”
Tom shook his head.
“Possibly, but the business is generating so much money that we plan to pay off the loan in one year. If the company goes under it’s my scra
p-yard I lose.”
Mark looked round amazed.
“This is worth £200,000?”
“Apparently, according to the latest valuation.”
Mark decided to return to the original reason for his visit.
“Peter and I want to go to the bank tomorrow to set up the account, is that OK with you?”
Tom’s face creased up.
“No. I’m going bird watching with a friend. I can come now.”
Mark phoned Peter, who somewhat reluctantly agreed. Then two minutes later Peter phoned back, he had made an appointment with the bank clerk who opened non-personal accounts for 4:30pm and suggested they meet as soon as possible in The Captain’s Table to finalize what they were going to say. Both Tom and Mark agreed.
When Tom and Peter arrived at the Captain’s table Peter was already installed in a window seat with Aquinas sitting under the table, as they crossed the café Tom waved at Marjorie and Charmian who were sitting at a table on the far side of the floor. As soon as they sat down Peter said that he was glad that Tom had joined them and they finalized the details of the St Cedd Fund. When they had worked that out, Tom explained that he could almost instantly launder another £200,000. Peter was amazed.
“You mean you intend to walk into the solicitors, sign the documents and hand over £200,000 in cash. Won’t they think that a little odd?”
Tom grinned from ear to ear.
“To tell you the truth they already I am a little odd. When we first bought a part share of the warehouse we currently use I had the money in the wrong bank account, I don’t have a chequebook for it and I had forgotten to do a bank transfer, so I just used cash. It was only £10,000 but the solicitor was so surprised that I couldn’t help playing the same trick when we bought the rest of the warehouse. It’s sort of become my image with them.”
Peter laughed.
“Come back with us then and I’ll give you the cash.”
“Not today,” said Tom, “Monday, that’s when I sign the contract.”
They all shook hands and got up to leave for the bank.
Across the restaurant Marjorie said to Charmian.
“I wonder what those three are plotting.”
“Plotting?” Said Charmian, “What makes you think they are plotting?”