by Ivan B
“What is she today?”
“Fifty-three!”
They laughed at the joke, said their fond farewells, and rang off after Peter had checked that she was still on to eat out the following evening.
A few minutes later Mark arrived followed by Tom. When in the Captain’s Table they had planned to meet tonight to divide the spoils. Peter made some coffee and they all sat in the sitting room. Peter opened the conversation.
“Right. We have got “£380,000 in the bank, plus £40,000 in my filing cabinet and three bags of coinage.”
Mark chipped in, “How come £380,000?”
“Because I paid in £30,000 to the bank last week, they didn’t even raise an eyebrow. That makes a total of around £420,000. I suggest the easy way to divide up the money is for each of us to allocate £130,000. Say one large donation each and a couple of small ones; we don’t want to be lumbered with writing hundreds of cheques.”
“Sounds OK to me,” said Mark.
Tom sucked in his cheeks.
“I feel a bit of a fraud, I’ve only just entered this enterprise and am now given equal shares to distribute.”
Mark chuckled.
“Enjoy it Tom, you will probably never ever get the chance to give away so much money.”
They all thought for a few moments and Peter started.
“I’d like to give £80,000 to the St Cedds Africa Association for their work with those affected by Aids and HIV. The Major gave me some really interesting information and I fully endorse what they are doing. Secondly I’d like to give £25,000 to St Cedd’s School, they could really do with some up to date technology. Thirdly I’d like to give another £25,000 to my old theology college; they want to update their facilities for the disabled and personally I want to see the ministry opened up to a wider sphere of people.”
Mark leaned back in his chair .
“I would never have thought that giving away money could cause so much mental agony. But I’m going for £20,000 to the Seamen’s Mission, they could really do with an Internet Café. Then £100,000 to the Christian Seafarer’s Society, I’ve seen the work they do to assist injured seamen and seamen’s widows from all around the globe. Lastly, I’ll go for £20,000 to a charity called Totally Anonymous; they provide funds to assist the children of deceased seafarer’s through university.”
Tom shifted in his seat.
“Can I check out the ground rules here? We can give to absolutely anything?”
Peter nodded.
“Provided we all agree and provided it is not connected with St Nathaniel’s.”
Tom pulled a piece of paper out of his top pocket.
“Then I’d like all mine to go to this lot. They’re an interdenominational effort, lead by the Catholics, to help youngsters out of the circle of unemployment and unemployables in the north-east.”
Peter looked at the other two.
“Now let’s be honest with each other. Do any of us feel that someone else’s donations are wide of the mark?”
Nobody did, so they discussed exactly how they were going to donate the monies. They decided that the easiest thing to do was for both Mark and Tom to each deposit £20,000 of the remaining bank notes. They then wrote out cheques for the various sums and each held onto the cheques for the donations of their choice.
Finally Peter sat forward.
“Now, what about the coinage?”
“Let’s not make a fuss over this,” Mark replied. “Why not each take a bag and use it as we can?”
“Sounds fair enough,” Said Tom
So that night when Tom and Mark left they took with them their cheques and a bag of coins. By some unwritten agreement they had left Peter with the bag of £2 coins.
The following morning Peter was up early and was already halfway through his wedding address for Kimberley and Damian when Jo knocked at the door. Peter opened the door more than a little perplexed.
“Forgotten your key?”
Jo smiled and nodded down the drive where two of the church members could be seen walking their dogs,
“Didn’t want you to get a bad reputation, you know giving the floozy a key to the door, silly isn’t it?”
She stepped inside; Peter closed the door and gave her a hug and a kiss.
Eventually she stepped back.
“Have you heard the news? There’s police crawling all over Cameron’s bank. Newsagent opposite says that he’s done a bunk.”
“Done a bunk?” said Peter. “What sort of language is that for a linguistics expert?”
Jo put on a posh voice.
“Oh sorry, I mean absconded with the cash.”
They both laughed, then Jo said in a more serious tone.
“Peter, I’m not sure that I can go on taking money from you. It seems sort of wrong. It’s almost making me feel like a paid woman.”
Peter almost made a humorous retort, but realized just in time that Jo was deadly serious.
“Are you saying that you want to stop coming here on Tuesdays and Thursdays? If so I think I understand.”
Jo shook her head, Peter decided that he was getting used to the way her nose-ring wobbled.
“No I’m not saying that, but please don’t pay me. Think of me as doing it out of love.”
Peter gave her a hug.
“If that’s what you want.”
He was just about to turn the hug into something else when the doorbell rang. On the doorstep were two odd looking characters. One was a tall extremely seedy looking man, with an ill-fitting suit that had seen far better days. The other was a short exceptionally thin female carrying the biggest handbag that Peter had seen in years. Before Peter could speak the man held up a warrant card.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Frome and this is Detective Constable Diamond. We’re part of the Regional Fraud Squad. May we come in?”
Peter’s heart missed a beat; in fact it missed several beats.
“Certainly.”
Jo said chirpily asked them if they’d like a drink and the woman asked for two teas both with sugar. Jo went to the kitchen and Peter took them into the lounge somehow very conscious of the bag of £2 coins sitting in his filing cabinet.
The sergeant pulled a notebook out of his pocket,
“Do you know a Cameron De Bere?”
Peter almost turned a somersault, it wasn’t him they were after.
“Yes, he’s my Church Council secretary.”
The two police officers looked at one another, the Constable studied her notebook.
“Do you mean treasurer?”
“No I mean secretary; Sam is our treasurer.”
The man shuffled his bottom on the seat of the chair.
“Would you mind checking that all your church funds are in place sir? I will explain later.”
Peter went next door and phoned Sam on his mobile, it rang for some time and then Sam answered. Peter cut out the pleasantries.
“Sam, I’ve got two police officers in my lounge asking if all our church funds are safe and mentioning Cameron’s name. I don’t want to be a pest, but are they?”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll ring you back,” was the reply.
Peter went back into the lounge to find the two officers examining the wall paintings.
“Bit of an artist are we sir?” said the sergeant with what Peter thought was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.”
“No. The paintings are by Carola Massey the internationally famous artist.”
“Must get her to do my lounge sometime.”
Before Peter could answer Jo appeared with the teas. She went to leave, but the constable made a hand gesture.
“We’d like your wife to stay if you don’t mind.”
Jo opened her mouth, but at a wink from Peter she settled down into an armchair. The phone rang and Peter answered it; it was Sam.
“Money’s OK; it’s sitting in a high investment account until the Church Council decides what to do with it.”
Peter heaved a sigh o
f relief.
“Thanks Sam, but to be on the safe side can you ring the building society back. Tell them that we do not intend to move the money this week and that if they are asked to release any of the funds they are not to do so without contacting you first.”
Sam was clearly mystified.
“Problems?”
“Hopefully not for us.”
Peter put the phone down.
“Our money is safe and sound.”
The sergeant put down his cup of tea.
“We have been investigating Mr. De Bere for some time, but it appears that he has flown the coup before we can get to him.”
“What’s he done?” asked Jo.
The woman constable replied in a carefully measured tone.
“It is alleged that he has asked some of his more wealthy customers to allow him to manage their investments and then misappropriated the money. Our information led us to believe that he was also managing the church investments, which I believe are quite substantial.”
Peter shook his head.
“I wasn’t here at the time but a couple of years ago he looked set to be our treasurer, but according to the council minutes he pulled out at the last moment.”
“Count yourself fortunate,” said the sergeant.
Jo butted in out of curiosity.
“How much money is involved?”
The constable answered again in her diplomatic manner.
“We cannot put an exact figure to what he is alleged to have mismanaged, but it is probably over a million pounds.”
They stood up in unison and the sergeant smiled at Jo.
“Thank you for your hospitality. If anyone tries to extract money from your church funds please let us know. You can contact us through your local police station.”
When they had gone Jo looked at Peter.
“Cameron’s wife, she must be going through hell.”
“I’d better go round there. See you this evening.” He replied.
He gave her a not-so-quick-kiss and left.
Peter drove straight to Cameron’s house, but when he arrived he realized that his intended visit was pointless. Cameron’s house was obviously full of the police, as there were several police vehicles outside and a large police constable on the doorstep. He drove past and then went to drive around the block, but Mrs. Veymare, one of his church members, waved him down.
“Isn’t it awful vicar?”
Peter did not really want to gossip.
“What’s awful?”
“They’ve all gone and taken the money with them, all those people’s life savings.”
Peter was slightly mystified.
“You mean the whole of the De Bere family?”
“Yes,” she said virtually jumping up and down with excitement, “Celine and the children went on holiday to South Africa last week, and now Cameron disappears!”
“Have you told the police what you know about the De Bere’s holiday?”
She stood upright abruptly, “No. No I haven’t.”
She quickly set off up the road with a purposeful look in her eyes and Peter was relieved that the conversation was at an end. He drove round the block and back towards the vicarage, as he did so he noticed Marjorie’s Porsche parked next to a phone box and Marjorie in the box making a phone call. There was something in Marjorie’s manner that made him look twice. Furtive, he thought, she looks furtive.
Peter suddenly realized the time and drove to Felixstowe. His friendly jeweler had said that he would have finished altering the size of the ring he had purchased by lunchtime. After picking up the ring Peter drove to Gracie’s old people’s home. He’d been popping in on Gracie every fortnight or so since they first met. As usual Gracie was sitting in the sun lounge trying to read the paper; she tried every day, but the print was always too small. Peter sat beside her and took the paper out of her hands. He read to her the articles he knew she liked. When he had finished, she shook her head.
“They can’t be serious! Fancy wanting to put another superstore up on the edge of Felburgh. They’ll just have a price war and then we’ll be left with another unusable eyesore or some warehouse selling things we don’t need.”
Peter laughed, and he sat back as she talked about all the changes she had seen in Felburgh. Peter had heard most of it before, but she was always fun to talk to. As he was about to leave Gracie fixed him with a stare.
“And you young man, what are you so happy about?”
Peter chuckled.
“Am I that transparent?”
“You are to me. Come on spill the beans; we get precious little good news in here, all we ever hear about is another one of us old codgers passing on to a better place.”
Peter smiled.
“Pretty soon I might be asking a young lady to be my wife.”
“Is she pretty?”
“She is to me.”
Gracie pondered on this for a moment.
“My Bertie was not the most handsome of souls, what nature didn’t give him he let the wrong end of a scaffold pole sort out. But when I was married to him I used to sit in a crowded room and look at all the other men and think to myself, ‘there ain’t anyone here like my Bertie; I’ll take him every time.’ It’s not the outside that counted to me, it was the inside. Inside my Bertie was all heart and I didn’t care that he looked like God’s leftovers all shoved together.”
Peter had no answer to that.
Peter picked Jo up at six and they drove off towards Felburgh creek. Peter had a few things to say to Jo, and he had picked the spot where he would say them with care. On the way he asked Jo what Danielle was up to.
“Louise had come over and I left them eating pizza and planning strategy.”
“Planning strategy for what?”
“Their friend Sinah’s surprise birthday party.”
“Major operation is it?” remarked Peter.
“You would think so. Lots of clandestine phone calls. Plans drawn up and then thrown away and of course a little bit of secret matchmaking.”
They pulled into the Felburgh Creek car park, which was really a pseudo-leveled pile of pebbles, and Jo chuckled.
“Don’t forget. I’ve got to be home by nine-thirty. Louise has to go home then and I don’t like leaving Danielle alone, even though she is fourteen.”
“Message received and understood.”
They climbed out of the Land Rover and Peter took Jo along the beginning of the footpath that went all the way to Aldeburgh. They weren’t going that far though, about two hundred yards along the path there was an open space on the cliff-top with a small three-seat bench that looked out over the sea. Peter sat down,
Jo sat next to him and he put his arm around her.
“Restaurant is booked for seven-thirty so we have plenty of time.” He murmured.
They talked about inconsequential things for a few minutes and then Peter took his arm away from Jo’s shoulders and stiffened slightly.
“Jo, we promised each other no secrets, and I have been keeping two things back from you. One because of embarrassment, and the other because of a promise I made some time ago. Before we go to the restaurant I would like to tell you those two things and I hope with all my heart that they make no difference to our relationship.”
Peter paused and Jo wondered what he was going to say. Peter looked out to sea and after a minute or so, during which a thousand desperate reasons passed through her brain.,
“I’m not a bachelor you know, I am a divorcee,” he said quietly.
Jo could not have been more surprised, but as he wasn’t looking at her Peter didn’t notice, he continued talking.
“It all happened years ago, but I don’t want to build a relationship on deceit and you need to know.”
“Who was she?”
Peter turned and looked at Jo.
“That’s the problem, the she is Jane Sato.”
Peter looked out to sea again. Jo grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it gently.
“Do you want to tell me about it. You do not have to; it makes no difference as to how I feel about you.”
“No secrets, remember?” He said tenderly. He paused slightly. “When I started university I was late making arrangements because of my rugby accident and my mum’s illness. This meant that I missed the chance to go into halls and I ended up in a house shared with six other students. They were all in their third year, but as I was two years behind we were of roughly the same age. There was Anthony and Alice, they were already a close couple, Ruby, Lorraine, Jonathan and Jane. Halfway through that year I started courting Jane; I was reading mathematics and she was studying English. At the end of the year I thought things were going swimmingly and then we hit a snag. Jane wanted to stay on and pursue an MA, but she could not get permission to stay from the home office. She is Japanese, her parents are Japanese and her grandparents are Japanese, so she had ho hereditary right. It was obvious that the authorities thought that she just wanted to stay on n England to no purpose and whereas the university should have been able to put things straight, somehow they mucked the whole thing up. However, there was a simple solution, we got married. One wet Friday afternoon in a depressing register office we got married. As far as our relationship was concerned it was too soon. We both tried; believe me we tried, but after three years we had to admit that there was a gulf between us that we could not bridge. We never had any loud arguments and we never blamed each other, but we both came to realize that we were living a sham. So we obtained a legal separation and went our own ways. The theory was that we would try and live independently to see if that was better than living together. I hoped that that was the case for I loved her deeply.”
Peter paused and Jo took her eyes off the sea and looked at him, tears were rolling down his face. She held onto his hand and waited.
“But it never happened; we were better living apart and so we went our own ways. We corresponded for a time, but the letters grew more infrequent as the years went by. In the last twenty years before coming here I saw her twice. Once when she was made a deaconess, and once when she was priested. Then when I came here I found her next door and still single.”
Jo asked softly; “Do you still love her?”