Chapter One
For whom the lights flash (Somerset, February 1982)
He was thirty-six years old, tall and faintly tanned from a recent weeks holiday. He was in good physical shape with all his own hair and teeth and was reasonably good looking. His light grey suit, dark blue tie and polished black shoes told you he was not a manual worker although he sat at a table in the empty factory canteen. He was watching a set of coloured lights blinking on the far wall by the menu board. The yellow and green were not active, but the red, white and blue were pulsating on and off, on and off, on and off. A bit like this company he thought, although it was becoming rapidly more off than on these days. Their latest heating pumps were a disaster and as they seized up all over the country, usually when the weather was at its wettest and coldest, plumbers were deserting the company in droves. No plumber was going to continue buying a product that ensured at least one call out within the guarantee period and a disappointed customer on five out of ten installations. They were particularly losing out in the hard water areas where the design almost ensured a breakdown the minute any calcium started to form. This unfortunately included most of the housing estates in the north of England and in particular Manchester and Liverpool. Not a part of the world where a plumber, however practised in the art as most were, wants to piss off all his customers on an annual basis.
He heard footsteps echoing across the floor and looked up to see Derek Killick approaching him. He nodded and indicated the seat opposite. Killick pulled the seat out and sat down.
“Your lights are up you know, Tony, have been for nearly fifteen minutes.”
Tony wondered if Killick thought he was blind as he was only sat fifteen feet from the said lights and was practically facing them. Derek Killick ignored his sarcastic and exaggerated raising of one eyebrow and taking his pipe out of one pocket and a plastic tobacco wallet from another, proceeded to fill it. He did this with slow and careful movements of a man wishing to portray that he knew the secret of getting an even and steady burn.
Killick came from a Scottish naval family and his father had been a full naval captain, although of nothing more exciting than an oil supply ship, as Derek had revealed one day at the golf club when he was in his cups. Never the less, his family had a four-generation history in the service. The full set beard and the pipe gave him a feeling of keeping up the family tradition although it turned out that he himself had decided after an incredibly short period of time that the navy was not for him and was now taking his accountancy papers. Several times in fact as he kept failing various parts, which was why at the moment he handled the collection of debt and the foreign transaction payments in a small corner of the Accounts Office?
Killick also felt that the beard and pipe gave him a gravitas that his bright red hair would have denied him with a beardless face. He was right about that. He got the pipe going and sat back watching his work colleague with an expression of bemused interest on his face. He didn’t know why Tony was hiding in the canteen and ignoring the lights signal that showed some one wanted him, but he knew he would find out sooner or later if he were patient. He crossed one ankle over the other knee in a typical Killick pose, placed a knowing look on his face to hide the fact that he was actually very curious to know what was going on and puffed out clouds of aromatic blue smoke.
Tony had nodded to show that he had heard him, but apart from that just carried on turning the plastic cup from the vending machine of what passed for coffee, around and around in his fingers. The bloody machine had turned out a mixture of tea and coffee again resulting in an evil mix that even a man dying of thirst in the proverbial desert would have found difficult to swallow. He put the cup down with a sigh.
Tony Filton was well built man with a full head of wavy, dark brown hair and grey eyes and although he himself could not at first understand it, he had a way about him that attracted the opposite sex of all ages. He had enjoyed this until he heard two of his office staff discussing it one day when they didn’t know he was within hearing range. It seems they thought he was such a nice person.
This was an opinion did not please him greatly as he had always thought they liked him because he was sexy and that to be called nice was probably the worst thing that could happen to you. Nice people were usually nice because they had a completely innocuous personality and he would rather be thought an interesting bastard any day. Ever since he had overheard them he had been a little brusquer in his dealing with his office staff in an attempt to change their opinion. The jury was still out on whether it was working.
At five feet eleven inches he would have made a good rugby half back, although his chosen game had been football. Until a few years ago that is, when a badly broken wrist had driven his wife to threaten him with all manner of nastiness if he didn’t give up the game and grow up. He had over three months to think it over while he underwent two bone grafts on his smashed wrist. He had capitulated. Thinking about it now he realised that he had capitulated on a lot of things with Tas. Tasmin Pearling had been an only child and very used to getting her own way.
The silence between the two men stretched into several minutes. Killick was relighting his pipe and having finally got it going again sat back in his chair, ankles crossed and arms folded, puffing peacefully and giving a fair impression of an old steam locomotive. Being an ex-Naval Officer of however brief a period, Killick often liked to act as if he was on the bridge of a destroyer, calmly directing things while others panicked. However, the red beard and hair were ample warning of the temper that lurked within him, as had been seen when the tool room apprentices had made a large key from sheet aluminium and attached it to the rear of his diminutive and very ancient Fiat 500. Having driven it twenty-two miles home before he discovered it, which included driving through the heart of Taunton, he had failed to see the joke for some weeks before he eventually laughed (hollowly). In the meantime the apprentices had kept carefully out of his way. Tony, who had put them up to it had never confessed. He removed the pipe and examined its now even burn with critical eyes.
“Well, what are you going to tell me that is so sensitive that you cannot come over to the office and tell me about it? John Duggan will go mad when he finds I am missing you know. Its now nine o’clock and I had only been here fifteen minutes when I got your phone call. He will give me hell when I go back. It is month’s end this week.”
Tony gave a faint smile. The thought of the diminutive little pipsqueak who was the company’s Chief Accountant, having a go at the redheaded and fully bearded, six-foot ex-naval officer sat in front of him, was really quite humorous.
“Did you tell anyone where you were going?”
There was a shake of the head from Killick. Tony put two ten pence coins on the table and indicated the battered machine against the wall.
“Better get yourself a coffee, Derek. You might need it when you hear what I have to say.”
Killick looked shocked.
“As bad as that is it. You feel we may want to take our own lives, do you.”
He indicated the coffee machine. Tony gave a tired grin and waited until Killick had banged and kicked the machine into producing what passed for coffee. He brought it back to the table and stared at it with a look of disbelief on his face.
“What you have to tell me must be really bad if you think I will want to drink this after I hear it. This stuff makes the local river water look drinkable, and that is sixty percent mud.”
Tony nodded and then sat up straight with his hands flat on the table in front of him.
“Out of the blue there was a Senior Management meeting suddenly called last night, at four forty five.”
Killick snorted to show what he thought of the phrase, Senior Management.
“So that is why little John Duggan was running around all afternoon like a chicken with its backside alight. He was backwards and forwards to Mike Rutherford’s office like a bloody yoyo.” (Mike Rutherford was the company’s MD) “So what’s it
all about?”
Tony was the Sales Administrator and as such was part of the Senior Management set up. This was a really a historical accident as his position within the Sales Department did not merit his inclusion. However, two years before he had been the Personnel Manager and had been entitled to a position on the Senior Management team until the last round of redundancies had made it no longer necessary to have a personnel department, according to Group. After all, the company had shrunk in the last two and a bit years, from nearly fifteen hundred to just under nine hundred employees and a full Personnel Department was now a luxury. But a grateful Mike Rutherford, relieved that Tony had handled the last round of redundancies without major strife and bloodshed, had then transferred him to the Sales Department as the Sales Administrator, but reporting directly to him.
This was in the hope that at last he would be able to receive some straight information that would enable him to make some meaningful decisions, hence Tony’s continued inclusion on the Senior Management team. The upshot had been that the information and statistics that Tony supplied him with, had led to the then Sales Director being fired.
The job of the Sales Director had then, to Tony’s everlasting amazement, been given to one Robin Welsby-Green, previously the Export Sales Manager. In Tony’s view, anyone who spent the majority of his time swanning around the world in Club Class, who’s expenses were the equivalent to ten ordinary reps and who was shifting less product than any single UK rep, was unlikely to make the hard decisions needed to make the changes required to halt the falling sales graph, and so it had proved. He also thought that Welsby-Green was an overweight, underhand shit, but that was just his personal opinion. One of Welsby-Green’s stipulations on taking the job had been that Tony from now on worked for him. End of meaningful statistics for the other Directors, as all information now ran through Welsby-Green and beginning of a very hard time for Tony.
It would not be an over statement to say that Tony didn’t like Welsby-Green anymore than he liked Tony, which was not at all. However, they had not yet had the courage to throw him off the Senior Managers board, as he was the only member with any knowledge of employment law left in the company. Killick knew all this as they often played golf together and like all golfers spent the time in between the shots putting the company they worked for to rights.
“Well come on then. Lets have it, for Christ’s sake.”
Killick was getting impatient.
“Well although the meeting was called at a very short notice it seems that I was the only one surprised by that. As I went through reception and up the stairs to the boardroom, Grace on the switchboard remarked that she had wondered when it would be my turn to be called and how many of us poor buggers would be going this time?”
He nodded grimly as Killick sat up straighter.
“When I walked into the boardroom I was the last to arrive. Nobody, and I mean nobody, would look me in the eye.”
He put down the coffee cup he had been playing with for the last ten minutes and told Killick all about it.
When he had entered the meeting and said good afternoon no one had answered him and he had felt his survival nodes jump. Even Andy Mattison, the Works Director and perhaps his closest colleague in the company when he had been in Personnel, if Mattison could be said to be close to anyone, would not look at him. Mike Rutherford had said that now they were all here he would like to get the meeting under order and he took his place. It was short and sweet. They had to make further cuts and this time they would have to include Chiefs as well as Indians. Could everyone go home and think about it tonight and he would call individuals back in the morning to discuss their ideas for cutbacks. Tony had sat back and watched them all leave and they couldn’t get out fast enough. As the last one left he had turned to speak to Mike Rutherford, but that gentleman had scuttled back to his office through his private door from the Board Room. When later he had asked Rutherford’s secretary, Pat, if he could see him, she had told him that he was leaving immediately for a meeting in London with Group and did not have the time to see anyone. He came to the end of his story and sat back, pushing the hardly tasted cup of coffee away from him. Killick was grinning at him.
“So that’s it. Is that what you called me for and asked me to traipse up here? What are you worried about then? They will probably ask you to approve it all to make sure they haven’t left themselves open to an Industrial Tribunal. You know how Group feel about those.”
Tony shook his head.
“Derek, the only people who left that room smiling and laughing were John Duggan and Robin Welsby-Green. Welsby-Green actually asked Duggan, within my hearing and with no attempt to keep his voice down, who he was taking the opportunity to weed out.”
Killick went pale. He had a wife and two small girls under school age.
“Yes, I thought you might get it eventually.”
Tony leaned forward on his elbows.
“Tell me, Derek, who are the two people in this organisation who most often produce figures and statistics that piss their Boss off?”
He watched the light dawn in the others eyes. He answered the question himself.
“That’s right, you and me. Now do you understand why I asked you to come up here?” He pointed to the wall. “Ask not for whom the lights flash.”
They sat there in the empty canteen, who’s staff had been victims of the last round of cuts, until ten thirty and only a couple of maintenance men looking for somewhere quiet to skive, wandered through. Different light combinations came up flashing and then went, always reverting to Tony’s red, white and blue, while they sat and discussed what they would do next for a living. Then, fed up with the game, they decided to head back to their own offices. They walked around the outside of the production sheds to the front of the site where the two-storey block of offices were situated and climbed the stairs to the first floor. As they arrived at the top of the stairs they bumped into an agitated Wilf Randles, UK Sales Manager, poison dwarf and willing bearer of any poisoned chalice.
Wilf was Robin Welsby-Green’s self appointed acolyte and people had been know to ask how his back stood the strain of constantly bending over to lick his boss’s arse. Balding and with a long mournful face, Wilf went into his usual routine of waving his hands around like a broken puppet and bending at the knees to make his five feet five inches seem even smaller in the hope that no one would hit him when he had to say something they did not like. Wilf did not like personal confrontation. He preferred to talk someone else into committing the actual murders his nasty little soul required and for him to be here now, meant that Welsby-Green had sent him. He sort of waved about from the waist, swinging his arms around like a poor imitation of Al Jolson, looking very agitated. The black shiny shoes and the double breasted suit combined with his features to make him look like a well dressed Mr Punch, only the hat was missing. From his agitated manner he had obviously been looking for Tony for some time. A sick smile was flashing on and off as if it couldn’t make its mind up if it should be there or not.
“There you are Tony, Robin wants you. He’s been looking for you everywhere. You are to go to his office at once. At once.”
The words came out in a breathless rush as his five foot, five inch height was towered over by the other two. It was only the fact that Wilf supposedly had three kids that convinced Tony he was real sometimes. He ignored him and went on with making arrangements to meet Killick for a drink in the pub at lunchtime. Wilf’s voice took on a tone of panic and exasperation. How could they ignore a summons from a Director?
“Tony. Didn’t you hear me? Robin is looking for you and wants you to go to his office at once. He has had your lights up for two hours.”
By now Wilf was bobbing about so hard a neutral observer would have thought he was desperate for the men’s room. Tony turned, and reaching out patted Wilf on the shoulder, Wilf flinched back in alarm.
“Wilf, why don’t you go and hide in your office until all the bloodshed is o
ver. You know you don’t like being at the executions yourself.” He indicated Killick. “Derek and I are making some important arrangements about the future we no longer have and the last thing we need right now is a little turd like you interrupting us.” The words were covered by a big smile. “So run along like a good lad and tell Welsby-Green I shall be about another five minutes.”
Wilf looked at him with a shocked expression, opened his mouth as if to speak, then he closed it again, and scurried away down the corridor to report to his Director. Derek Killick watched him disappear through the double doors at the end of the corridor with amused contempt on his face.
“Welsby-Green must have told him to go and find you, because he would never have the nerve to come and look for you on his own. He usually keeps well away from any confrontation. That is one of the reasons we are in trouble you know. A big client only has to lean on Wilf and he is in there, pleading the case for them to have a bigger discount.”
“You don’t have to tell me Derek, I’m the one who produces the statistics, remember? I will see you in the pub at lunch time.” They parted.
Tony walked along to his office and picking up a cardboard box that he had packed the night before and put it on top of his desk. It contained all his personal things. He opened a drawer and took out a separate, smaller box that contained his memo recorder, his company car keys and the spare keys to all the various branch offices and storage depots for which he was responsible. Picking up both and taking a deep breath he walked out through the sales office, giving his staff of six girls and their supervisor a smile he didn’t feel and noticing from their reaction that they had guessed what was happening. He walked the twenty yards along the corridor and without knocking entered the office of Robin Welsby-Green’s Secretary.
“Morning Daph. I understand from the Muppet that Robin wants to see me.”
Daph giggled at the use of the sales girls nickname for Wilf Randles, but then went serious.
“Tony, I don’t think its good news.”
He smiled at her. Considering what was about to happen to him he seemed to be smiling an awful lot this morning, but Daph was a nice woman who deserved a better boss. She had just spent ten months watching her husband die of some nasty illness and with two teenage boys to support she needed this job. It was good of her to try and warn him.
“It’s OK Daph, I think I know what its about and if I’m right they are probably doing me a favour. I was getting a little fed up with producing work that just goes in the bin, you know.”
He walked towards the door and then stopped and turned back.
“You should be all right though. Anyone who feels he is as important as Robin does, will hang on to his Secretary until last.”
He went to go on and then stopped and lifted a hand.
“Sorry. I should have said next to last, because his Granada Ghia is naturally more important.”
Walking across the office he banged on the door and entered before she could warn the occupants he was there. A small conference table had been placed in the middle of the office in the space in front of Welsby-Green’s oak effect desk. Behind it sat two men.
Mike Rutherford, the MD, was a small and dapper man. When he had taken the job some two years earlier he had been a thruster. Two years in charge of a company that was losing market share like water running from a bucket with a hole in it had changed all that. One of his first acts on being appointed had been to give all the senior staff a salary increase to bring them up to par with the industry standard. He had innocently imagined that this would weld his team together behind him. They were certainly behind him, but human nature being what it is that was only so that they could shelter from whatever flack was going while maintaining the correct position to stab him in the back, if and when the opportunity arose. The other man was not small and dapper.
Robin Welsby-Green was an inch less than six feet and weighed around eighteen stone. He had a wide double chin on a head that tapered sharply as it reached the short, blonde curly hair. The facial expression was usually rather sanctimonious and was adorned by a pair of large, horn-rimmed spectacles and he looked rather akin to a grown up Billy Bunter.
Since he had become Sales Director, Welsby-Green had shown he was a natural bully who liked to chop people’s feet away from under them if and when he got the chance. Several good salesmen had been given their marching orders after believing him when he asked them for their honest opinions. Add to that his natural arrogance and what you had was something akin to a malignant Michelin Man. Tony detested him, but it was mutual. Welsby-Green thought Tony was a jumped up oick who should never have been promoted from the foreman’s job he once held. That said his sudden entrance had caught both occupants of the office by surprise and they both looked up with a start. Tony plonked himself down in a chair.
“I understand you’ve been looking for me,” he said, putting both boxes down on the table, “I saw Wilf in the corridor and he said there was some sort of problem?”
He had decided to enjoy this as much as he could. Mike Rutherford seemed a bit rattled and defensive, but Welsby-Green’s wattles went purple with anger.
“Where the bloody hell have you been? I’ve had your lights flashing for two hours.”
Tony gave him a slow and insolent smile knowing it would anger him and hoping that it might advance the date of the heart attack that was surely awaiting the other in the not too distant future. He kept it there for several seconds and had the pleasure of watching the other’s complexion grow even darker before he answered.
“Yes, I know you have, but there is no law that says you have to get out of the tumbrel and run to the scaffold.”
Welsby-Green put both hands on the table and started to rise. It took a large effort.
“What do you mean?”
Tony lifted his hand to stop him and turned to the MD.
“Mike, can we get on with this without the histrionics? What I need to know is when, and how much?”
Rutherford looked acutely embarrassed, but then nodded as he pulled himself together.
“OK, Tony, its like this. The terms are dictated by our parent company, Advent Engineering and you know what that means, no negotiating.” He took a deep breath. “Its the statutory minimum I’m afraid, and the official date of notice of redundancy is April the first.”
He didn’t seem to notice the ironic black humour of that date, but there again he too was an accountant by training so it wasn’t surprising. He carried on oblivious to the small grin that found Tony’s mouth.
“That is six weeks from today exactly, but you then have to work your notice period and as you are Senior Staff, that is three calendar months, making nineteen weeks in all until you go.”
He lifted his hands in a surrender gesture.
“Sorry Tony, but you know I don’t make the rules in these cases. It all comes from Group.”
Tony looked up at Welsby-Greens smirking face and made a decision. Holding Welsby-Green’s eyes he answered.
“Look Mike, I don’t like those arrangements so I’ll tell you what I propose instead.”
This time Welsby-Green actually made it to his feet. He wobbled with rage.
“You propose. Who the hell are you to propose anything?”
Tony made pretence of deafness while looking meaningfully at Mike Rutherford. Rutherford interpreted the look and waved Welsby-Green to silence.
“Shut up a minute Robin.”
For a minute Welsby-Green looked as if he was going to argue, but Rutherford saw a chance to clear his conscience and took it.
“Go on, Tony.”
“I propose I clear my desk and leave today. You pay me my statutory money, plus nineteen weeks in lieu of notice at the end of the month and I will sign a waiver to say I will not take the matter to an Industrial Tribunal.”
Welsby-Green exploded.
“Industrial Tribunal. What the fuck grounds have you got for going to an Industrial Tribunal. I decide who is needed
in my department, not you or any bloody tribunal.”
Tony smiled. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He didn’t answer straight away, but kept the smile going for a few more seconds in the forlorn hope it would anger Welsby-Green to the point of an immediate stroke. When it didn’t he decided to see if he could push it a bit further.
“I’m not talking to you, Robin. You are only a salesman and you don’t understand how these things work. I’m talking to Mike, who does.”
Mike nodded while Robin went purple again, but held his tongue. Tony went on.
“Well I suppose that your grounds for getting rid of me are that it will be fairly easy to spread my workload among other admin staff, put the Depots back under the regional Sales Managers and my in-house Sales Office under Robin.”
Welsby-Green sneered; he had given this some thought.
“Not quite right, they will be under Wilf Randles as a matter of fact.”
Tony laughed out loud.
“That is even better. I can prove that the reduction in the loss from the regional offices in stolen, missing and broken products for the two years that I have run them, would pay my salary at least three times over. I can also prove that Wilf Randles is only in this building three days a month on average and knows nothing about how the Sales Office actually works, as don’t you Robin. “He paused. “I could also prove that the statistics I supply should be vital to the running of the company if you took any notice of them. Apart from all this is the fact that you still have nearly nine hundred people working here and I am the only qualified Safety and Training Officer on the staff not to mentioned qualified Personnel Manager.”
He smiled at them both again.
“I reckon it would be cheaper to let me go than fight that case don’t you? And you know Group, Mike, they like to get their way, but they hate bad publicity.”
He sat back and waited looking straight into the other man’s eyes. After a short pause Mike Rutherford nodded.
“OK, Tony, on your way, mate, I’ll get wages to give you a ring one day next week, so you can come in and agree the arrangements for payment.”
He stood up and held out his hand.
“Sorry about this, but I do wish you the best of luck for the future.”
Tony stood, picking up his boxes and they shook hands. Welsby-Green weighed up the situation quickly, noticing that his MD was quite happy with the arrangements, and being happy with at least getting rid of Tony, he also stood, and gluing a plastic smile to his face held out his hand. Tony put the smaller cardboard box in it. Welsby-Green frowned.
“What the bloody hell is this?”
“Just the bits and pieces that I have been holding on your behalf, Robin. Dictaphone, depot keys, etc, just sign the receipt on the top and I’ll be off.”
Welsby-Green stared at the piece of paper and then the contents of the box.
“But I haven’t checked it yet.”
“Give it here.”
Mike Rutherford took the paper from his hand, signed it and gave it back to Tony with a grin on his face.
“You were ready for it then?”
Tony nodded.
“Yes I was, Mike, and to tell the truth it’s not before time. I have hated working for this devious bastard and I don’t envy you the task of trying to run this company in the next three months with him to rely for sales.”
H ignored the sounds of fury coming from Welsby-Green and was at the door when he turned and made his parting shot at his ex-boss.
“By the way, Mike, I have left a complete breakdown of the last years sales, by rep and by region, with your girl. It might tell you where to take action next time.”
He turned and left the room, enjoying the murderous look that Welsby-Green sent after him.
It was some two hours later that he was sat in front of his Bank Manager. They knew each other quite well as they both belonged to that small bunch of nutters that have chosen archery for a pastime, Tony mainly to strengthen the injured wrist. They got on tolerably well, although apart from archery shoots they had only met once before in the Bank, when Tony had borrowed the two thousand pounds he needed to buy the red MGB GT his wife had fallen for.
“Well, Tony, it looks as if you have about five and a half thousand coming in if what you tell me is correct, so you should be all right for a few months. Your mortgage is only ten thousand and on top of that your wife works for an oil company I believe. They usually pay quite good money, so with no children, if you don’t have too many other debts, you should be all right.”
“That is why I came to see you Raymond. We only have that small mortgage and the two thousand loan we took out with you for the purchase of the car and I want to pay that off the car loan as soon as the money is in my account.”
Raymond had attended some minor public school and it showed. Although the Bridgwater branch was not a large one he always wore a pin striped suit with an impeccable Windsor knot in the old school tie and a starched white cotton shirt. Tony was surprised he didn’t turn up to shoot dressed like it.
“My dear man, you don’t have to do that you know. I am sure you will get another job fairly quickly. After all, you are Personnel trained are you not?”
Tony held his temper with difficulty. It hadn’t been an easy morning and dear Raymond wasn’t making it any easier. No wonder the Medland Bank was in trouble with its foreign debt if they wouldn’t let you pay them off when you had the chance. He took a deep breath and started again.
“Raymond, I am thirty eight years old and I have just lost my job. My chances of getting another one in the same field in this area are nil, Personnel trained or not. Since things started to get tough at least five local companies that would have had me like a shot five years ago, have all but closed their Personnel departments. That means going at least to Bristol to get work and that City has always had a higher than the average unemployment. The only other alternative is to move to another part of the country. That would mean my wife giving up her job and she gets a good salary at British Oil, so that is a non starter.”
He looked Raymond in the eyes.
“Are you following all this?”
“Yes, yes of course.”
Raymond’s beautifully tonsured head bobbed up and down over the top of his beautifully cut suit and school tie.
“Then in that case can we stop pissing about and agree that I pay off the car loan as soon as the money is in the bank.”
Raymond jumped.
“Oh, yes, yes of course. Sorry, but I do have to make the offer, you know. We have targets to meet at the Medland for all types of transactions.” He began to look quite pleased with himself. “I’m doing very well with VISA cards this month, but the old straightforward loans are well down.”
He gave a depreciating little smile as the penny dropped.
“I suppose a lot of that is to do with the recent local rises in unemployment. A sad business.”
He put on his sad face. Tony was amazed.
“Are you telling me that they expect you to meet a target on personal loans even though local companies are falling over all around you?”
“Of course. It’s in times of trouble that people need loans and we are in the business of supplying them.” He frowned slightly. “As long as they have some collateral to cover them of course. House or something.”
His expression said that he could see Tony was just a child in the way of the financial world.
“But that is hardly what I would call good advice, Raymond.”
Raymond shook his head sadly at the others ignorance.
“Tony, I would have thought you would understand this with your background. Good advice doesn’t come into it. This is business.”
He sat back like a well-dressed headmaster who has just passed a gem of wisdom to a particularly thick schoolboy.
“Yes,” thought Tony, “especially if you are not meeting your loan targets.”
He stood up and thanking Raymond left the Bank and went to meet
his wife and Derek Killick in the pub
The Opportunities of Youth Page 2