In the Bleak Midwinter

by Stan Mason

  Baker cursed as he changed gear incorrectly and the engine lurched and growled angrily at his clumsiness. They passed two long fields bordered with hedges and came to a halt in front of a ramshackle building that was begging for repair. The driver blinked twice to check that he wasn’t dreaming. ‘Are you sure this is an hotel?’ he asked rhetorically, implying that he was clearly unimpressed.

  ‘Business must be bad,’ commented Ivan, shivering as though something cold had trickled down his spine. ‘It always is in Cornwall in the winter,’ The Russian levered himself out of the bucket seat and slammed the car door behind him,

  The two men entered the building and rang the reception bell which was lit by a single candle on the desk. For a while nothing happened until an old man appeared in a moth-eaten candlewick dressing-gown, his head covered by a little pointed hat made of the same material. He held a lighted candle resting in a saucer in one of his hands and stared at the two visitors in the flickering light before retreating behind the hotel desk.

  Baker leaned forward eager to rest his weary body in a comfortable bed, ‘Reservations made in the name of Baker,’ he declared.

  ‘I know who you are!’ snapped the old man, motioning them to the stairs. ‘Power lines are down so there’s no electric.’ He raised the candle to stare closely at the face of the Russian, ‘You’re the one who was at Botallack, aren’t ‘e?’ he commented. The Russian. Saw your picture in the papers.’

  Ivan did not bother to reply. They followed the old many up the stairs to be shown into their rooms, then they hastily undressed, each to snuggle under the blankets of his own bed, Ivan gave a low moan as he fell asleep and started to mumble incoherently, ‘Twenty years ago... he began tailing off to lapse into silence, In his mind’s eye it was all starting to happen again!

  Chapter Two

  Richard Sadler sat in the cosy environment pf his plush office at the Plymouth branch of the Bank of Commerce, It had taken him six years of hard work and study to reach his position... six years of kow-towing and utter frustration, Most other career-minded members of the bank would have given their eye-teeth and thanked their lucky stars to have made so much progress... to have been promoted to the rank of manager of a city branch of a national bank however Sadler recognised that he was a failed businessman and that made all the difference. The fall in grace that had happened in the past tormented his mind and savaged his life... but not enough to impair his judgement or temper his ambition. However the fact that he had achieved such success in the banking profession did little to stimulate his enthusiasm, Banking was far too routine... far too dull to raise his morale or give him any element of satisfaction, He stared glumly at the in-tray piled high with files with total disinterest showing in his face. The affairs of the day were going to be as boring as those of yesterday,... as tiresome as the day before that... As wearisome as the week prior to that... and as soul-destroying as those of the last month, He was merely a tiny cog in a giant emotionless money machine in which the wheel revolved incessantly. In a few day’s time, he would receive notification of his monthly pay, resent the deductions and shrug his shoulders aimlessly at the net total with abject futility, After the golden days, when he controlled his own business, with thousands of pounds rolling in and out of his accounts at the same time, he felt on top of the world. His colleagues took an entirely different view, They were quite content to accept a subservient professional view. Most of them were married and had families, living in three-bed roomed houses in suburbia, blessing their employers for providing them with a regular salary and an element of job satisfaction and security. In Sadler’s opinion, conformity was an outright bore yet despite his remarkable achievements, he was probably the most disgruntled bank employee in the branch. He was quite firm in his opinions believing that such devoted loyalty and dedication to a business owned by someone else was fundamentally inane. It was not in his nature for him to enslave himself for the benefit of other unknown shareholders who became richer by the sweat of his brow, while to follow the rest of the crowd like lemmings at their culling season went very much against the grain.

  A communication device on his desk buzzed noisily and a voice crackled from the speaker.

  ‘Mr. Sadler, sir, There’s a person out here asking for an interview. He hasn’t made an appointment.’

  ‘Is he a customer of the bank?’

  ‘No, sir, He’s a Wesley Morris who currently banks with our competitor across the road.’

  ‘All right, Brown. Send him in!’

  It was clearly going to be one of those long dull days. Not only did he have to deal with the whims and demands of his own customers but now he was going to have to contend with dissatisfied customers from competitors. He paused for a few moments and then stood up walking stiffly to the door, brushing off imaginary dandruff from the lapels of his very expensive suit. His face wrinkled into a fixed smile as he opened the door and strode out to meet the man with ostensible cheerfulness.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Morris. Come inside and sit down,’

  However the expression on his face changed as they met. Reluctantly he shook the visitor’s hand, guiding him into the office and pointing towards a chair, The banker eyed him carefully as a matter of habit to analyse some obvious characteristics swiftly but the effort was unnecessary. The image presented was sufficient for that purpose. Morris sported a five-day growth of beard, He wore a battered trilby hat and a moth-eaten light-brown tattered fur coat which ope ed slightly at the front to reveal a grey threadbare jersey and a grimy frayed blue shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, which had not been visited by a tie since it was first worn, His old grey trousers were torn with cotton threads dangling at the bottom of each leg and he wore exceptionally well-worn boots with metal studs tapped into the soles to prevent them from becoming worn, Mr. Morris had the appearance of a tramp. Most remarkably, dressed in that fashion, he seemed quite innocuous of his incongruity in the office of the bank manager, and completely oblivious to any concept that his deplorable state of dress might affect his financial application adversely. One reason for this carelessness was that Morris took the view that customers only visited their banks for finance when they needed it, in the same way that people only went to their doctors when they were sick. It mattered little how the customer or the patient was dressed,

  ‘How can I help you?’ asked Sadler trying to invoke some degree of interest in his voice, although he could see little point in starting the interview, He had already determined that it would end briefly adding little to the burden of his daily routine.

  ‘I’ve come to you for money,’ stated Morris bluntly, almost as though the bank had an unlimited source of supply that it needed to unload as soon as possible, ‘How much can you let me have?’

  A smile curled at the edge of the bank manager’s lips as he listened to the request. ‘It doesn’t quite work that way, Mr. Morris,’ he replied. ‘Can you be more specific?’

  ‘I thought I told you plain enough,’ returned the man, his voice moving to a higher level. ‘I want a loan. How much can you let me have?’ He lowered his voice again. ‘That’s clear enough, isn’t it?’

  Sadler decided to try another tack rather than become embroiled in an embarrassing confrontation. ‘For what purposes?’ he pressed. ‘Why do you need a loan?’

  ‘To start a new business! ‘ He raised his voice again as though the message would emerge more clearly if it was delivered with force. ‘I want to buy a tine and copper mine.’

  ‘Ah!’ commented the bank manager. ‘There we have it! A tin and copper mine. Tell me, Mr. Morris, why haven’t your current bankers supported you in this venture? They’ve known you for a long time which amounts to a great deal of experience with your normal banking transactions.’

  The man slapped his thigh and roared with a loud wheezing noise that was supposed to suppress laughter. ‘Them!’ he spat angrily, pointing his thumb in the dir
ection of the other bank. ‘They couldn’t tell a live company from a dead duck! They’re not in the business of banking... only passing cheques and bits of paper . Look fella, I don’t borrow money unless I’m sure I can pay it back with interest, I’m not that sort of person.’

  Sadler eyes the outrageous clothing work by the man up and down again. ‘So they turned you down flat because you’re overtrading in your normal business activities and you haven’t enough securities to raise more capital.’

  The man’s eyes narrowed at the accuracy of the remark. ‘Very good!’ he commended. ‘Almost the same as the other bank manager told me. You fellas must all go to the same school to learn the ritual.’

  The bank manager ignored the comment and stayed cool. ‘What is your normal business, Mr. Morris?’

  ‘Second-hand clothes,’ came the sharp reply. ‘Renting out a few flats... running a couple of laundrettes. They’re all right to keep me going but I want to buy a mine.’

  ‘Give me a good reason why you should do that.’

  ‘Because I want to make a fortune, that’s why! ‘It may be tin and copper but, as far as I’m concerned, it’s a gold mind.’ He leaned forward to rest his arms on the desk and Sadler got his first experience of stench arising from the perspiration emitted by the man and his unwashed clothing. ‘Ever heard of Botallack. It’s near St. Just. Not far from Penzance. A real beauty. Stretches out nearly half a mile under the Atlantic Ocean. They closed it down in 1914 but I know better,’

  ‘What do you know better?’ The banker leaned back in his chair as far as he could to avoid inhaling the stench.

  Morris tapped the tip of his nose with the index finger of his right hand. ‘If I told you the answer to that you’d be as wise as me.’ he uttered in a low tone. He prattled on without noticing that the bank manager was deep in thought, unheeding the following diatribe. Sadler hadn’t any experience in dealing with the tin mining business. Practically all of the mines in Cornwall had closed a long time ago. The industry seemed to decline and recover in exceedingly sharp cycles and he was not aware of any loans made by his branch for that purpose in the region. Then suddenly it dawned on him that perhaps he denied himself the opportunity to develop useful potential in another field of activity.

  ‘Do you have any Balance Sheet or Profit & Loss Accounts on your other activities with you?’ asked Sadler eventually stopping Morris in his flow.

  The other man stopped talking in surprise, sniffing momentarily then he shrugged his shoulders and pointed to his head. ‘It’s all here,’ he replied, annoyed at the change of subject t matter.. ‘The whole lot! All here! People, places, stock, transactions!’

  ‘What about your returns to the Inland Revenue? How does you Accountant manage?’

  ‘Accountant!’ snapped the other man with surprise. ‘Who needs an Accountant? Paperwork takes up too much time. Anyhow, I don’t want to get involved with the Inland Revenue so I don’t tell them anything. It’s best that way!’

  Despite the honest declaration, Sadler had to admit that he was astounded by the answer. ‘I see,’ he uttered quietly, deliberating on the act that Morris always handled his own affairs in total security. ‘All right. Let’s put our cards on the table. You’ve no way of getting the finance you need because your bank turned you down flat. There’s a remote chance that I might find a way but I’m not satisfied with what you’re telling me. What’s the real reason you want to buy the mine? You have to tell me otherwise you might as well get up and go now.’

  Morris fell silent for a few moments. It was clear that he would have to disclose his reason or fail in his endeavour. He gave a huge sigh as though about to divulge the secret of the universe and then continued extremely reluctantly. ‘If I tell you the reason, I want your word that it will stay between you, me, and these four walls. Nobody else!’

  ‘That’s fair enough. Your secret’s safe with me., Bank managers come within the same category as priests and doctors, unless you intend to do something illegal.’.

  The man hesitated until realising that the bank manager spoke in earnest. ‘It’s not illegal... and I’ll hold you to your word’ he said as though binding Sadler to his promise. ‘Energy’s big business these days and the Government’s facing the problem of finding somewhere to dump its nuclear waste. I’m talking about the highly-radioactive stuff dangerous for five hundred years, You see they’re looking for a dry mine for nuclear waste disposal. Botallack was developed from a group of mines which are inland but it also has a tunnel which stretches for nearly half a mile under the Atlantic Ocean. I think I might be able to swing that one with the Government if I bought it, and there’s also the option of extracting tin and perhaps copper. I can work it profitably from those two angles. How does that grab you?’ He paused and leaned back to observe the effect.

  The banker stared at him coldly before placing his fingers together as though in prayer. His mind began to work like a computer, assessing the potential, analysing, forecasting the probabilities, and weighing up the circumstances. He could see the chance of him establishing himself with his own business although it meant that he had to take enormous risks. He would have to place his head squarely on the block; jeopardising his career to a high ly dangerous level. However if the venture was successful and his luck held, the ultimate rewards would be remarkable. If not, the seriousness of failure would be disastrous, There was also the agreement of Wesley Morris to his participation in the master-plan... a fact that was not insignificant,

  ‘I’d have to see the mine myself before any decision could be made with regard to finance,’ he said eventually,

  ‘Naturally,’ returned the other man hopefully. ‘I’m not a con-man. It’s all above-board.’ He fished a grubby business card from a hidden pocket of his tattered coat. ‘Here’s my card. I live in St. Austell. If you want to see the mine together. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Bring your helmet and flak -jacket. It might get a little rough.’

  The banker took the dog-eared card and glanced at his diary as the man took to his feet. ‘I’ll be waiting for you at half-past nine. Whatever happens, you’ll be require to change your methods. You can’t keep everything inside your head. If you were run over by a bus, the business would collapse through absence of information. There would be one hell of a mess because no one would know what was going on. The bank would not be amused.’ He paused to take in a deep breath. ‘As you’ve no security, there’s no promise of finance.

  Morris shrugged his shoulders and pulled his fur coat closer about his body. ‘Suits me!’ he rattled easily, ‘but you’ll change your mind when you see it.’

  Sadler let him to the door but failed to shake the man’s hand. The thought of touching the filthy mitt with thick black dirt affixed firmly under each fingernail became obnoxious. After Morris had gone, he sat quietly at his desk with a thoughtful expression on his face. Could opportunity raise its head in such an ugly and unpleasant form? It was never wise to look a gift horse in the mouth but how could fate tempt him with such an awful beast? The man and his mine bordered on the undesirable yet there was enormous potential.; he could feel it in his bones. Well the story would unravel a little further when he visited the mind on the following morning. If nothing more... it would be an interesting experience! He pressed the communication device on his desk. ‘Brown,’ he called into the loudspeaker. ‘Contact Mr. Reynolds, the manager of the bank across the road. I want to speak with him.’

  He waiting for a while deep in though until the sound of someone calling his name came to his ear. ‘Ah, Jim,’ he uttered warmly, ‘What can you tell me about your customer Wesley Morris? The man in the tatty fur coat.’

  There was the sound of laughter at the other end of the line. ‘Normally I wouldn’t breach the Financial Services Act but where he’s concerned I’ll make an exception, He’s finally got round to you. I think he’s been to every bank in the district. He’s a real pai
n., We’ve been trying to lose his account for years but no such luck so far.’

  After the conversation had ended, Sadler became even more thoughtful. Morris was a man of straw... unreliable... unaccountable and wholesomely unpleasant. The advice was to avoid him like the plague and there was an adage which quickly came to mind... ”A man who’s his own Counsel has a fool for a lawyer,.” The banker continued to be lost in thought as the door opened to admit his attractive secretary. ‘Yes, Miss Roberts!’ he enquired testily, annoyed at her intrusion without warning.

  She smiled to show a perfect set of white teeth and closed the door behind her gently. Then she placed her shorthand notebook on his desk defiantly. ‘Phyllis’ she uttered firmly,. ‘You promised you’d always call me Phyllis when we were along together.’

  His reply fell on stony ground as she turned the chair used by custom so that the spine faced him. Kneeling on the seat on both knees, she placed her elbows and her arms on the desk and leaned towards him. Sadler swallowed hard as he started at the ample portion of her full breasts framed by the limits of her low-cut dress.

  ‘I bought these for you, my darling,’ she told him sweetly, extending one hand which contained a small box.’ He declined to accept the gift so she opened the lid with her thumb to exhibit a pair of ornate cuff-links.

  ‘Miss Roberts!’ he protested weakly, embarrassed by her precociousness.

  ‘Phyllis!’ she corrected, this time with far more determination.

  A mixture of anger and frustration showed in his face. ‘Now see here!’ he began strongly. ‘Last Thursday was exceptional. A one-off situation. Don’t take that as being... ‘

  ‘You stole my virginity’ she cut in rudely as anger welled up inside her. ‘And because of what you did, I can never get it back again. Never mind! I’m a forgiving person, Anyway this present isn’t for Thursday... It’s for tonight. Dinner at my place at seven-thirty. And do wear these. I’d like to see them on you.’ She placed the box on the desk n front of him and smiled warmly.