The Herring Seller's Apprentice by L. C. Tyler Page A

gossamer thread of spittle joined his thick lips to the cup. ‘I hope so,’ he said. He spoke slowly and carefully, with a slight Scottish accent, dwelling unexpectedly on certain words as if for emphasis. ‘Yes, I do hope so.’
    ‘But the account is in credit?’
    ‘Oh, yes. In credit. Oh, certainly. Unfortunately she also has quite a large loan outstanding, and no trace of funds to cover it.’
    ‘Sorry – was there another account that I have missed?’
    ‘Not another account, no. Not another account as such. But she did owe a great deal of money.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Three hundred thousand pounds.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘It appears that she transferred this and some other money to Switzerland shortly before she … er … died. I need to recover it. Or rather I need you as executor to do this for us.’
    ‘You know where the money is then?’
    ‘We know the bank, but they are, being a Swiss bank, reluctant to divulge details about the account. We believe that your wife had an account with them into which she transferred the funds in question. It is unlikely that she could have done very much with the money before her death, and so it is presumably still there. Its recovery should be a relatively simple task – for you.’
    ‘Will it indeed?’
    ‘I shall obviously offer you what help I can.’
    ‘I’m surprised that the bank was willing to lend her so much, given her past record. What did she offer as security?’
    ‘Yes. Well, there lies the problem. She did not offer any security for the loan.’
    ‘And the bank gave her the money? You’ve changed your policy since I banked with you.’
    ‘Ah. There lies the other problem. The bank’s policy has not changed at all.’
    ‘You’ve lost me.’
    ‘ I gave her the money, Ethelred. Me. It was a personal loan. The bank was not involved. I sold shares to raise the sum.’
    ‘But why?’
    ‘I must admit that it does now appear a foolish move on my part, but the proposition that she put forward offered a very high rate of return. I had only intended to leave the money with her for a short time before reinvesting it.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘I need to reinvest as soon as I can.’ He took a quick sip of coffee.
    ‘Before the stock market rises?’
    ‘Before my wife finds out. I had not told her of this particular plan. She may feel, with hindsight, that it was a little unwise.’ He gave a little nervous laugh and a conspiratorial glance. One husband to another (ex-) husband. ‘So, you really do have to help me.’
    I smiled back and said nothing.
    He looked at me uncertainly. ‘Are you saying that you can’t … won’t help me?’
    I in turn took another sip of coffee, but very slowly, then replaced the cup carefully on the saucer.
    ‘I shall need all the facts,’ I said.
    ‘Of course,’ he said, with a gasp of relief. ‘The facts. Of course.’
    He provided me there and then with a small sheaf of papers, promising to phone the remaining details through as soon as he could.
    As I left the office I felt that another small piece of Geraldine’s grand design had been fitted into place, but exactly what the piece was remained unclear. A boat? A cloud? Only time would tell.
    I had one final visit to pay, following up a telephone call I had made earlier that day. In a side street of narrow red-brick houses, just off the Holloway Road, rain was streaking the grime of long-unwashed windows. There was no need to push the gate open: years of unchecked wet rot had made sure that it would never close again. A long pause followed my pressing the fourth-floor bell, then I heard slippered feet descending the stairs. The door opened a few inches and Rupert’s face appeared briefly round the edge. It closed, I heard a chain being removed, and the door finally juddered open again.
    ‘Thank goodness. Do you have any news?’
    ‘I’m more worried about the weather forecast than the news,’ I said. ‘I’m getting absolutely soaked. You might just let me