Silent Money Read online

  SILENT MONEY

  GD Harper is a past winner of a Wishing Shelf Red Ribbon for adult fiction, and has been shortlisted for the Lightship Prize for first-time authors and longlisted for the UK Novel Writing Award.

  Also by GD Harper:

  Love’s Long Road

  A Friend in Deed

  SILENT

  MONEY

  GD Harper

  Copyright © 2019 GD Harper

  Cover Design © 2019 Spiffing Covers

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Ginger Cat Publishing

  Greenwoods House

  Greenwoods Lane

  Punnetts Town

  East Sussex

  TN21 9HU

  United Kingdom

  ISBN 978 0993547 843

  Contents

  chapter one

  chapter two

  chapter three

  chapter four

  chapter five

  chapter six

  chapter seven

  chapter eight

  chapter nine

  chapter ten

  chapter eleven

  chapter twelve

  chapter thirteen

  chapter fourteen

  chapter fifteen

  chapter sixteen

  chapter seventeen

  chapter eighteen

  chapter nineteen

  chapter twenty

  chapter twenty-one

  chapter twenty-two

  chapter twenty-three

  chapter twenty-four

  chapter twenty-five

  chapter twenty-six

  chapter twenty-seven

  chapter twenty-eight

  Thank you!

  Acknowledgements

  November 1972

  Glasgow

  chapter one

  Things had been going well, almost too well. Until the letter arrived.

  As Michael read it, his teeth clenched. If anyone had seen him at that moment, they would not have recognised the suave assistant manager of the Byres Road branch of the Royal Clydeside Bank. Michael Mitchell, the friendly face of banking. But he was alone, the door of his office closed.

  He picked up a pencil, grasped both ends, pushed his thumbs against it until it snapped. It gave him a moment of respite as he clawed back control of his emotions. The searing anger began to subside, replaced by something more enduring – a deep and brooding resentment. That he held on to, nurtured, let it fill his soul.

  Anyone else would have thought it an overreaction. The letter said he had been passed over for promotion, that was all. He had only been with the bank four years, assistant manager a few months. It was not unreasonable that the new manager would be from another branch. It was even to be expected that a Kelvinside Academy old boy would be chosen over someone with his background. But Hector Duffy? A buffoon. A talentless plodder. Another wave of fury stoked his bitterness.

  Michael looked at the two halves of the pencil lying on the desk. He slid them into his jacket pocket and glanced over at the office door, checking it was closed. No one had seen.

  He picked up the phone, at the same time looking up Duffy’s number in the company directory. He would make the first contact with his new boss, to allay any suspicions of resentment. It would be easy. Duffy was too brainless to spot any deceit.

  ‘Duffy,’ he heard the voice say. He could picture Duffy’s sweaty, red-cheeked countenance, still smug from the news. He pushed away the image and leant back in his chair. It was important the conversation sounded relaxed.

  ‘Hector. It’s Michael. Congratulations are in order, I believe. When are you moving?’

  ‘Oh, you’ve heard?’ Duffy gave a throaty chuckle. ‘I wished they’d told me the cat was out of the bag. Yes, big surprise. Condolences, old chap, can’t think why they chose me. Buggins’ turn, I suppose.’

  ‘Plenty of time for me to move up. There’s a lot I can learn from a wise old head.’

  ‘It sounds to me like you’ve been doing a splendid job holding the fort these last few weeks,’ Duffy replied. ‘I’ve been looking at the numbers. That’s a lot of new customers you’ve brought on board. Well done. Numbers, Michael, they’re what count. Keep up these results and you’ll be next. Mark my words.’

  ‘Very kind of you, Hector. I’ll do my best.’

  Michael had been acting manager at the branch ever since the previous manager had done the unthinkable and accepted a job with a competitor. Shown the door straight away. It had been September, a critical time for the branch, with new students arriving at the university and looking to open accounts – Byres Road was right next to the university buildings. He had been told he would be acting manager until candidates for the job could be interviewed. A few nods and winks suggested that things could land very nicely for him.

  These few weeks had been a firestorm of activity. Michael was in the bank at six every morning, getting the paperwork and analyses completed before the rest of the staff turned up. He made a point of inviting every student asking for an application form into his office for a chat, gently nudging them to sign up. By the end of October, the bank had as many new customers as in the last three years combined.

  None of that mattered, he had discovered. It was who you knew that counted, who you could rely on. Who the powers that be thought was the kind of chap who wouldn’t let the side down, wouldn’t rock the boat. A dullard like Hector Duffy.

  ‘When can I bring you up to speed with what’s been happening here?’ Michael said. ‘There’s a couple of initiatives I’m putting in place while the new undergraduates are still opening accounts. I’d love to hear what you think.’

  ‘Initiatives, eh? Maybe we should talk about them now. I won’t be able to move right away, need to make sure there’s an orderly plan here at Maryhill. You’ll find I’m a stickler for doing things by the book. So, what have you planned? Nothing too controversial, I hope?’

  ‘We’re well below our bad debt provision for the year. Since I’ve been assistant manager, I’ve personally checked and followed up on any red-flagged accounts every week and that’s meant we’ve spotted any potential problem before it’s become a liability.’

  Michael heard a murmur of approval down the phone. He took a deep breath. ‘So, I thought I’d have an informal arrangement where we turn a blind eye to any new student customers who run up a small unauthorised overdraft after they open an account.’

  No confirmatory murmur this time. Only silence. He ploughed on. ‘Waive the charges. Give them a chat about managing their money better, a breathing space to get themselves sorted out. We lose a small amount in fees and take on a small debt risk, but I reckon it will be repaid in loyalty to the bank for years to come. And give us a better reputation on campus than any of the other banks, too.’

  ‘Oh dear, Michael. Informal arrangements? A blind eye? Not sure about this at all. There are procedures, you know.’

  Michael spoke in a carefully controlled tone. ‘Of course. I had thought branch managers could use their discretion, bend the rules a bit if they saw fit. But if that’s not y
our style, no problem.’

  ‘Good, good. We’re seeing a lot of council-house students turning up at university nowadays. The place is going to the dogs. We can’t let these sorts of people think we’re a soft touch; they don’t have the upbringing to understand the meaning of responsibility and discipline. Not that I’m a snob you understand. It’s just that if we do help someone out, we need to know they come from a family we can rely on to do the right thing.’ Duffy chuckled. ‘Don’t quote me on that. We do have to cater for the riff-raff and the great unwashed these days.’

  Riff-raff. Rabble, scum, trash, the lowest of the low, the dregs of society, good-for-nothings. The badges Michael had worn himself after leaving school at fifteen. The second he could support himself, he did. Twelve years washing dishes in hotels around Scotland, living in the staff quarters with just about enough money to have some sort of life, if he put in the hours.

  That’s who he had been, and the bank would never let him forget it. Going to night school to get the O levels and Highers he’d missed out on had secured him a job as a teller. A finance diploma, also from night school, was enough to convince the bank he was management material, or so he had thought. But he had been kidding himself. It was people like Duffy the bank wanted.

  Michael forced himself to play along. He laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, Hector; discretion is my middle name. The other thing I’m working on is what I call our helping hand project. I attend student events in the evenings, mainly charity things, and use them as an opportunity to network for new customers and show the bank supports worthy causes. Make a small donation at the end of the evening – making sure that everyone sees me do it. All approved by head office. Not a penny of the branch’s client hospitality budget has actually gone on hospitality for six months. I’ve been using it for this instead.’

  ‘Charities, eh? Very noble. Excellent idea, Michael. No problem at all with that. As long as your interactions with the students are strictly professional, no problem at all.’ There was a pause, and Michael sensed Duffy was weighing up what to say next. ‘Might have to put a stop to the donations, though. I’m of the school that says good relationships with the top customers are all-important, and that’s what I see most of my time being taken up with. Got to keep those relationships well oiled, if you get my drift.’

  ‘If that’s everything,’ he said quickly, giving Michael no time to respond, ‘when do you want me to tell the rest of the branch staff? Should I come over tomorrow?’

  ‘I can handle that, if you like,’ Michael replied. ‘The word is bound to get out, so I thought I’d tell everyone after we close for business today. Save you the trip.’

  Duffy agreed, and Michael savoured a small victory. He would be able to communicate the news on his terms, control the reaction and the impact on his reputation. At three thirty he called everyone together.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know the news about the new branch manager,’ he said. Grins broke out, and Michael allowed himself a split second of satisfaction. They thought it was him. ‘Hector Duffy. Some of you might know him if you’ve spent any time at Maryhill. Once he hands over at Maryhill he’ll be starting here. In a few weeks.’

  A leaden silence filled the room.

  ‘It should have been you, Michael,’ someone said eventually.

  Michael affected a studied nonchalance. ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘I’ve been delighted to get the chance to help out over the last few weeks. But that’s it. I want you all to give Mr Duffy your full support when he moves here.’

  He went back to the barren office, pleased that he’d never really moved in. It would make the prospect of the office pool less painful. He forced himself to adopt a more positive frame of mind. His results as acting manager spoke for themselves. It wouldn’t be too long before another opportunity came up. They wouldn’t pass him over a second time, and Duffy was a time-server who was probably ten years behind the pace with his career progression. A momentary setback, that’s all. Branch manager at Byres Road wasn’t an option for the foreseeable future – Duffy was never going to get two promotions in the same decade – but there were lots of other branches. It was just a question of working harder and biding his time.

  When Duffy arrived, Michael found that, although he had only run the branch himself for a few weeks, Duffy’s failings were abundantly clear. He didn’t understand the fundamentals, was too lazy to be bothered to master the details, too pompous to make any effort to understand the people around him – Duffy was the embodiment of someone who ascended to high places without any discernible ability. His plan as branch manager turned out to be to introduce his pet bureaucratic procedures, wine and dine his favourite business customers, and have Michael do as much of the actual work as possible.

  Michael slowly built up an army of defences to hide his contempt and frustration. He weighed up every word, measured every gesture; developed a carapace of detachment with his peers, a veneer of faux subservience to those above him. He slipped into this new persona like an actor donning his costume. Who he really was would never be seen again.

  Duffy was delighted to have such a talented and respectful subordinate. Whenever someone from head office was to pay a visit, Michael was always pulled into his office a few minutes before they showed up.

  ‘Remind me why this fellow’s got a bee in his bonnet, would you, old chap?’

  Michael became practised at giving him a one-sentence summary of what the meeting was to be about, as well as a gentle reminder of what to say and not to say. Anything beyond the most basic of issues and Michael would find himself sitting in on the meeting, clarifying Duffy’s utterances, subtly making it clear which one of them knew what was going on.

  ‘Got me out of that sticky wicket, again,’ Duffy said after one meeting. ‘Don’t know what I’d do without you, Michael. My number-one man.’

  ‘Very kind of you to say so,’ Michael replied. ‘If people know the branch is doing well, that’s good for all of us. If there’s any way I can help, I’m always glad to do so.’

  He congratulated himself on his deception. With every gullible beam of gratitude from Hector, with every growth in his stature in the eyes of those who met him, Michael was channelling his contempt into a positive force, to show yet again what he was capable of.

  * * *

  He was completing the quarterly reconciliations when Duffy’s secretary came over and hovered at his desk.

  ‘Michael, Mr Duffy would like a word with you in his office when you have a minute.’ She giggled. ‘I’d get in there straight away. He’s been on the phone to the personnel director for the last twenty minutes. I think you might be getting some news.’

  Michael gave a conspiratorial nod of thanks and walked over to Duffy’s office. This was it. The manager of the Edinburgh student branch had just been promoted, and he was the obvious candidate for the vacancy. The last few months had been hell, but it was about to pay out.

  He walked in. Something was wrong. Duffy looked shifty, defensive.

  ‘Ah, Michael, good of you to pop by so quickly. Some news.’

  Ian Mason was to be the new Edinburgh branch manager. It was going to be announced next week. Not even the pretence of a selection process. Twenty-six, seven years younger than Michael. He would be the bank’s youngest-ever branch manager.

  Duffy floundered as he followed up on the bare facts. ‘Don’t take it personally,’ he said. ‘Mason’s father and grandfather both made the board, it’s obvious he’s being groomed for high places. It’s no reflection on you or your ability. I’ve had personnel on the phone, and I’ve told them just that. You’re doing awfully well for yourself for a chap who left school at fifteen. It’s only a matter of time.’

  Michael assured Duffy he was fine with the news, that he completely understood and appreciated his support and words of encouragement. He didn’t let his mask slip for a second.

  Work
hard, do better, and you’ll be rewarded. What he’d wanted to believe was true was now proven beyond all doubt to be a cynical lie.

  Society didn’t play by these rules. So he wouldn’t either.

  chapter two

  Michael knew what to do. Get Duffy to trust him implicitly, become totally reliant on him to do his job. Then destroy him.

  It would be child’s play. Duffy’s day revolved around lengthy chats and even lengthier lunches with the few big business customers the branch had. What was going on with the rest of the branch’s clientele passed him by. He had jumped at Michael’s offer to deal with all the other customer issues and hassles. Michael always completed the weekly letter to head office; went over the branch management reports and dealt with all the queries. Everything Duffy should have been doing. Duffy believed he had found a hard-working and conscientious subordinate who appreciated his view that a branch manager’s job was all about projecting the right image and schmoozing the fat-cat customers.

  ‘Just so long as you keep me in the loop, Michael,’ Duffy had told him. ‘And make sure the correspondence to head office always goes out in my name.’

  ‘No problem at all. The minutiae of the job are what I enjoy. All the little details that show what a good job the branch is doing. I have a lot to learn from you, Hector. I appreciate you letting me get so close to the numbers so I can see how a well-run branch operates. Leaves you more time to concentrate on the big-picture stuff. Drafting your reports is the least I can do.’

  Then the whispering started. Michael started making asides to the other branch employees, especially those he knew were well connected to the company gossipmongers and feeders of the rumour mill. Anecdotes about Duffy’s aloofness, his lack of any grasp of what was going on. He would check Duffy’s mail every morning, intercepting memos, selecting the ones that would remain unanswered. The ones important enough to cause irritation that they hadn’t been dealt with, but not so crucial that it would draw attention to the fact that a growing amount of mail was going astray. And Duffy was forever missing some key point or vital piece of paperwork when he went off to regional meetings, so that he fell flat on his face in front of his peers.