sympathetically, missing the point.
“I’m not talking about the principles of good banking–the law of the
least risk, the collateral to more-than-cover the loan, higher interest
for longer term–I don’t mean all that.”
“No.” Arny now had no idea what Evan did mean. But he sensed that Evan
was going to be indiscreet, and like everyone in the City he enjoyed the
indiscretions of others. “Have another?”
He picked up the glasses.
Evan nodded assent, and watched Arny go to the bar. The two of them
often met in the lounge of Pollard’s before catching the train home
together.
Evan liked the plush seats, and the quiet, and the faintly servile
barmen. He had no time for the newer kind of pub that was springing up
in the Square Mile: trendy, crowded cellars with loud music for the
long-haired whiz kids in their three-piece suits and gaudy ties,
drinking lager in pints or Continental aperitifs’.
“I’m talking about integrity,” Evan resumed when Arny came back. “A
banker can be a fool, and survive, if he’s straight; but if he hasn’t
got integrity . ”
“Absolutely.”
“Now, take Felix Laski. There’s a man totally without integrity.”
“This is the man who’s taken you over.”
“To my everlasting regret, yes. Shall I tell you how he got control?”
Arny leaned forward in his seat, holding a cigarette halfway to his
lips. “Okay.”
“We had a customer called South Middlesex Properties. They were tied up
with a discounting outfit we knew, and we wanted an outlet for a lot of
long-term money. The loan was too big for the property company, really,
but the collateral was vast. To cut a long story short, they defaulted
on the loan.”
“But you had the property,” Arny said. “Surely the title deeds were in
your vault.”
“Worthless. What we had were copies–and so did several other
creditors.”
“Straightforward fraud.”
“Indeed, although somehow they managed to make it look like mere
incompetence. However, we were in a hole. Laski bailed us out in
exchange for a majority holding.”
“Shrewd.”
“Shrewder than you think, Arny. Laski practically controlled South
Middlesex Properties–. Mind you, he wasn’t a director. But he had
shares, and he was employed by them as a consultant, and the management
was weak ..
“So he bought into the Cotton Bank with the money he’d borrowed and
defaulted on.”
“Looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Arny shook his head. “I find that very hard to credit.”
“You wouldn’t if you knew the bugger.” Two men in solicitors’ stripes
sat at the next table with half-pints of beer, and Evan lowered his
voice. “A man totally without integrity,” he repeated.
“What a stroke to pull.” There was a note of admiration in Arny’s voice.
“You could have gone to the newspaper–if it’s true.”
“Who the hell would publish it, other than Private Eye? But it’s true,
boy. There is no depth to which that man will not sink.” He took a large
swallow of whiskey. “You know what he’s done today?”
“It couldn’t be worse than the South Middlesex deal,” Arny goaded him.
“Couldn’t it? Ha!” Evans face was slightly flushed now, and the glass
trembled in his hand. He spoke slowly and deliberately. “He has
instructed–instructed, mind you–to clear a rubber check for a million
pounds.” He set down his glass with a flourish.
“But what about Threadneedle Street?”
“My exact words to him!” The two solicitors looked around, and Evan
realized he had shouted.
He spoke more quietly. “My very words. You’ll never believe what he
said. He said: “Who owns the Cotton Bank of Jamaica?” Then he put the
phone down on me.”
“So what did you do?”
Evan shrugged. “When the payee phoned up, I said the check was good.”
Arny whistled. “What you say makes no difference; It’s the Bank of
England who have to make the transfer. And when they discover that you
haven’t got a million–”
“I told him all that.” Evan realized he was close to tears, and felt
ashamed. “I have never, in thirty years of banking, since I started
behind the counter Il of Bardays Bank in Cardiff, passed a rubber check.
Until today.” He emptied his glass and stared at it gloomily. “Have