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WHENEVER ANYONE AT the bank asked Arthur where he was going for his summer holiday, and not many people did, he always replied, “I will be visiting my sister in Vancouver.” However, by the time it came for him to leave for his summer vacation, he not only had a sister, but a whole family in place: Eileen and Mike, who worked in local government, and a niece and nephew, Sue and Mike Jr. Not very imaginative, but when you haven’t lied for twenty-nine years, your friends and colleagues have a tendency to accept everything you tell them.
During the next month, Arthur continued to invest Mr. Macpherson’s fortune in an orderly, if somewhat conservative fashion, keeping to a well-trodden path. At the same time, he withdrew small amounts of cash each week from his personal account, until he had a little over $3,000 locked away in his top drawer, not unlike a bridegroom preparing for his wedding.
On the Monday morning a week before he was due to go on holiday, Arthur placed the cash in his lunch box and headed off for his favorite bench in the park. However, on the way he dropped into the Royal Bank of Canada, where he waited in line at the currency counter, before changing his dollars into pounds.
During the Tuesday lunchbreak, he made a further detour, to a local travel agent, where he purchased a return flight to Vancouver. He paid by check, and when he arrived back at the bank, left the ticket on the corner of his desk for all to see, and if anyone mentioned it, he once again told them all about his sister Eileen and her family in Vancouver.
On the Wednesday, Arthur applied for a new credit card on Mr. Macpherson’s behalf, and issued an order to cease any trading on the old one. A bright, shiny black card appeared on his desk forty-eight hours later. Arthur was ready to carry out stage two of his plan.
He had carefully chosen the dates he would be away from the office, selecting the two weeks before Mr. Stratton was due to take his annual leave.
Arthur left the bank just after six on Friday evening, and took the usual bus back to his small apartment in Forest Hill. He spent a sleepless night wondering if he’d made the right decision. However, by the time the sun eventually rose on Saturday morning, he was resolved to go ahead with his plan and, as his father would have said, “let the devil take the hindmost.”
After a leisurely breakfast, he packed a suitcase and left the flat just before midday. Arthur hailed a cab, an expense he normally wouldn’t have considered, but then for the next few days everything he did would be out of character.
When the cab dropped him off at the domestic terminal, Arthur went straight to the Air Canada desk and traded in his return flight to Vancouver for a one-way window seat at the back of a plane destined for London. He paid the difference in cash. Arthur then took the shuttle bus across to the international terminal, where he was among the first to check in. While he waited to board the aircraft, he sat behind a large pillar and, head down, remained hidden behind the Toronto Star. He intended to be among the first on, and the last off the plane, as he hoped it would cut down the chances of anyone recognizing him.
Once he’d fastened his seat belt, he made no attempt to strike up a conversation with the young couple seated next to him. During the seven-hour flight, he watched two films, which he wouldn’t have bothered with back at home, and in between pretended to be asleep.
When the plane touched down at Heathrow the following morning, he waited patiently in line at Immigration, and by the time his passport had been stamped, his one suitcase was already circling around on the baggage carousel. Once he’d cleared Customs, he took another shuttle bus to terminal five, where he purchased a ticket to Edinburgh, which he also paid for in cash. On his arrival in the Scottish capital, another taxi took him to the Caledonian, a hotel recommended by the cabbie.
“How long will you be staying with us, sir?” asked the receptionist.
“Just the night,” replied Arthur, as she handed him his room key.
Arthur feared he’d have another restless night, but in fact fell asleep within moments of putting his head on the pillow.
* * *
The following morning, he ordered breakfast in bed, another first. But the moment he heard nine chiming on a nearby clock, he picked up the phone on his bedside table and dialed a number he did not have to look up.
“Royal Bank of Scotland, how can I help you?”
“I’d like to speak to the senior accounts manager,” said Arthur.
“Buchan,” said the next voice that came on the line. “How can I help you?”
“I’m thinking of moving my account to your bank,” said Arthur, “and wondered if I could make an appointment to see you as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” said the voice, suddenly sounding more obliging. “Would eleven o’clock this morning suit you, Mr.…?”
“Macpherson,” said Arthur. “Yes, that would be just fine.”
Arthur left the hotel just after ten thirty and, following the doorman’s instructions, made his way down Princes Street, occasionally stopping to window-shop, as he didn’t want to be early for his appointment.
He entered the bank at 10:55 a.m., and a receptionist accompanied him to Mr. Buchan’s office. The senior accounts manager rose from behind his desk and the two men shook hands.
“How can I help you, Mr. Macpherson?” Buchan asked once his potential new client had sat down.
“I’ll be moving back to Scotland in a few months’ time,” said Arthur, “and your bank was recommended to me by the senior vice president at NBT.”
“Our partner bank in Toronto,” said Buchan, as he opened a drawer in his desk and extracted some forms.
For the next twenty minutes, Arthur answered a series of questions that he was in the habit of asking. Once the last box had been filled in, and Arthur had signed S. Macpherson on the dotted line, Buchan asked if he had any form of identity with him, such as a passport.
“I’m so sorry,” said Arthur, “I left my passport at the Caledonian. But I do have my credit card.”
