The Voyage of the Golden Handshake Read Online Free

Bank. En route he wondered if he ought to call in and announce his good fortune to the stockroom girls who had presented him with the winning ticket. He was still puzzled as to what to do about this. At some point they were bound to ask him how he had fared. On the other hand, if he kept quiet they might assume nothing at all had happened - unless of course they had taken a note of the numbers, which he very much doubted. He decided he would walk on the pavement opposite the Co-op to reduce his chances of meeting anyone and thus facing awkward questions.
    As luck would have it, just as he was passing on the opposite side looking resolutely ahead, he heard someone call out hisname.
    ‘Albert, you old bugger, are you not calling in to see us?’
    Of all people it had to be Jason Smith who had taken Albert’s former position as guardian of the trolleys and baskets.
    ‘Do you know,’ Albert had said in his final briefing before leaving, ‘do you know that each time a trolley goes missing, that costs the Co-op at least two hundred quid. That’s a lot of divi.’ Jason had since reflected on this wisdom. It was a lot of money - and in his time he must have seen at least eight hundred quids’ worth semi-submerged in a nearby waterway. Albert decided that if he called in the shop this morning the subject of the tickets would be bound to come up and Alice would be furious if he gave the slightest hint that he might have won.
    ‘Sorry, Jason,’ he shouted, ‘another time! I’m almost late as it is.’ He plodded on.
    On arrival at the portals of the Prudent Bank, Albert stopped for a moment and gazed at the solid stone pillars on each side of the doorway. Many was the time when, as a young married man, he had crossed this threshold with a deep sense of foreboding to face an irate clerk urging him to ‘take more care with your outgoings’. In later life he hardly visited, but on the infrequent occasions when he did, despite the fact that his account was a safe sanctuary for moths, the clerk was all sweetness and light and urged him to borrow as much as he could carry - and more besides.
    Albert stepped inside and before he could utter a word, Darren Worthington, the head clerk, was by his side offering to help him off with his coat.
    ‘We saw you approaching on the security cameras,’ said Darren, tugging at the Yorkshire twill. ‘We’re all terribly excited you’re visiting us today.’
    Darren Worthington had recently relocated to Grimsby from a branch somewhere in Surrey and Arthur thought it was typical of a nancy boy Southerner to get excited about nowt.
    ‘Mr Havergill is expecting you and has asked me to show you immediately into his office,’ crooned Darren, totally captivated by the occasion. He pressed several numbers on a side door which swung open, revealing a short corridor along which they both walked. Before them was another door, this time adorned with a sign which read Mr Bernard Havergill JP. Manager . Worthington gently tapped on the door and was greeted with a deafening ‘Come in!’ Albert was ushered into the room and the head clerk discreetly disappeared. There, behind a desk totally clear of any documents or writing implements, but containing one half-empty glass, sat a florid-faced man with ginger hair. He was perspiring profusely, even though the outside temperature was equivalent to that in the Arctic.
    ‘Ah, Mr Hardcastle. What a delight it is to see you. I don’t think we have had the pleasure. My name is Havergill and I am the Manager of this establishment and of several other branchesin the Grimsby region. I know you have been a customer of ours for years, and it is always my very great pleasure to make the acquaintance of our long-standing and faithful account-holders. You are most welcome. Please take a seat and let me get you a drink. Gin and tonic? Whisky?’ Mr Havergill replenished the glass on his desk from a crystal dispenser and went to get Albert a glass.
    ‘Hold on,’