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  ‘I’ll do what I can,’ promised Will. ‘But you know we’ve been told to make even more cutbacks in overseas funding.’ A sure sign that an election was approaching, thought Henry.

  At the cocktail party that evening, Henry was able to say no more than ‘Good evening, Minister,’ as the High Commissioner was determined that Will would be introduced to every one of the assembled guests in under sixty minutes. When the two of them departed to have dinner with General Olangi, Henry went back to his office to check over the speech the Minister would be delivering at breakfast the following morning. He was pleased to see that the paragraph he had written on the swimming pool project remained in the final draft, so at least it would be on the record. He checked the seating plan, making sure that he had been placed next to the editor of the St George’s Echo. That way he could be certain that the paper’s next edition would lead on the British government’s support for the swimming pool appeal.

  Henry rose early the following morning, and was among the first to arrive at the High Commissioner’s Residence. He took the opportunity to brief as many of the assembled local businessmen as possible on the importance of the swimming pool project in the eyes of the British government, pointing out that Barclays Bank had agreed to open the fund with a substantial donation.

  The Minister arrived for breakfast a few minutes late. ‘A call from London,’ he explained, so they didn’t sit down to eat until 8.15. Henry took his place next to the editor of the local paper and waited impatiently for the Minister to make his speech.

  Will rose at 8.47. He spent the first five minutes talking about bananas, and finally went on to say: ‘Let me assure you that Her Majesty’s Government have not forgotten the swimming pool project that was inaugurated by Princess Margaret, and we hope to be able to make an announcement on its progress in the near future. I was delighted to learn from Sir David,’ he looked across at Bill Paterson, who was seated opposite him, ‘that the Rotary Club have taken on the project as their Charity of the Year, and several prominent local businessmen have already generously agreed to support the cause.’ This was followed by a round of applause, instigated by Henry.

  Once the Minister had resumed his seat, Henry handed the editor of the local paper an envelope which contained a thousand-word article, along with several pictures of the site. Henry felt confident that it would form the centre-page spread in next week’s St George’s Echo.

  Henry checked his watch as the Minister sat down: 8.56. It was going to be close. When Will disappeared up to his room, Henry began pacing up and down the hallway, checking his watch as each minute passed.

  The Minister stepped into the waiting Rolls at 9.24 and, turning to Henry, said, ‘I fear I’m going to have to forgo the pleasure of seeing the swimming pool site. However,’ he promised, ‘I’ll be sure to read your report on the plane, and will brief the Foreign Secretary the moment I get back to London.’

  As the car sped past a barren plot of land on the way to the airport, Henry pointed out the site to the Minister. Will glanced out of the window and said, ‘Admirable, worthwhile, important,’ but never once did he commit himself to spending one penny of government money.

  ‘I’ll do my damnedest to convince the mandarins at the Treasury,’ were his final words as he boarded the plane.

  Henry didn’t need to be told that Will’s ‘damnedest’ was unlikely to convince even the most junior civil servant at the Treasury.

  A week later, Henry received a fax from the Foreign Office giving details of the changes the Prime Minister had made in his latest reshuffle. Will Whiting had been sacked, to be replaced by someone Henry had never heard of.

  Henry was going over his speech to the Rotary Club when the phone rang. It was Bill Paterson.

  ‘Henry, there are rumours of another coup brewing, so I was thinking of waiting until Friday before changing the High Commission’s pounds into kora.’

  ‘Happy to take your advice, Bill - the money market is beyond me. By the way, I’m looking forward to this evening, when we finally get a chance to launch the Appeal.’

  Henry’s speech was well received by the Rotarians, but when he discovered the size of the donations some of the members had in mind, he feared it could still be years before the project was completed. He couldn’t help remembering that there were only another eighteen months before his next posting was due.

  It was in the car on the way home that he recalled Bill’s words at the Britannia Club. An idea began to form in his mind.

  Henry had never taken the slightest interest in the quarterly payments that the British government made to the tiny island of Aranga. The Foreign Office allocated PS5 million a year from its contingency fund, made up of four payments of PS1.25 million, which was automatically converted into the local currency of kora at the current exchange rate. Once Henry had been informed of the rate by Bill Paterson, the Chief Administrator at the High Commission dealt with all the Commission’s payments over the next three months. That was about to change.

  Henry lay awake that night, all too aware that he lacked the training and expertise to carry out such a daring project, and that he must pick up the knowledge he required without anyone else becoming aware of what he was up to.

  By the time he rose the following morning, a plan was beginning to form in his mind. He started by spending the weekend at the local library, studying old copies of the Financial Times, noting in particular what caused fluctuating exchange rates and whether they followed any pattern.

  Over the next three months, at the golf club, cocktail parties in the Britannia Club, and whenever he was with Bill, he gathered more and more information, until finally he was confident that he was ready to make his first move.

  When Bill rang on the Monday morning to say that there would be a small surplus of 22,107 kora on the current account because of the rumours of another coup, Henry gave orders to place the money in the Swimming Pool Account.

  ‘But I usually switch it into the Contingency Fund,’ said Bill.

  ‘There’s been a new directive from the Foreign Office - K14792,’ said Henry. ‘It says that surpluses can now be used on local projects, if they’ve been approved by the Minister.’

  ‘But that Minister was sacked,’ the bank manager reminded the First Secretary.

  ‘That may well be the case, but I’ve been instructed by my masters that the order still applies.’ Directive K14792 did in fact exist, Henry had discovered, although he doubted that when the Foreign Office issued it they had had swimming pools in mind.

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Bill. ‘Who am I to argue with a Foreign Office directive, especially when all I have to do is move money from one High Commission account to another within the bank?’

  The Chief Administrator didn’t comment on any missing money during the following week, as he had received the same number of kora he had originally expected. Henry assumed he’d got away with it.

  As there wasn’t another payment due for three months, Henry had ample time to refine his plan. During the next quarter, a few of the local businessmen came up with their donations, but Henry quickly realised that even with this influx of cash, they could only just about afford to start digging. He would have to deliver something a great deal more substantial if he hoped to end up with more than a hole in the ground.

  Then an idea came to him in the middle of the night. But for Henry’s personal coup to be effective, he would need to get his timing spot on.

  When Roger Parnell, the BBC’s correspondent, made his weekly call to enquire if there was anything he should be covering other than the swimming pool appeal, Henry asked if he could have a word with him off the record.

  ‘Of course,’ said the correspondent. ‘What do you want to discuss?’

  ‘HMG is a little worried that no one has seen General Olangi for several days, and there are rumours that his recent medical check-up has found him to be HIV positive.’

  ‘Good God,’ said the BBC man. ‘Have you got any proof?’