Cat O'Nine Tales (2006) Read online

  We look forward to continuing our relationship with you.

  Yours sincerely,

  FinanceDirector

  “Does that mean what I think it means?” said Sue after she had read the letter a second time.

  “In simple terms, love,” said Chris, “we can never hope to earn back our original investment of two hundred and fifty thousand, even if we go on working for the rest of our lives.”

  “Then we’ll have to put the post office up for sale.”

  “But who will want to buy it at that price,” asked Chris, “once they discover that the business no longer has category A status?”

  “The man from Britannia assured us that once we’d paid off the debt it would be worth a million.”

  “Only while the business has a turnover of five hundred thousand and generates a profit of around eighty thousand a year,” said Chris.

  “We should take legal advice.”

  Chris reluctantly agreed, although he wasn’t in much doubt what his solicitor’s opinion would be. The law, their advocate dutifully advised them, was not on their side, and therefore he wouldn’t recommend them to sue the Post Office, as he couldn’t guarantee the outcome. “You might well win a moral victory,” he said, “but that won’t assist your bank balance.”

  The next decision Chris and Sue made was to put the post office on the market as they wanted to find out if anyone would show an interest. Once again Chris’s judgment turned out to be correct: only three couples even bothered to look over the property, and none of them returned for a second viewing once they discovered it was no longer category A status.

  “My bet,” said Sue, “is that those officials back at headquarters knew only too well they were going to change our status long before they pocketed our money, but it suited them not to tell us.”

  “You may well be right,” said Chris, “but you can be sure of one thing—they won’t have put anything in writing at the time, so we would never be able to prove it.”

  “And neither did we.”

  “What are you getting at, love?”

  “How much have they stolen from us?” demanded Sue.

  “Well, if by that you mean our original investment—”

  “Our life savings, every penny we’ve earned over the past thirty years, not to mention our pension.”

  Chris paused and raised his head, while he made some calculations. “Not including any profit we might have hoped for, once we’d seen our capital returned—”

  “Yes, only what they’ve stolen from us,” Sue repeated.

  “A little over two hundred and fifty thousand, if you don’t include interest,” said Chris.

  “And we have no hope of seeing a penny of that original investment back, even if we were to work for the rest of our lives?”

  “That’s about the sum of it, love.”

  “Then it’s my intention to retire on January the first.”

  “And what are you expecting to live off for the rest of your life?” asked Chris.

  “Our original investment.”

  “And how do you intend to go about that?”

  “By taking advantage of our spotless reputation.”

  The End

  Chris and Sue rose early the following morning: after all, they had a lot of work to do during the next three months if they hoped to accumulate enough capital to retire by 1 January. Sue warned Chris that meticulous preparation would be needed if her plan was to succeed. He didn’t disagree. They both knew that they couldn’t risk pressing the button until the second Friday in November, when they would have a six-week window of opportunity—Chris’s expression—before “those people back in London” worked out what they were really up to. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a lot of preliminary work to be done in the meantime. To start with, they needed to plan their getaway, even before they set about retrieving any stolen money. Neither considered what they were about to embark on as theft.

  Sue unfolded a map of Europe and spread it across the post office counter. They discussed the different alternatives for several days and finally settled on Portugal, which they both considered would be ideal for early retirement. On their many visits to the Algarve they had always returned to Albufeira, the town where they had spent their shortened honeymoon, and revisited on their tenth, twentieth, and many more wedding anniversaries. They had even promised themselves that was where they would retire if they won the lottery.

  The next day Sue purchased a tape of Portuguese for Beginners which they played before breakfast every morning, and then spent an hour in the evening, testing out their new skills. They were pleased to discover that over the years they had both picked up more of the language than they realized. Although not fluent, they were certainly not beginners. The two of them quickly moved on to the advanced tapes.

  “We won’t be able to use our own passports,” Chris pointed out to his wife while shaving one morning. “We’ll have to consider a change of identity, otherwise the authorities would be on to us in no time.”

  “I’ve already thought about that,” said Sue, “and we should take advantage of working in our own post office.”

  Chris stopped shaving, and turned to listen to his wife.

  “Don’t forget, we already supply all the necessary forms for customers who want to obtain passports.”

  Chris didn’t interrupt as Sue went over how she planned to make sure that they could safely leave the country under assumed names.

  Chris chuckled. “Perhaps I’ll grow a beard,” he said, putting his razor down.

  Over the years, Chris and Sue had made friends with several customers who regularly shopped at the post office. The two of them wrote down on separate sheets of paper the names of all their customers who fulfilled the criteria Sue was looking for. They ended up with a list of two dozen candidates: thirteen women and eleven men. From that moment on, whenever one of the unsuspecting regulars entered the shop, Sue or Chris would strike up a conversation that had only one purpose.

  “Going away for Christmas this year, are we, Mrs. Brewer?”

  “No, Mrs. Haskins, my son and his wife will be joining us on Christmas Eve so that we can get to know our new granddaughter.”

  “How nice for you, Mrs. Brewer,” replied Sue. “Chris and I are thinking of spending Christinas in the States.”

  “How exciting,” said Mrs. Brewer. “I’ve never even been abroad,” she admitted, “let alone America.”

  Mrs. Brewer had reached the second round, but would not be questioned again until her next visit.

  By the end of September, seven other names had joined Mrs. Brewer on the shortlist—four women and three men, all between the ages of fifty-one and fifty-seven, who had only one thing in common: they had never traveled abroad.

  The next problem the Haskins faced was filling in an application for a birth certificate. This required far more detailed questioning, and both Sue and Chris quickly backed off whenever one of the shortlisted candidates showed the slightest sign of suspicion. By the beginning of October they were down to the names of four customers who had unwittingly supplied their date of birth, place of birth, mother’s maiden name and father’s first name.

  The Haskins’ next visit was to Boots the chemist in St. Peters Avenue, where they took turns to sit in a little cubicle and have several strips of photographs taken at £2.50 a time. Sue then set about completing the necessary application forms for a passport, on behalf of four of her unsuspecting customers. She filled in all the relevant details, while enclosing photographs of herself and Chris, along with a postal order for £42. As the postmaster, Chris was only too happy to pen his real signature on the bottom of each form Sue filled in.

  The four application forms were posted to the passport office at Petty France in London on the Monday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday of the last week in October.

  On Wednesday, 11 November the first passport arrived back at Victoria Crescent, addressed to Mr. Reg Appleyard. Two days later, a second appear