Writing for Fun
May 2019
Long Term Prospects – Gerry Miller
The very elegant woman sat back on the cruise ship decking and gazed out to sea. The sun was just starting to set over the Med and dead on time the waiter appeared at her side and nodding to her placed her gin and elderflower cocktail on the table beside her. ‘Anything else madam? The captain has asked that you again join his table this evening for dinner. Shall I confirm?’
She gazed at Marcel, a very pleasurable to look at young man. ‘Thank you Marcel, that would be lovely.’
As Marcel left her he wondered about this quiet older woman, she oozed wealth perhaps widowed and presented with an aura of elegance and charisma. Choosing only to mix with the other guests at mealtimes, Jean Winterson seemed very content with her own company. Leaving occasionally on some of the port visits, she chose not to remain with the parties and wandered the cities on her own.
Jean watched him and knew that she had skilfully avoided the many searching questions from various guests and crew. Her mind flashed back some ten years now and the situation of the train flashed vividly into her mind. She had been poor back then and had taken a few days holiday and a day trip to Paris by train was her luxury. Remembering clearly that her phone rang and as she looked at the incoming text she leant back in her seat and so it was that she overheard the two men talking. Instantly she pressed record holding the phone as near to the seat gap as she dared.
The men were agreeing to a proposal exchanging information and as paper rustled she sensed that either information or a sweetener in a brown envelope had been pushed across the table; a briefcase clicked and closed. The conversation confirmed the dates of a shipment, location of the warehouse depository and number of staff involved. Terms had been completely acceptable including a percentage of the final count Monies were to be paid through the Cayman Islands and most important of all no further contact would be made Jean trembled as she listened.
Hearing and indeed sensing movement through the back of her seat, Jean let her head drop to one side, her phone moved to her pocket, closing her eyes she let out a small snore. The gentleman appeared not to even notice her as he walked through the carriage and disappeared. Her eyes opened quickly and she caught a glimpse of a short bald headed man in a grey striped suit sitting down in the next carriage. As the train entered the tunnel, the lights in the carriage came on. Jean rose from her seat and walked the opposite direction to the ladies. Coming back she recognised the man in the seat behind her, the very newly appointed assistant police commissioner was on his way to Calais to discuss the closure of the refugee camps. The papers had been full of it.
Arriving in Paris Jean caught sight of the man who she now had named ‘Baldy’ and purely on impulse she trailed along behind him. Backpack slung over her shoulder and wearing her dowdy anorak with her hair now scooped into a ponytail, she was not recognisable as the woman on the train. The man walked into a smart hotel in Montmartre and Jean bent down and rummaged in her back pack finding her map. Hearing easily through the open doors, he gave his name to the receptionist David John Black and as she stood up she recognised a Barclaycard and British passport being given in at the desk.
It was a beautiful sunny day in Paris and Jean enjoyed it all she promptly arrived back at the Gare du Nord taking her seat this little short dumpy woman finally realised her plan really had potential and if carefully executed could ensure her long term prospects.
Returning to work the next day Jean walked up the steps and back into the police data unit, friends asked about her holiday but as she told them the holiday had been the fact of no work. All she had done was ‘poodle about’. Settling down Jean was soon back in the swing of things and amongst her workload no one noticed the checks being made on David John Black. Quietly and thoroughly she amassed all relevant information and with a growing assurance her plan came together. Watching the newspapers and internet she knew she had a very short timescale. Her plans must be perfect so on Friday she took a sickie.
Taking the train to Peterborough, she spent some time in the ladies and emerged ten minutes later as a well-made up woman with a rich chestnut Mary Quant type hair style. Taking a brisk walk she arrived and joined an orderly queue patiently waiting her turn. Three hours later she walked back out into the sunshine, new passport tucked away safely she headed back to the station and returning to the ladies she was soon back to her old self, throwing the wig into the bin she returned back to London.
Waking up on the Saturday the radio was full of the bullion robbery many millions had been taken, the bullion van had been hijacked close to the depository. No one had been hurt, the van had been pumped full of a gas and the security guards were now in hospital recovering from gas effects. The gold had completely disappeared. The mood in the country appeared supportive after all no one was hurt and this Home Secretary and Chief of Police had been unpopular in the country over a very long time.
No one was arrested and time passed; Jean decided time was right both gentlemen from the train received a small brown paper package in the post. Both contained detailed instructions and a part recording of their conversation on the train so many weeks ago now. The instructions were plain and simple: 5% of the bullion proceeds from each of them to be paid into an account on the Isle of Man. The men decided to pay after all neither of them fancied prison and the assistant commissioner reassured his partner in crime that he would trace the blackmailer. Two months later Jean retired from work, the dowdy woman’s leaving was hardly noticed.
Jean woke with a start the sun was fading below the horizon, returning to her cabin she dressed for dinner. She disliked the hobnobbing but the dinner and wines served were excellent at the Captain’s table. She smiled as she checked herself in the mirror, her weight had dropped at least three sizes and the dowdiness had disappeared. Jean loved elegance, being relatively poor had been the cause of her dowdiness, she smiled at her latest purchase of a double pearl choker set her blue dress off to perfection. In the James Bond film a similar dress worn by Maryam D’Abo Jean had loved instantly, now she had the funds and the figure to wear it.
Jean never visited the Isle of Man but through her cruise and the many city visits, made moving her money slowly and surely into a different account very straightforward. At the end of this cruise she would dispose of her Peterborough passport and the Isle of Man account would lay dormant and so the trail would end. What to do next with her life was Jean’s dilemma but now at least with so much money age was certainly less relevant and choices were many and varied.