The Voyage of the Golden Handshake Read Online Free Page B

seated, he shook himself rather like a dog emerging from a pond. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat.
    ‘Mr Jeeves,’ he began. ‘Mr Hardacre wants to see his account.’ With that, he placed his head between his arms on the desk and began to snore loudly.
    ‘I really must apologise to you, Mr Hardcastle,’ said Darren, clearly disturbed by the events of the last hour. ‘I was hoping Mr Havergill would break the news to you himself. It is rather alarming, I must admit. I’m afraid The Manager seems to have lost your account. There is no record whatsoever of you ever having an account with this bank, and no record at all of any money being received from the National Lottery.’
    Albert dropped his half-empty glass of Brown Ale onto the beige carpet.
    ‘My God!’ he uttered. ‘That’s terrible. No record whatsoever?’
    ‘I’m afraid not, Sir.’ We were searching the computer records all night long, and first thing this morning we contacted the Lottery to see if they could throw any light on the problem. All they know is that the money was paid in here two days ago and that it has gone out of their Lottery account.’
    Albert collapsed into the nearest chair and stared at the expanding brown stain on the carpet.
    ‘No record,’ he muttered. ‘No record?’
    ‘Please try not to upset yourself, Mr Hardcastle. I’m sure that once Mr Havergill is feeling himself again, all will be well.’
    ‘What about Head Office?’ asked Albert. ‘What do they say about all this?
    ‘Well, the truth is that they don’t know at the moment.’
    Darren paused as Mr Havergill gave a low groan, followed by an exceptionally loud snort. He continued: ‘Mr Havergill was hoping that something might turn up before he was obliged to let them know. As soon as he is well again, he will start another search. Of that I’m certain.’
    Albert got to his feet. ‘That’s it then. I’d better be off.’
    Darren helped him on with his coat and handed him his scarf before opening the door. Albert followed him down the corridor and back into the customer area. As he made his way to the exit, the counter clerk gave him a wan smile.
    ‘Good afternoon, Mr Hardcastle.’
    Albert nodded and stepped into the street. A light snow wasfalling and with a heavy heart and feeling somewhat hungry he set course for home.
    As he approached his former workplace, to his surprise he noted that the blinds were drawn across the windows and the main entrance appeared to be closed. He stopped for a moment, fumbled inside his coat and consulted his pocket watch - 2.45. He couldn’t understand it. It wasn’t a public holiday. No Royal Personage had died, as far as he knew. Why was the Co-op not open for business? As he stood by the entrance he could hear sounds of laughter inside and he was sure that he heard one of the girls from the stockroom shouting, ‘Good old Jason.’ He was just about to resume his journey when the door was flung open, and who should appear but Jason himself.
    ‘Albert, come on in and join the party. No work today, nor ever again for that matter!’ exclaimed Jason, somewhat flushed in the face. Increasingly puzzled, Albert crossed the familiar threshold and the door was firmly secured behind him. Littered around the floor were several empty bottles which had once contained the Co-op’s finest champagne. A large iced cake from the display cabinet had been attacked and it seemed as though all the pork pies had gone from the provision counter. A glass was thrust into his hand and was immediately filled from a freshly opened bottle of champagne.
    ‘An amazing story,’ gurgled Jason as he gulped the sparkling beverage, like water. ‘I only wish Heather was here to celebratewith us instead of being with her ailing mother in the Outer Hebrides.’
    ‘What on earth are you talking about, Jason?’ asked an increasingly mystified Albert. ‘What is going on?’
    ‘Well,’ said the jovial trolley-keeper, ‘each week my wife