on a desk in the corner.
She glanced round as she followed him; there was polished dining table, a thirties style tiled fireplace and a sideboard with some rather nice china in the other corner.
He showed her the disc with the membership list; their addresses, work and home, contact numbers and whether they were up to date with their subscriptions...
Dawn came in with the tea. Full cream milk, which Rebecca detested. She made a conscious effort not to grimace.
‘About a third of the subs are still due,’ Alan said when Dawn had gone. ‘Being a woman, you’ll probably have better luck than me.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
He grinned. ‘Because most of the defaulters are male.’
‘Ah.’ He was probably right, although she’d be glad of the excuse to make contact with any of them… ‘I don’t think a third’s bad for this time of year,’ she said. ‘I take it they were due in January?’
He nodded. ‘Oh, you’re right, it’s just that I’m sick of chasing them… there I go, putting you off again…’
They both laughed.
He showed her the accounts. As he’d said at the meeting, there was over £2000 in the deposit account, and nearly £1000 in the current.
‘Where d’you get the money from?’ she asked. ‘It’s more than I thought there’d be.’
He flicked to another part of the disc. ‘I suppose around £600 a year from subs – eventually. The rest comes from sponsorship or donations from local firms, and our charity shop. Half of everything we get goes straight to Headquarters in Bristol.’
‘You’ve got a charity shop? Whereabouts?’
‘Ashill,’ he said. ‘Of course, you don’t know Exeter, but it’s the grotty end.’ He went on, ‘There’s a pecking order in most towns – Oxfam always gets the best site, followed by Cancer Research, Save The Children, then local hospices, and so on. We’re at the bottom of the heap.’
‘You still make money, though,’ she said, studying the screen.
‘Nothing like as much as Oxfam,’ he said drily.
‘I must go and have a look. I’m a charity shop addict,’ she added, which was true, to an extent.
He showed her how the money was moved between accounts, then gave her the disks, chequebooks, paying-in books and all the correspondence from the bank.
‘So what did you make of us all yesterday?’ he asked.
She pretended to think… ‘Pretty good,’ she said. ‘I like the commitment, and the way you get things done, especially the forum on starvation and slavery. The only thing that bothered me…’ she hesitated… ‘was the vehemence over… Open Door , is it?’
He smiled thinly. ‘It’s our Achilles’ heel,’ he said.
She asked what he meant and he explained how it had threatened to split the whole movement, their branch in particular. ‘Most people don’t mind stumping up a bit for starving children, but try and link it to immigration and it’s a turn off. A controversy we can do without.’
He told her how every time they’d healed the rift and come to an agreement to be neutral on it, Open Door would make some new proposal, usually through Hannah, that the two groups work together on something. ‘I wish they wouldn’t, and I do wish she wouldn’t keep falling for it, sometimes I think they’re doing it deliberately –’
He broke off and changed the subject by asking her how she’d first got interested in Africa.
‘Bob Geldoff,’ she said.
‘Ah, the sainted Sir Bob – no,’ he said hastily, ‘I’m not knocking him… As he said Why is this man hungry ? Why has he no food ? To a country where we’ve got too much of it.’ He patted his own waistline self-consciously.
She said, ‘I was only a girl at the time, but we were learning about slavery at school and even then I could put the two together – we really owe them big time and anything I can do to help people see that…’
She tailed off as though embarrassed by her own vehemence, then said, ‘What about you?’
‘VSO,’ he
She glanced round as she followed him; there was polished dining table, a thirties style tiled fireplace and a sideboard with some rather nice china in the other corner.
He showed her the disc with the membership list; their addresses, work and home, contact numbers and whether they were up to date with their subscriptions...
Dawn came in with the tea. Full cream milk, which Rebecca detested. She made a conscious effort not to grimace.
‘About a third of the subs are still due,’ Alan said when Dawn had gone. ‘Being a woman, you’ll probably have better luck than me.’
‘Why d’you say that?’
He grinned. ‘Because most of the defaulters are male.’
‘Ah.’ He was probably right, although she’d be glad of the excuse to make contact with any of them… ‘I don’t think a third’s bad for this time of year,’ she said. ‘I take it they were due in January?’
He nodded. ‘Oh, you’re right, it’s just that I’m sick of chasing them… there I go, putting you off again…’
They both laughed.
He showed her the accounts. As he’d said at the meeting, there was over £2000 in the deposit account, and nearly £1000 in the current.
‘Where d’you get the money from?’ she asked. ‘It’s more than I thought there’d be.’
He flicked to another part of the disc. ‘I suppose around £600 a year from subs – eventually. The rest comes from sponsorship or donations from local firms, and our charity shop. Half of everything we get goes straight to Headquarters in Bristol.’
‘You’ve got a charity shop? Whereabouts?’
‘Ashill,’ he said. ‘Of course, you don’t know Exeter, but it’s the grotty end.’ He went on, ‘There’s a pecking order in most towns – Oxfam always gets the best site, followed by Cancer Research, Save The Children, then local hospices, and so on. We’re at the bottom of the heap.’
‘You still make money, though,’ she said, studying the screen.
‘Nothing like as much as Oxfam,’ he said drily.
‘I must go and have a look. I’m a charity shop addict,’ she added, which was true, to an extent.
He showed her how the money was moved between accounts, then gave her the disks, chequebooks, paying-in books and all the correspondence from the bank.
‘So what did you make of us all yesterday?’ he asked.
She pretended to think… ‘Pretty good,’ she said. ‘I like the commitment, and the way you get things done, especially the forum on starvation and slavery. The only thing that bothered me…’ she hesitated… ‘was the vehemence over… Open Door , is it?’
He smiled thinly. ‘It’s our Achilles’ heel,’ he said.
She asked what he meant and he explained how it had threatened to split the whole movement, their branch in particular. ‘Most people don’t mind stumping up a bit for starving children, but try and link it to immigration and it’s a turn off. A controversy we can do without.’
He told her how every time they’d healed the rift and come to an agreement to be neutral on it, Open Door would make some new proposal, usually through Hannah, that the two groups work together on something. ‘I wish they wouldn’t, and I do wish she wouldn’t keep falling for it, sometimes I think they’re doing it deliberately –’
He broke off and changed the subject by asking her how she’d first got interested in Africa.
‘Bob Geldoff,’ she said.
‘Ah, the sainted Sir Bob – no,’ he said hastily, ‘I’m not knocking him… As he said Why is this man hungry ? Why has he no food ? To a country where we’ve got too much of it.’ He patted his own waistline self-consciously.
She said, ‘I was only a girl at the time, but we were learning about slavery at school and even then I could put the two together – we really owe them big time and anything I can do to help people see that…’
She tailed off as though embarrassed by her own vehemence, then said, ‘What about you?’
‘VSO,’ he
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