just done a runner?’ asked Bryn.
‘Well,’ said Vincent drily, ‘there is the small matter of the body.
His wife identified him. He couldn’t have done a flit from the Grim Reaper. And what would be the point anyway? The way we’re positioned now, he’d have a lot more to lose than gain.’
‘Where does this leave us?’ asked Martin.
41
1ST_9780241206935_TheGoodLiar.indd 41
05/05/15 5:32 PM
‘Nothing changes,’ said Vincent. ‘Apart, that is, from what to do
with Roy’s share of the proceeds. His wife, of course . . .’
They considered for a moment.
‘It’s our choice entirely,’ added Vincent. ‘The money still belongs legally to the company and hasn’t been paid over to individuals.
There’s nothing in the contracts to indicate an obligation to pay
over to the estate in the event of a death. But we may feel some
moral obligation . . .’
There was a pause for reflection.
‘Perhaps not,’ said Martin. ‘It could complicate matters for her.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bryn. ‘How would we explain it all to her? Let alone
to the solicitors dealing with the estate?’
‘Way too complicated,’ added Bernie.
‘Knowing Roy, he’ll have left her well provided for,’ said Dave.
It was settled.
‘Well then,’ said Vincent, ‘we just wait the prescribed time and
meet up again. In the City, I’d suggest, at the branch where the
account is held. Any two of you can authorize the transfer. As you’ll recall, I can’t be one of the two. If you’re happy I’ll tee it up with the bank in a couple of weeks’ time. I have the list of your nominated
accounts. Let me know if anything changes.’
They agreed the plan.
‘Fine man, Roy,’ said Martin. ‘He was good to do business with
and fun to be around. I owed him a lot. At least he went out on a
high.’
‘A diamond,’ agreed Dave. ‘Always brought his mates in on a
piece of business. We’ll miss him.’
‘Sound as a pound,’ murmured Bernie in approbation, his mind
apparently on other matters.
Bryn and Vincent did not contribute to the eulogy. Vincent was
drily businesslike.
‘The funeral is on Thursday apparently. Short service in Leyton-
stone, cremation at Wanstead and then drinks at his home. I haven’t got the details yet. His wife and her daughter are trying to piece it all together. She’s promised to ring me tonight. Give me a call
tomorrow or the day after if you’d like to show your respects.’
42
1ST_9780241206935_TheGoodLiar.indd 42
05/05/15 5:32 PM
They replied, almost in mumbling choral unison, in the affirma-
tive. Vincent knew none of them would call. Like to be there, each
would reason to himself, but it’d just confuse matters. Better to
leave Roy in peace and his family to grieve privately.
He knew that this would be the last time he saw these men.
5
One final conference was required between Vincent and Roy before
it was all wrapped up. They met in St Albans of all places, in the
lobby of an august old hotel.
Roy had rented a car from a limousine service to take him from
his flat. The driver waited outside in the car.
Roy was content with his new apartment but felt it was not yet
home. Accustomed since childhood to a peripatetic existence, he
did not crave a sense of belonging or even, particularly, connection.
But a feeling of familiarity short of contempt would, he hoped,
come, and be pleasant. After all, he had to accustom himself to a
different life.
‘Retirement seems to suit you,’ said Vincent once they had
greeted each other.
Vincent was not one normally given to compliments. Roy looked
back at him in initial bewilderment, but then smiled. They went to
the bar, which was dark and overdue a refurbishment and smelt of
the sour beer of several decades.
They took their coffees, which had the unusual distinction of
being at the same time bitter and insipid, to a corner booth. They
were brisk in their dealings. They would shortly attend the central London bank
‘Well,’ said Vincent drily, ‘there is the small matter of the body.
His wife identified him. He couldn’t have done a flit from the Grim Reaper. And what would be the point anyway? The way we’re positioned now, he’d have a lot more to lose than gain.’
‘Where does this leave us?’ asked Martin.
41
1ST_9780241206935_TheGoodLiar.indd 41
05/05/15 5:32 PM
‘Nothing changes,’ said Vincent. ‘Apart, that is, from what to do
with Roy’s share of the proceeds. His wife, of course . . .’
They considered for a moment.
‘It’s our choice entirely,’ added Vincent. ‘The money still belongs legally to the company and hasn’t been paid over to individuals.
There’s nothing in the contracts to indicate an obligation to pay
over to the estate in the event of a death. But we may feel some
moral obligation . . .’
There was a pause for reflection.
‘Perhaps not,’ said Martin. ‘It could complicate matters for her.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Bryn. ‘How would we explain it all to her? Let alone
to the solicitors dealing with the estate?’
‘Way too complicated,’ added Bernie.
‘Knowing Roy, he’ll have left her well provided for,’ said Dave.
It was settled.
‘Well then,’ said Vincent, ‘we just wait the prescribed time and
meet up again. In the City, I’d suggest, at the branch where the
account is held. Any two of you can authorize the transfer. As you’ll recall, I can’t be one of the two. If you’re happy I’ll tee it up with the bank in a couple of weeks’ time. I have the list of your nominated
accounts. Let me know if anything changes.’
They agreed the plan.
‘Fine man, Roy,’ said Martin. ‘He was good to do business with
and fun to be around. I owed him a lot. At least he went out on a
high.’
‘A diamond,’ agreed Dave. ‘Always brought his mates in on a
piece of business. We’ll miss him.’
‘Sound as a pound,’ murmured Bernie in approbation, his mind
apparently on other matters.
Bryn and Vincent did not contribute to the eulogy. Vincent was
drily businesslike.
‘The funeral is on Thursday apparently. Short service in Leyton-
stone, cremation at Wanstead and then drinks at his home. I haven’t got the details yet. His wife and her daughter are trying to piece it all together. She’s promised to ring me tonight. Give me a call
tomorrow or the day after if you’d like to show your respects.’
42
1ST_9780241206935_TheGoodLiar.indd 42
05/05/15 5:32 PM
They replied, almost in mumbling choral unison, in the affirma-
tive. Vincent knew none of them would call. Like to be there, each
would reason to himself, but it’d just confuse matters. Better to
leave Roy in peace and his family to grieve privately.
He knew that this would be the last time he saw these men.
5
One final conference was required between Vincent and Roy before
it was all wrapped up. They met in St Albans of all places, in the
lobby of an august old hotel.
Roy had rented a car from a limousine service to take him from
his flat. The driver waited outside in the car.
Roy was content with his new apartment but felt it was not yet
home. Accustomed since childhood to a peripatetic existence, he
did not crave a sense of belonging or even, particularly, connection.
But a feeling of familiarity short of contempt would, he hoped,
come, and be pleasant. After all, he had to accustom himself to a
different life.
‘Retirement seems to suit you,’ said Vincent once they had
greeted each other.
Vincent was not one normally given to compliments. Roy looked
back at him in initial bewilderment, but then smiled. They went to
the bar, which was dark and overdue a refurbishment and smelt of
the sour beer of several decades.
They took their coffees, which had the unusual distinction of
being at the same time bitter and insipid, to a corner booth. They
were brisk in their dealings. They would shortly attend the central London bank
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