Monday, February 9, 2009

A Payment From Heaven, David Snowdon

A Payment from Heaven

London England, September 2008

Cyril Klawitter sat behind his impressive-looking desk in his well-furnished and fully air-conditioned office, and stared across the desk at his client.
Klawitter was the branch manager of the Lakeside bank in Mayfair, and at 52, he was short and plump with light brown hair and inquisitive-looking blue eyes. Today he wore a black suit with light blue shirt and a black tie, and he was looking very smart.

“It’s all there,” said Klawitter in his posh accent. “£100,000 in £50 notes.”
John Dangerfield glanced at the briefcase and gave a nod of approval.

At 56, he was tall, dark and handsome with dark brown hair and intelligent-looking brown eyes. He wore an immaculate, tailor-made, dark blue suit that fitted him like a second skin.

“Thanks, Cyril. You’re the best bank manager in the world.”

“Would you like to count it?” said Klawitter.

“I trust you,” said Dangerfield, in a posh accent. “I’m sure it’s correct.”
“Sure?” said Klawitter, as he stared at him.

“You’re always right,” said Dangerfield. “There’s no need for that.”

“Okay,” said Klawitter, shrugging his shoulders as the two men stared at each other.
“I know it’s none of my business,” continued Klawitter, after a pause, “but is there any specific reason why you need this kind of money at such short notice?”
Dangerfield smiled at him.

“You’re right, Cyril, it’s none of your business.”

“You’re one of my best clients, John,” said Klawitter, “and I like to know about my clients financial affairs.”

“Never mind, Cyril,” said Dangerfield, getting to his feet and grabbing the briefcase. “I’m gonna disappear. I’m in for a hectic day.”

He walked towards the door, and Klawitter followed him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Thanks for your help, Cyril,” said Dangerfield, with a dry smile as the two men shook hands at the door. “You’re very kind.”

“No problem at all,” said Klawitter. “If you need any further assistance, give me a call.”

“Will do,” said Dangerfield, as he opened the door.

Dangerfield drove the lustrous, black Bentley along the A3 motorway towards Surrey at a steady 50 miles an hour. The car was fully air-conditioned and fully loaded, and every little luxury had been catered for. In fact, the manufacturer had worked overtime on the extras.

It was a nice, sunny, September afternoon, and as he drove, his mind was busy.
Dangerfield was the CEO of Casterton PLC, a major food processing firm, and he was a multi-millionaire.

What a predicament! He thought, as he continued to drive. It was two- thirty in the afternoon and the traffic was light.

Twenty minutes later, he cruised onto the driveway of his exquisite, detached house in an exclusive part of Epsom and pulled up beside a silver Mercedes C220.
Carrying the briefcase, he let himself into the well-furnished house and closed the door behind him.

As he entered the house, a beautiful, blonde woman emerged from the living-room and stared at him.

At 53, Suzi Dangerfield was tall and gracious with a nice, curvy figure and lovely blue eyes. She was a beautiful woman and most people thought she was in her early forties. Today she was wearing a white frock.

“Have you got the money?” she said, as she stood in front of her husband in the corridor, a worried expression on her face as her eyes moved from his face to the black briefcase he was holding and back to his face.

She spoke with a very posh accent.

“Yes,” said Dangerfield, as he stared at her. “It’s all here.”
The doorbell rang sharply, and they stared at each other.

“Are you expecting anyone?” said Dangerfield, frowning at her.

“I’m not,” she said, frowning back at him.

“Take this into the living-room,” said Dangerfield, handing her the briefcase. “I’ll see who it is.”

She took the briefcase and went into the living-room, and Dangerfield moved towards the door and opened it.

As he opened the door, a tall, good-looking man with light brown hair, and shrewd, brown eyes, wearing a dark blue suit stared at him.

Another man was standing behind him.

“Hello,” said Dangerfield, as they stared at each other.

“Mr John Dangerfield?” asked the man.

“That’s right,” said Dangerfield cautiously, a frown on his face as he glanced at the other man, then focused on the man in front of him.
(to be continued)

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