“Yes,” said Dennis.
“No,” said Joyce, which caused the senior officer to ask the woman to hand over her bag, where he quickly found an envelope stuffed with forty-two receipts.
He took his time checking each item before transferring the amounts onto a large calculator. It was some time before he declared, “You may wish to check my figures, madam, but I think you’ll find the overall amount comes to twenty-seven thousand, seven hundred and sixteen pounds. Now, I am sure you are both aware there is a forty percent import tax levied on any goods purchased while abroad, above the cost of fifty pounds.” He returned to his calculator. “Which means you are liable to pay Her Majesty’s Customs and Excise eleven thousand and eighty-six pounds and forty pence. Should you be unable to do so, all the goods will be confiscated until you have covered the full amount.”
C
DURING THE TRAIN journey back to Audley End, Dennis and Joyce agreed it was the best holiday they’d ever been on, and were already planning where they should go next year.
Joyce felt it might be wise to take a taxi back to Steeple Bumpstead rather than drag all the suitcases on and off the bus. Dennis agreed, although he was down to his last ten pounds.
When the taxi pulled up outside the front gate of The Sidings, Joyce collapsed in tears.
Dennis climbed out of the taxi, and said nothing as he stared at the smoldering remains of what was left of their little cottage.
The local fire chief, a fellow Rotarian, hurried across to join them.
“I’m so sorry, Dennis,” he said. “My men got here as quickly as they could, but once the flames touched the thatched roof, there was little they could do about it.”
“I’m sure you did everything you possibly could, Alan,” said Dennis, trying to look suitably distressed.
Joyce didn’t stop crying, and Dennis wondered if she wasn’t overdoing it. “Look on the bright side,” he whispered, placing an arm around his wife’s shoulder, “No doubt you took out several policies on the house.”
“But I didn’t insure the house,” said Joyce with feeling. “Never could see much point.”
DOUBLE OR QUITS
“I THINK WE’VE got a problem on table number three,” said the manager, staring intently at the screen on his desk.
“Which punter?” asked the head of security, as he joined his boss and looked over his shoulder.
“Young guy, with an attractive woman standing behind him. What do you think, André?”
“Zoom in,” said the security chief, “and let’s take a closer look.” The manager touched a button and waited until the young man’s face filled the screen. “I agree,” said André, “he’s a double or quits merchant. I think from the sweat on his forehead, he’s probably got a lot riding on it.”
“And the girl?” said the manager, as he switched the camera to a young woman, whose right hand rested on the gambler’s shoulder.
“All I can tell you is she’s not a one-night stand.”
“How can you be sure?”
“They’re both wearing wedding rings.”
“Get Duval up here.”
André quickly left the room as the manager of the casino watched the young man place another thousand francs on 13.
“Idiot,” said the manager, as he glanced at the front page of Le Figaro, which was on the desk by his side. He didn’t need to read the article a third time. The headline was bad enough.
ELEVENTH SUICIDE REPORTED IN MONTE CARLO FOLLOWING HEAVY GAMBLING LOSSES
He looked back at the screen to see the young punter place a further thousand francs on 13. “Idiot,” he repeated. “Haven’t I got enough problems without you?”
Claude Richelieu, the owner of the casino, had been on the phone from Paris earlier in the week, concerned about the latest government directive. The French interior minister was pressing the Monte Carlo gaming council to close the recently opened casino. Too many stories in the press about suicides, broken marriages, and bankruptcies caused by gambling, which was illegal in France, and precisely the reason why they were making so much money in Monte Carlo. The manager had cursed when Richelieu added, “We don’t need any more suicides.”
“But what am I supposed to do,” he asked, “if someone loses badly and then decides to kill themselves?”
“Fix the wheel,” said Richelieu. “Make sure he wins.”