To Cut a Long Story Short

Bill looked up as Henry approached the bar, ‘I thought you had a visiting Minister to take care of today?’

‘His plane doesn’t land until 3.30,’ Henry said. ‘I dropped by because I wanted to have a word with you.’

‘Need some advice on how you should spend the surplus you made on the exchange rate last Friday?’

‘No. I’ll have to have a little more than that if I’m ever going to get this swimming pool project off the ground - or rather, into it.’

Henry left the club twenty minutes later, having extracted a promise from Bill that he would chair the Appeal Committee, open an account

at the bank and ask head office in London if they would make the first donation.

On his way to the airport in the High Commissioner’s Rolls-Royce, Henry told Sir David the latest news about the swimming pool project. The High Commissioner smiled and said, ‘Well done, Henry. Now we must hope that you’re as successful with the Minister as you obviously have been with Bill Paterson.’

The two men were standing on the runway of St George’s airport, six feet of red carpet in place, when the Boeing 727 touched down. As it was rare for more than one plane a day to land at St George’s, and there was only one runway, ‘International Airport’ was, in Henry’s opinion, a little bit of a misnomer.

The Minister turned out to be a rather jolly fellow, insisting that everyone should call him Will. He assured Sir David that he had been looking forward with keen anticipation to his visit to St Edward’s.

‘St George’s, Minister,’ the High Commissioner whispered in his ear.

‘Yes, of course, St George’s,’ replied Will, without even blushing.

Once they had arrived at the High Commission, Henry left the Minister to have tea with Sir David and his wife, and returned to his office. After even such a short journey, he was convinced that Witless Will was unlikely to carry much clout back in Whitehall; but that wouldn’t stop him pressing ahead with his case. At least the Minister had read the briefing notes, because he told them how much he was looking forward to seeing the new swimming pool.

‘Not yet started,’ Henry had reminded him.

‘Funny,’ said the Minister. ‘I thought I read somewhere that Princess Margaret had already opened it.’

‘No, she only laid the foundation stone, Minister. But perhaps all that will change once the project receives your blessing.’

‘I’ll do what I can,’ promised Will. ‘But you know we’ve been told to make even more cutbacks in overseas funding.’ A sure sign that an election was approaching, thought Henry.

At the cocktail party that evening, Henry was able to say no more than ‘Good evening, Minister,’ as the High Commissioner was determined that Will would be introduced to every one of the assembled guests in under sixty minutes. When the two of them departed to have dinner with General Olangi, Henry went back to his office to check over the speech the Minister would be delivering at breakfast the following morning. He was pleased to see that the paragraph he had written on the swimming pool project remained in the final draft, so at least it would be on the record. He checked the seating plan, making sure that he had been placed next to the editor of the St George’s Echo. That way he could be certain that the paper’s next edition would lead on the British government’s support for the swimming pool appeal.

Henry rose early the following morning, and was among the first to arrive at the High Commissioner’s Residence. He took the opportunity to brief as many of the assembled local businessmen as possible on the importance of the swimming pool project in the eyes of the British government, pointing out that Barclays Bank had agreed to open the fund with a substantial donation.

The Minister arrived for breakfast a few minutes late. ‘A call from London,’ he explained, so they didn’t sit down to eat until 8.15. Henry took his place next to the editor of the local paper and waited impatiently for the Minister to make his speech.

Will rose at 8.47. He spent the first five minutes talking about bananas, and finally went on to say: ‘Let me assure you that Her Majesty’s Government have not forgotten the swimming pool project that was inaugurated by Princess Margaret, and we hope to be able to make an announcement on its progress in the near future. I was delighted to learn from Sir David,’ he looked across at Bill Paterson, who was seated opposite him, ‘that the Rotary Club have taken on the project as their Charity of the Year, and several prominent local businessmen have already generously agreed to support the cause.’ This was followed by a round of applause, instigated by Henry.

Once the Minister had resumed his seat, Henry handed the editor of the local paper an envelope which contained a thousand-word article, along with several pictures of the site. Henry felt confident that it would form the centre-page spread in next week’s St George’s Echo.

Henry checked his watch as the Minister sat down: 8.56. It was going to be close. When Will disappeared up to his room, Henry began pacing up and down the hallway, checking his watch as each minute passed.

The Minister stepped into the waiting Rolls at 9.24 and, turning to Henry, said, ‘I fear I’m going to have to forgo the pleasure of seeing the swimming pool site. However,’ he promised, ‘I’ll be sure to read your report on the plane, and will brief the Foreign Secretary the moment I get back to London.’

As the car sped past a barren plot of land on the way to the airport, Henry pointed out the site to the Minister. Will glanced out of the window and said, ‘Admirable, worthwhile, important,’ but never once did he commit himself to spending one penny of government money.

‘I’ll do my damnedest to convince the mandarins at the Treasury,’ were his final words as he boarded the plane.

Henry didn’t need to be told that Will’s ‘damnedest’ was unlikely to convince even the most junior civil servant at the Treasury.

A week later, Henry received a fax from the Foreign Office giving details of the changes the Prime Minister had made in his latest reshuffle. Will Whiting had been sacked, to be replaced by someone Henry had never heard of.

Henry was going over his speech to the Rotary Club when the phone rang. It was Bill Paterson.

‘Henry, there are rumours of another coup brewing, so I was thinking of waiting until Friday before changing the High Commission’s pounds into kora.’

‘Happy to take your advice, Bill - the money market is beyond me. By the way, I’m looking forward to this evening, when we finally get a chance to launch the Appeal.’