To Cut a Long Story Short

Henry began to fear that he would be sent to his next posting long before the project was completed, and that once he left the island Bill and his committee would lose interest and the job might never be finished.

Henry and Bill visited the site the following day, and stared down into a fifty-by-twenty-metre hole in the ground, surrounded by heavy equipment that had been idle for days and would soon have to be transferred to another site.

‘It will take a miracle to raise enough funds to finish the project, unless the government finally keeps its promise,’ the First Secretary remarked.

‘And we haven’t been helped by the kora remaining so stable for the past six months,’ added Bill.

Henry began to despair.

At the morning briefing with the High Commissioner the following Monday, Sir David told Henry that he had some good news.

‘Don’t tell me. HMG has finally kept its promise, and …’

‘No, nothing as startling as that,’ said Sir David, laughing. ‘But you are on the list for promotion next year, and will probably be given a High Commission of your own.’ He paused. ‘One or two good appointments are coming up, I’m told, so keep your fingers crossed. And by the way, when Carol and I go back to England for our annual leave tomorrow, try to keep Aranga off the front pages - that is, if you want to get Bermuda rather than the Ascension Islands.’

Henry returned to his office and began to go t

hrough the morning post with his secretary. In the ‘Urgent, Action Required’ pile was an invitation to accompany General Olangi back to his place of birth. This was an annual ritual the President carried out to demonstrate to his people that he hadn’t forgotten his roots. The High Commissioner would usually have accompanied him, but as he would be back in England at the time, the First Secretary was expected to represent him. Henry wondered if Sir David had organised it that way.

From the ‘For Your Consideration’ pile, Henry had to decide between accompanying a group of businessmen on a banana fact-finding tour around the island, or addressing St George’s Political Society on the future of the euro. He placed a tick on the businessmen’s letter and wrote a note suggesting to the Political Society that the Controller was better placed than he to talk about the euro.

He then moved on to the ‘See and Bin’ pile. A letter from Mrs Davidson, donating twenty-five kora to the swimming pool fund; an invitation to the church bazaar on Friday; and a reminder that it was Bill’s fiftieth birthday on Saturday.

‘Anything else?’ asked Henry.

‘Just a note from the High Commissioner’s office with a suggestion for your trek up into the hills with the President: take a case of fresh water, some anti-malaria pills and a mobile phone. Otherwise you could become dehydrated, break out in a fever and be out of contact all at the same time.’

Henry laughed. ‘Yes, yes and yes,’ he said, as the phone on his desk rang.

It was Bill, who warned him that the bank could no longer honour cheques drawn on the Swimming Pool Account, as there hadn’t been any substantial deposits for over a month.

‘I don’t need reminding,’ said Henry, staring down at Mrs Davidson’s cheque for twenty-five kora.

‘I’m afraid the contractors have left the site, as we’re unable to cover their next stage payment. What’s more, your quarterly payment of PS1.25 million won’t be yielding any surplus while the President looks so healthy.’

‘Happy fiftieth on Saturday, Bill,’ said Henry.

‘Don’t remind me,’ the bank manager replied. ‘But now you mention it, I hope you’ll be able to join Sue and me for a little celebration that evening.’

‘I’ll be there,’ said Henry. ‘Nothing will stop me.’

That evening, Henry began taking his malaria tablets each night before going to bed. On Thursday, he picked up a crate of fresh water from the local supermarket. On Friday morning his secretary handed him a mobile phone just before he was due to leave. She even checked that he knew how to operate it.

At nine o’clock, Henry left his office and drove his Mini to the Victoria Barracks, having promised that he’d check in with his secretary the moment they arrived at General Olangi’s village. He parked his car in the compound, and was escorted to a waiting Mercedes near the back of the motorcade that was flying the Union Jack. At 9.30, the President emerged from the palace and walked over to the open-topped Rolls-Royce at the front of the motorcade. Henry couldn’t help thinking that he had never seen the General looking healthier.

An honour guard sprang to attention and presented arms as the motorcade swept out of the compound. As they drove slowly through St George’s, the streets were lined with children waving flags, who had been given the day off school so they could cheer their leader as he set off on the long journey to his birthplace.

Henry settled back for the five-hour drive up into the hills, dozing off from time to time, but was rudely woken whenever they passed through a village, where the ritual cheering children would be paraded to greet their President.

At midday, the motorcade came to a halt in a small village high in the hills where the locals had prepared lunch for their honoured guest. An hour later they moved on. Henry feared that the tribesmen had probably sacrificed the best part of their winter stores to fill the stomachs of the scores of soldiers and officials who were accompanying the President on his pilgrimage.

When the motorcade set off again, Henry fell into a deep sleep and began dreaming about Bermuda, where, he was confident, there would be no need to build a swimming pool.

He woke with a start. He thought he’d heard a shot. Had it taken place in his dream? He looked up to see his driver jumping out of the car and fleeing into the dense jungle. Henry calmly opened the back door, stepped out of the limousine, and, seeing a commotion taking place in front of him, decided to go and investigate. He had walked only a few paces when he came across the massive figure of the President, lying motionless at the side of the road in a pool of blood, surrounded by soldiers. They suddenly turned and, seeing the High Commissioner’s representative, raised their rifles.

‘Shoulder arms!’ said a sharp voice. ‘Try to remember that we are not savages.’ A smartly dressed army captain stepped forward and saluted. ‘I am sorry for any inconvenience you have suffered, First Secretary,’ he said, in a clipped Sandhurst voice, ‘but be assured that we wish you no harm.’

Henry didn’t comment, but continued to stare down at the dead President.