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Chapter 2 : Kolin International
The arrival formalities in Kolin seemed no more or less tedious than at any airport. That was one of the sad things about the development of air travel, Henry thought. After leaving Heathrow he felt there was nothing to choose between a run down, fly-blown, derelict airport with third world catering and the capital of Kushtia. Henry allowed himself a grin. Freddie would be furious if he heard him say that. One thing about his uncle - Freddie could be fiercely patriotic.
He emerged from the baggage claim, surprised that his bag seemed to have had no worse a flight than he had, and headed for customs. As Freddie had suggested, the informal entry visa of a $10 bill left carelessly in his passport speeded his admission to the People's Democratic Republic of Kushtia.
In the arrivals hall, a short dark man was waiting carrying a cardboard sign with the words “Henly Cregg” scrawled on it. Henry thought that was close enough and presented himself to the man. He pointed to the exit and headed off towards it, barely giving Henry enough time to collect his bags and stagger after him. Henry found him outside sitting in a battered Zil limousine. He tossed his bag into the back and climbed in alongside the driver. As the car pulled away, Henry grasped at once the reason why so many Russian leaders used to be seen scowling so frequently.
It was dark. The complete lack of street lighting meant that Henry's first impressions of Kushtia would be delayed until the morning. It was probably just as well. The airport road ran into town past a series of factories, cement plants, steel works and chemical refineries. It wasn't the most attractive of routes.
When Freddie had set things up he'd asked Henry if he'd prefer the Kolin Holiday Inn or the Kolin Centrallum Hotel. Henry had opted for the latter, not wanting to check into yet another impersonal international chain hotel. As Henry climbed out of the Zil in front of the hotel he now realised why Freddie had said, “Well, if you're sure....”
The hotel front was in complete darkness apart from a feeble bulb glowing over the front door. Henry pushed his way inside, dragging his bag behind him.
The lobby of the hotel was, however, much more welcoming than its exterior. There was light, there were comfortable looking chairs, there was a bar and, most intriguing of all, there was a woman naked apart from a veil that covered the lower half of her face, dancing on a table for the amusement of the guests. Henry though that Kushtia or at least the hotel had something going for it after all.
A loud cough from behind him drew his attention away from the spectacle in the bar. His driver was waiting. Evidently the opportunity to leer at naked flesh wasn't sufficient recompense for his trip. Henry nodded towards the naked woman, “Not your sort of thing?”
“Ah, maybe. Without the veil, that would be something. With it - well you westerners may find it a novelty, perhaps.” He shrugged. Henry found him another $10 bill. The man flashed Henry a toothy grin and left.
By the time that Henry had registered and been given his room key the almost naked woman had, to his disappointment, gone. In spite of the absence of entertainment Henry made his way back to the bar. He ordered a beer. The barman insisted that he could only serve alcohol to foreign nationals and was then disappointed when Henry showed him his passport, the extra tips for this illegal service obviously making up part of what he considered his rightful payment entitlement. Henry sat down. There had been a message waiting for him at the check in desk. He opened the envelop to read it.
“Good greeting and most welcome to Kolin,” it said in neat handwriting on headed notepaper that proclaimed itself as coming from the People's Bank of Kushtia. “It is my great pleasure that a brother son of the most excellent Freddie should be here in our country. My many distraughts that I can be not wit you tonight but will join in the morning feed time. Your most extraordinary correspondent. Kerren Kerrish. General Manager and Chief Cashier”
He re-read it and felt he had managed to take from it all the meaning that might be held within. Henry sank another beer and then a third before retiring to bed in anticipation of his meeting the following morning.
++ ++ ++
Kerren Kerrish arrived the following morning in time to interrupt Henry's breakfast as he sat alone in the hotel restaurant. Henry saw him arrive at the doorway. He wasn't sure that the man would actually get through it. Kerrish was man with a bushy white beard and a substantial girth. If his complexion had been lighter he might have made some store an ideal festive Santa Claus. “What delights, Mr Clegg, what delights,” he boomed as he stepped across to Henry's table.
Clegg got to his feet. “Mr Kerrish,” he said, “good morning. It's very good to see you.”
“Indeed. Indeed. And for me it is very good to see you. The bank needs your expertise. I understand from Mr Freddie Clegg that you have held a very responsible position in your British banking system. It is most good of you to bring those skills to Kushtia.”
Henry was quite happy to accept Mr Kerrish's plaudits even though he wasn't sure that his career in banking to date warranted them. It sounded as though Freddie had done a more than effective job in selling his capabilities to the Kushtians. He went on with his breakfast. Kerren Kerrish was offered coffee by Henry's waiter and gladly took a cup.
“So. We have for you a nice office. We are very advanced here, with computers and everything. You will see. Just like your old lady of needle threading street.” Henry looked puzzled until he realised that Kerren was talking about the Bank of England. He wasn't sure that he believed Kerren any more than he did his uncle. Kerren Kerrish finished his coffee. “We go to the bank now. You find we work for mornings just. From 10 o'clock to one o'clock. That is enough for work. Then after for pleasure and rest. Better that way than work all times. So we go to the bank now.”
Henry nodded. He could see that the hardest part of the job was likely to be understanding just what his boss was talking about, but then, he thought, that's hardly the first time.
++ ++ ++
The head office of the People's Bank of Kushtia turned out to be a short stroll across the square from the hotel. Kerren Kerrish was bulky but surprisingly agile as he bobbed through the crowds, avoiding the clouds of diesel fumes belching from the buses that seemed to take little notice of pedestrians whether they were in the road or on the pavement. Henry followed him, narrowly avoiding being run down on several occasions.
A doorman waved them into the bank with an expansive gesture and a deep bow to Kerrish. Inside, the banking hall was suitably impressive with heavy wooden counters, brass rails and grills for the staff; deep leather chairs and polished tables for the customers. Kerren Kerrish swept through the hall, staff bowing as he passed them, Henry hurrying along behind him. Kerrish led the way into an enormous office with a desk the size of a billiards table. “Head of Business Banking and Credit Services” it said on the door. Henry wondered what the owner of the office was like; it looked like this was going to be his new boss.
“Take a seat,” said Kerrish, gesturing to the chair behind the desk. “You should get used to your new office.” Henry was beginning to worry that Freddie might have oversold his capabilities. “I will have your chief clerk acquaint you with the bank's procedures. He will be able to take care of most things for you. Trust your staff, Mr Henry, they are capable men. Now you will need a secretary.”
“I suppose so,” Henry was still somewhat bemused by the turn of events that had him disappearing from one bank pursued by the authorities on one day and marching into this enormous office on the next. He wished he knew a bit more about Kushtia than he did. All he had to go on was that it was along way from London, Freddie's assurance that “they're a reasonable bunch of chaps” and the fact that Freddie had done business with them for a while
“Do you have a preference?”
Henry thought for a moment. If he had been honest he'd have expressed a wish for someone more like the stewardess on the Tashkent-Kolin leg of his flight out than the one that had welcomed him on board at London but he felt that would probably be seen as politically incorrect. “I'm sure that any of the bank's secretaries will be well able to fulfil the role, Mr Kerrish,” he said to Kerren. “I will be advised by you.”
Kerren looked puzzled for a moment but then said, “Well, I shall send you one. I hope you find her suitable.”
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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