Cat O'Nine Tales and Other Stories - Jeffrey Archer [12]
She entered the code, pulled open the door and withdrew everything from their current account. She then placed the money on the counter in neat bundles—fifties, twenties, tens and fives—before they set about counting their spoils.
Chris checked the final figure and confirmed that they were £267,300 in credit. They put £17,300 back in the safe, and locked the door. After all, they had never intended to make a profit—that would be stealing. Sue began to put elastic bands around each thousand, while Chris transferred the two hundred and fifty bundles carefully into an old RAF duffel bag. By eight o’clock they were ready to leave. Chris set the alarm, slipped quietly out of the back door and placed the duffel bag in the boot of their Rover, on top of four other cases his wife had packed earlier that morning. Sue joined him in the front of the car, as Chris turned on the ignition.
“We’ve forgotten something,” said Sue as she pulled the door closed.
“Stamps,” they said in unison. Chris turned off the ignition, got out of the car and returned to the post office. He re-entered the code, switched off the alarm and opened the back door in search of Stamps. He found him fast asleep in the kitchen, reluctant to be enticed out of his warm basket and into the back seat of the car. Didn’t they realize it was Christmas Eve?
Chris reset the alarm and locked the door for a second time.
At eight-nineteen p.m. Mr. and Mrs. Haskins set out on the journey for Ashford in Kent. Sue worked out that they had four clear days before anyone would be aware of their absence. Christmas Day, Boxing Day, Sunday, Monday (a bank holiday), back in theory on Tuesday morning, by which time they would be viewing properties in the Algarve.
The two of them hardly spoke a word on the long journey to Kent, not even in Portuguese. Sue couldn’t believe they’d gone through with it, and Chris was even more surprised that they’d got away with it.
“We haven’t yet,” Sue reminded him, “not until we drive into Albufeira, and don’t forget, Mr. Appleyard, we no longer have the same names.”
“Living in sin after all these years are we, Mrs. Brewer?”
Chris brought the car to a halt outside their daughter’s home just after midnight. Tracey opened the front door to greet her mother, while Chris removed one of the suitcases and the duffel bag from the boot. Tracey had never seen her parents looking so exhausted, and felt they had aged since she’d last seen them in the summer. Perhaps it was just the long journey. Tracey took them through to the kitchen, sat them both down and made them a cup of tea. They hardly spoke, and when Tracey eventually bundled them off to bed, her father wouldn’t allow her to carry the old duffel bag up to the guest bedroom.
Sue woke every time she heard a car come to a halt in the street outside, wondering if it was marked with the bold fluorescent lettering POLICE. Chris waited for the front-door bell to ring before someone came bounding up the stairs to drag the duffel bag from under the bed, arrest them and escort them both to the nearest police station.
After a sleepless night they joined Tracey in the kitchen for breakfast.
“Happy Christmas,” said Tracey, before kissing them both on the cheek. Neither of them responded. Had they forgotten it was Christmas Day? They both looked embarrassed as they stared at the two wrapped boxes that their daughter had placed on the table. They hadn’t remembered to buy Tracey a Christmas present and resorted to giving her cash, something they hadn’t done since she was a teenager. Tracey hoped that it was nothing more than the Christmas rush, and excitement at the thought of their visit to the States, which had caused such uncharacteristic behavior.
Boxing Day turned out to be a little better. Sue and Chris appeared more relaxed, although they often lapsed into long silences. After lunch Tracy suggested that they take Stamps for a run across the Downs and get some fresh air. During the long walk one of them would begin