Permissible Limits by Graham Hurley Read Free Book Online

me into St Helier in his new Porsche. Blunt as ever, he spared me the laboured consolations I was beginning to dread.
    ‘ Can’t think what got into him,’ he said. ‘Not his style at all.’
    ‘ Spearing in?’
    ‘ Dying.’
    ‘ Exactly.’ I nodded. ‘So what happened?’
    Dennis shot me a look. Even in winter, he affected top-of-the-range Ray-Bans.
    ‘ I don’t know,’ he said at length. ‘But I’m glad you got the fax.’
    He took me to lunch at a restaurant overlooking the Inner Harbour. It was called Le Corniche and he’d booked a table in the long, sumptuous conservatory that seemed to suck in the light. Just sitting there with him, I began to feel a bit better, a little passing bubble he wasted no time in puncturing. From his briefcase, he produced a file. I saw our names on the top right-hand corner.
    ‘ Here.’
    He passed me a photocopy from the file. I found myself looking at some kind of form. ‘What’s this?’
    ‘ A loan guarantee.’ His finger stabbed at a line near the bottom. ‘And that’s your signature.’
    I stared at the scrawl. Ellie Bruce. It certainly looked like my signature but on closer inspection the ‘B’ and the ‘r’ of the surname weren’t quite right. I sign with less of a flourish.
    ‘ Not me,’ I said.
    ‘ Are you kidding?’
    ‘ No.’
    Dennis tried to reclaim the form. I hung on to it. Adam’s signature was down there too, though this time it looked genuine. I began to study the rest of the form. According to the neatly typed figures on the third line, we’d guaranteed a bank loan of £300,000.
    ‘ Where did you get this?’
    ‘ From a bank.’
    ‘ Here in Jersey?’
    ‘ Yes.’
    I was still staring at the figure. It was enormous.
    ‘ Who’s all this money for?’
    ‘ Steve Liddell. Like it says.’
    Dennis drew my attention to the top line. He was right. For reasons I didn’t begin to understand, we’d staked our all on Liddell Engineering, Steve’s company.
    I looked up. Dennis and I talked regularly on the phone. When it came to business, we’d established a certain candour.
    ‘ How long have you had this?’
    ‘ Twenty-four hours.’
    ‘ It’s dated last October.’
    ‘ I know. I can read too.’
    ‘ So why didn’t you know before?’
    ‘ Good question.’
    Dennis was staring at me, openly belligerent, and I realised that this was some kind of test. As our accountant, he had a right - indeed, an obligation - to know everything about our financial affairs. So why were we risking the business by helping out Steve Liddell? When we’d only recently been in such lousy shape ourselves?
    ‘ I know nothing about this,’ I said carefully. ‘That’s definitely not my signature.’
    ‘ You’re telling me someone faked it?’
    ‘ Yes.’
    ‘ Like who?’ He was still staring at me. I refused to answer. At length, he took the form and laid it on the tablecloth between us. Butter from his finger left a greasemark beneath Adam’s name.
    ‘ Is that signature genuine? ’
    ‘ Yes, as far as I can see.’
    ‘ You’re sure?’
    ‘ Yes.’
    He nodded, tearing at the remains of a bread roll.
    ‘ That’s what the bank manager says, too.’
    ‘ How would he know?’
    ‘ He watched Adam sign it.’
    I looked again at the form. I’d never heard of Gulf Banking Services Corporation.
    ‘ Who are these people?’
    ‘ It’s a small offshore outfit, incorporated in the Caymans. They do a lot of business here, most of it high-risk.’ He paused. ‘You’re serious? You’ve never dealt with them?’
    ‘ Never.’
    ‘ And Adam didn’t mention the name ever?’
    ‘ No, I’m sure he didn’t.’
    Dennis pushed his chair back from the table and brushed crumbs from his lap. The hostility had gone. I’d evidently passed the test.
    ‘ It gets worse,’ he said. ‘Did you hear about Steve Liddell?’
    I shook my head. Steve Liddell was the young engineer who’d lent Adam the Cessna. I knew he’d recently moved into brand-new premises on the