Wonderful Short Stories Read online

  He stared at me in a new light. ‘Oh, my lovely yunk innocent Miss Schmidt,’ he laughed. ‘You live in a delightful world of romance and dreams. It may be zat our ten thousand members will consider repayment a priority, but so many people do not. Furthermore, zer are often members who cross to ze other side of ze tracks.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ I responded puzzled.

  ‘You can only be caught if you stand still. Ze calculated person with ze impulse purchase syndrome will keep moving. They rent a flat or a house, buy a large amount of furniture, electrical and other appliances, pay a deposit und zen move to another address without telling anyone where zey’ve gone. It’s ze best discount rate under ze sun.’

  ‘But that’s stealing!’ I retorted. ‘Surely such people can be traced!’

  ‘Ha! Zey change zer names to avoid being tracked down and placed on ze black list. Zen zey start all over again mit de catalogue lists. Ach zo... vat about Frau Hunsecker?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘How far back does her record go? Vas she vid us last year, the year before... how long? How large is her credit? Is she married? Zees details should have been circulated. Hm, ve’ve never hed anyvun run out on us before. Zey’ve stayed avay from de zeminars but never hef ve hed a runner. It’s like having a drunk standing up to discuss his problem at Alcoholics Anonymous having just finished off a bottle of scotch.’

  ‘It could have serious implications on our recruitment programme,’ I added weakly, pausing for a moment before venturing on the subject which was troubling me. ‘I’m having an argument with myself about Mr. Brandenberg. I seem to recognise his face but I can’t place it. Does he remind you of anyone... perhaps someone famous?’

  ‘It’s best not to speculate in such a manner to prevent evil rumours,’ he replied deliberately avoiding the issue.

  ‘I also notice that Mr. Prince, our Press agent, represented us on television and at the Press conference. His photograph was in the newspapers too. Is there any reason why Mr. Brandenberg never allows himself to be seen or his photograph published?’

  ‘It’s a matter of public relations. Peregrene Prince is a yunk man employed by us for that role. He has an excellent attittude. He has what you might call public appeal.’

  ‘Can you tell me where Mr. Brandenberg came from?’

  ‘I understand he emigrated to zis country after ze Second World War. Eventually, he became appointed as Chief Executive of Customers Anonymous. He was one of ze founders you know.’

  ‘Don’t you think his manner is a bit impatient for an organisation aiming to help people in trouble?’

  The question remained unanswered as the telephone rang. It was time for me to disappear and I left for the next port of call which was the office of Martin Schreiber.

  ‘Vot do you vant?’ he demanded, in a distinct accent as he eyed me up and down through his monocle.

  ‘I’ve come concerning Gloria Hunsecker,’ I began.

  He stared at me through the monocle closely. ‘Vot about Gloria Hunsecker?’ he snarled.

  ‘She’s missing. She’s done a runner!’

  ‘Done a runner? Vot are you talking about? Who is zis person Gloria Hunsecker?’

  I took a pace backwards in surprise. Everyone else seemed to know all about her yet this man, supposedly the most brilliant in the organisation, seemed to have been passed by on the information trail.

  ‘Vot is her CV... her curriculum vitae?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I spluttered defensively. ‘No idea.’

  ‘Zat ees ze trouble. Thousands of members. A big organisation. Insufficient back-up. Not enough information!’

  ‘What sort of information are you looking for?’

  ‘More demographics viz. area identification, types of customers, over-purchases, etcetera, etcetera.’

  He was a man full of questions stemming from an enquiring mind. I had no idea whether he contributed anything to the organisation to any extent. However, it was not my place to make such presumptions. The one thing I did know was that I was getting nowhere with my investigations. I was simply wasting my time here! The fact was that I was being sucked quickly into his little world like flotsam at the edge of a whirlpool and I had to find a way to escape. This man knew nothing to allow me to further my cause.

  ‘Forgetting Mrs. Hunsecker for just a moment,’ I urged finally, ‘can I ask you whether Mr. Brandenberg reminds you of anyone? Anyone at all!’

  He paused thoughtfully for a moment. ‘He was on the other side,’ he muttered almost incoherently. ‘The side that lost.’ He stared at me through his monocle again, his voice picking up in volume. ‘No, I am sorry, I can’t help you there,’ he recovered. ‘Ze man is a rough diamond.’

  I walked out of the room and looked at my wristwatch again. Time was progressing and I hadn’t made any progress at all. As I trotted down the corridor a voice called out to me.

  ‘Hey, are you Sylvie Smith?’ I turned to find a smart young man pacing the corridor towards me with a pen and pad in his hands. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over. I’m Jeff Skye from the Daily Gazette.’

  ‘How did you get past security?’ I asked him.

  ‘I’ve been allowed in to help with the problem of finding Gloria Hunsecker. We might be able to trace her through the first edition of the newspaper today.’

  ‘We already have a Press Office which deals with the newspapers, Mr. Skye... ’ I continued.

  ‘Call me Jeff,’ he cut in sharply.

  ‘The truth is that the Press Office refused to give you any information and you gained access into the building to find out the details for yourself. I could have you thrown out of here by picking up the nearest telephone and calling security.’

  ‘Just give me two minutes of your time to tell me about Gloria Hunsecker. That’s all I ask,’ he pleaded.

  He was a real smooth talker and handsome with it but I had a job to do. ‘Not even thirty seconds,’ I responded, ‘because I don’t know anything about her. How did you know my name?’

  There are only two kinds of valuable employees in any organisation for information purposes... typists and messengers. It’s important to know the names of all of them. Say, how about a deal? You give me information and I’ll take you out to dinner tonight.’

  This man had the most gigantic nerve I’d ever known. He had wormed his way into the offices of CA under false pretences and was now becoming personal. No doubt what he had in mind for dinner was a fish-and-chip takeaway.

  ‘Gimme a break, please!’ he pleaded. ‘I’m in enough trouble with my editor already. Just tell me about the woman.’

  ‘She’s a member of Customers Anonymous,’ I conceded reluctantly, although I didn’t know the reason why except that he had lovely brown eyes and a very appealing face.

  He started writing on the pad. ‘How long for?’

  ‘I don’t know. The Sector was opened last year so she must have joined in the last eight or nine months.’

  ‘How often do the members meet?’

  ‘Once a month... on the first Wednesday of each month. They meet in a room we hire at the Town Hall. We instil discipline into our members so that they can control their spendthrift nature. But you know all this already, surely!’

  ‘How do you instil discipline?’ he went on.

  ‘They have to learn to recognise that material goods do not necessarily bring happiness. Quite the reverse if they haven’t the funds to pay for them. I mean, what’s the point of having a wardrobe full of clothes that you never wear?’

  ‘Do you have much success in getting people to comprehend your message?’

  ‘They all comprehend it but not everyone is cured by it.’

  ‘How many members actually attend these meetings?’

  At the back of my mind I
had a very uneasy feeling. Jeff Skye was standing in the corridor with a trilby hat perched on the back of his head and he was writing everything I said down in shorthand as fast as he could. It wasn’t my job to talk to him about the organisation and we both knew it.

  ‘Between sixty to eighty,’ I replied.

  The questions continued covering a whole host of matters. In the end, I was forced to excuse myself. He raised his trilby hat like a gentleman and turned on his heel to disappear down the corridor. I should have called security to have him removed but I found myself outside the door of Marlene Kempfer. There were wild rumours going about the offices concerning her activities with much younger men, including the use of black leather underwear and whips. It may not have been true but it was fun talking about it. I knocked on the door with trepidation. However, on entering, I found her to be quite pleasant although she too spoke with a distinct accent.

  ‘I know exactly vot you vant, yunk woman,’ she said pleasantly. ‘You are looking for Gloria Hunsecker. She is missing, yes?’

  ‘That’s right,’ I replied softly.

  She produced a canister and sprayed her hair, staring into the mirror on her desk. ‘Strange ve hef never met before. Ve vomen must stand together. The men who run zis organisation frown on us doing zat. But, in another ten years, ze tide vill hef turned. Ve shall zen hef ze vip hand.

  There it was again. The rumour about the whip. She actually mentioned the word herself. ‘Tell me, Miss Kempfer,’ I ventured boldly. ‘Does Mr. Brandenberg remind you of anyone... someone famous perhaps?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ she replied casually. ‘But zen all men look alike to me. Zey are ze enemy! Zey treat women as slaves to do all zer bidding! For my part, I verk in an organisation which tries to correct a psychological disease vitch ees contagious. Eef someone shouted: “There’s gold in Millett’s Hill”, it would cause a stampede. It ees ze same vith the urge to buy. It infects ze mind. In ze old days zey vould call it “Keeping up vith ze Joneses”. Und look how it all ended. Vith people buying more, borrowing more, vanting more... a society in hock to itself and the need for Customers Anonymous. Don’t you think it sad?’

  ‘How can the system survive if people can’t afford to pay back what they spend?’

  ‘Huh, it’s not only ze amount borrowed. It’s ze interest which is added every month zat causes ze major problem. Ze amount goes up faster zan ze actual debt.’

  It was all very well discussing semantics but it was patently clear this woman wouldn’t be able to help me with my enquiries. So I made a rude dash to the door, excused myself quickly, and disappeared into the corridor. The next office was that of Helmut Hoffman.

  ‘I deal with all the letters zat cross ze threshold of Customers Anonymous,’ he told me with a distinct accent. Some of zem are for membership, some express zer gratitude, others merely complain. Und zer are ze clowns.’

  ‘The clowns?’ The comment demanded a question.

  ‘Zey are ze ones who write in to say zer wallets and credit cards ver stolen yesterday. In zat vay, zey hide ze fact zat zey hef spent ze money or ze credit pretending it was the criminal activity of someone else.’

  I could really warm to this man. He was a father-figure and suddenly I was able to understand how a young woman could enjoy the company of an older man, basking in the serenity of all that wisdom, the experience, and the easy-going style. Not that his job was a back-water task devoid of pressure. His in-tray was piled high with the post from one single delivery, yet he seemed to handle the effort with apparent ease. It was glorious to watch and, most important of all, he had time for other people... even little me!

  ‘You must have a million stories to tell,’ I advanced. ‘I’m sure you’d love to tell them to me, wouldn’t you?’

  He smiled before replying. ‘You are a very perceptive yunk lady,’ he said warmly. ‘An old head on young shoulders. You know, I like vot I see very much. You vill make some yunk man very happy. I know it. Vot do you vant vith me?’

  ‘I’m seeking out information on Gloria Hunsecker.’

  ‘Und who is this mysterious voman?’

  ‘You mean you don’t know. Everyone’s talking about her. She’s one of our members who’s gone missing.’

  ‘I regret I’ve never heard of her. I hef a very good visual memory and if she were a member I would surely remember such a name. But I don’t.’

  ‘Well that’s very strange.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to help you,’ he went on, ‘but before you go may I give you some words of advice. Never forget ve are dealing with people. Zey are in trouble und face difficulty und hardship. Life can be very cruel but survival is all important... vith pride a little vay behind. Temper impatience and anger with the visdom of understanding. Be merciful und recognise ze needs of others. It’s an imperfect world vith imperfect people. One can only try... und sometimes try a little bit harder.’

  ‘Tell me,’ I cut in sharply. ‘Does Mr. Brandenberg remind you of someone famous?’

  He paused for a moment. ‘Do you remember Charlie Chaplin in one particular movie? If you find that movie you’ll know who he looks like. Go on. Go and find your Gloria Hunsecker and leave me in peace!’ He smiled warmly again and I knew it was time to leave.

  It was now eleven o’clock and I had got absolutely nowhere with my enquiries. It was beginning to become a nightmare with no end in sight. Then I heard a noise in the corridor which made me spin round. A tall dark man wearing a shabby raincoat could be seen peering at me.

  ‘Are you Sylvie Smith,’ he called out. ‘I’m Investigator Harrington. I want a word with you. Why are you spreading rumours all over the place that Gloria Hunsecker is missing?’

  I was astonished. ‘Me?’ I gasped. ‘What are you talking about? Mr. Brandenberg called me to his office and asked me to track her down. Anyway, why all this fuss about one of our members who’s gone missing?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ he replied. ‘Gloria Hunsecker’s not one of our members. She’s employed by Customers Anonymous to help with the catering for the seminar in Sector Three which, as you know, comes under the direct control of Mr. Brandenberg.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘to help with the catering’?’

  ‘She’s employed as a waitress to serve the coffee and sandwiches during the seminar.’

  I couldn’t help it but I started to giggle. ‘A waitress! Well how did she get on the membership list if she wasn’t a member?’

  ‘Because some fool of a typist somewhere isn this organisation made an error and put her on the wrong list.’

  My heart fell into my boots. There was only one typist at CA and that was me! Well... I just had to put on a brave face. ‘How did you discover the error?’

  ‘She was drunk and kept spilling tea over people at the seminar so we fired her. Then, of course, when her name was read out, no one was there to answer it. As far as I’m concerned, the case is closed... but I have to try to stop all the rumours in case they get to the Press.’

  ‘Well,’ I told him. ‘My lips are sealed... totally sealed.’

  I left him in the corridor and went straight to Mr. Brandenberg’s office. He was pacing up and down like a caged tiger, still holding the swagger-stick in his hand.

  ‘I am surrounded by imbeciles!’ he screamed,’ waving the stick about wildly. ‘Imbeciles! Gloria Hunsecker is not a member of zis organisation! She vas a vaitress!’ The swagger-stick struck the desk loudly.

  ‘You shouldn’t blame yourself,’ I told him amiably. ‘It was just a clerical error.’

  ‘Blame myself? Blame myself?’ he hollered. ‘Schtupid girl! I blame myself for nothing! Zer are people here paid to do ze verk properly... und dey hef failed me! Am I never to find success in dis verld?’ He struck the desk once more.

  ‘Heaven’s above!’ I thought. ‘This man
could be a little Hitler when he lost his temper.’

  ‘Again I am alone with just an underling to assist me. Everyone has deserted me. I vunce hed an army to command. It ees like a tausend years ago... a tausend years.’

  I could almost hear the sound of soldiers marching again, singing a German song which faded out slowly.

  ‘Now Zylvie Schmidt, get out of my office! Get out! I never vont to see you again! Never!’ The swagger-stick crashed down on the desk once more and I felt exactly the same way about Mr. Brandenberg. I never wanted to see him again!

  I made my way back to my office again to the mountain of typing which had accumulated in the in-tray. I suppose it had all been my fault in the first place. However, one was expected to make mistakes under pressure... and I was always under pressure. I still can’t recall who Mr. Brandenberg reminds me of... but I’m sure it will come to me soon. I’m positive... positive!’

  The Passenger

  California in America, commonly known as the Sunshine State, is the thirty-first state of the Union which has a population nearing twenty-five million people. It consists of cities, towns, national parks, deserts, low mountains, extremely long roads which cover an area of almost one hundred and sixty thousand square miles, and it is beautiful practically all the year round.

  Christopher Mellow lived with Jodie Roach in an apartment in a suburb of San Francisco but on this particular day they had a important task to carry out. They had left the city quite early in the morning to travel to Carmel to visit his uncle Ben who, apart from two cousins, happened to be his only relative, and they were driving along at a fairly fast rate in their precious much-loved red-coloured Porche. Christopher could have taken a different route to get there but he decided to speed along the famous Seventeen Mile Drive on the coast to reach their destination. It wasn’t long before they passed Point Joe which offered one of the rarest views on the Peninsula, where ocean currents collided and, even on the calmest days, one could view a high degree of turbulence and sea spray. Since the waters were first sailed, mariners set their courses for Point Joe believing it was the entrance to Monterey Bay. For many, the mistake proved fatal as the rocks there became the burial grounds of shipwrecked schooners and sailors. Not long afterwards, they reached China Rock named in memory of the Chinese who settled in fishing villages in the area in the late eighteen hundreds, and then they sped on to Bird Rock. Prior to the Second World War, the Eleventh Cavalry had used the grounds for riding and sabre practice. Since then, the area had become a magnificent landmark for countless shoreline birds as well as offshore herds of sea lions and harbour seals. On reaching Spyglass Hill, they looked briefly across the golf-course. Legend had it that while writing Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson had been inspired by the view there from his favourite hill. They shortly arrived at Cypress Point where they could clearly see the Point Sur Lighthouse twenty miles to the south. However it wasn’t until they had gone past Ghost Tree, which boasted a cypress tree with a trunk bleached white by wind and sea spray, that the incident happened.