Dear Beneficiary Read Online Free PDF

I picked up the receiver.
    â€˜Hello, Cynthia Hartworth.’
    â€˜Is that Mrs Hartworth?’ said the voice at the other end.
    â€˜I think you’ll find I just said it was,’ I replied. Don’t these people ever listen ?
    â€˜It’s your bank here,’ said the woman. ‘I just need to take you through security to ensure it’s you I’m speaking to.’
    â€˜Of course it’s me you’re speaking to,’ I told the silly woman. I was hot and bothered and the tights were getting to me. I wanted her to hurry up.
    â€˜I know, but we need to be sure. Could you give me your date of birth?’
    I sighed at that question. I was always told it was rude to ask a woman’s age but answered anyway.
    â€˜Yes, it’s April 12th, 1952,’ I said.
    â€˜And can you confirm the first line of your address and postcode?’
    â€˜You should know all this, shouldn’t you? Why do you need me to tell you? – I’ve been banking with NatWest for over forty years,’ I replied.
    The voice on the other end sounded bored. Maybe they were used to such commentary, having to ask such ridiculous questions every day and thereby making themselves appear to be somewhat backward.
    â€˜We just need to check your details with you, as anyone could answer your phone and it’s bank policy to go through security questions only you will know.’
    I tried to hold the phone under my chin while wriggling the right leg of my tights into the correct position. The toe of the ten-denier raw mink nylons had been twisting around my ankle, to the point where the crotch was nearer my knees than the pant area.
    â€˜Oh, for goodness’ sake, what do you want anyway?’
    I knew I was being rude but couldn’t help myself. I’d other things to think about, not least the fact I’d now pierced the offending tights with my right thumb and I’d only bought them the day before.
    The voice continued: ‘We have some concerns about your account. A considerable amount of money’s been transferred and we need to verify if that’s what you intended.’
    My thoughts were brought to attention. I’d largely put Darius’s email to the back of my mind. It had been a few days since I’d replied and I had guessed it would take some time to sort out the legal problems mentioned, so I hadn’t thought the cash would be transferred so quickly. My pulse quickened. Maybe this meant my reunion with him could be sooner than I’d hoped.
    â€˜Oh, my goodness, has the money come through? I expect you want to give me advice on how to spend it!’ I quipped, quite childishly in hindsight, but the thrill of knowing things were starting to move had put me in an unusually frivolous mood.
    I jumped up and down on the spot, not so much out of excitement but because it gave me the right kind of purchase on the top of my tights to fight my way into them properly.
    â€˜Actually it’s the other way round, Mrs Hartworth. Your account has been completely cleared of all funds – over ten thousand pounds, which, I should say, is rather a lot to have in a current account.’
    I stood still for a moment. I did recall the email saying there were complications of some kind. Maybe that’s what it was all about. There was undoubtedly a reasonable explanation.
    â€˜Are you sure? I think you must be mistaking me for another Hartworth. My address is 15 Sycamore Close, Epsfield. The nice part.’
    â€˜Those are the details we have, Mrs Hartworth, we don’t have anyone else of your name at this branch. We believe you have been the victim of a scam and our manager would like to see you. Could you come in to the branch this afternoon?’
    I’m not over-keen on seeing bank managers. Often they try and sell life insurance or pensions, neither of which I need. Colin always dealt with that side of things and took advice often when playing golf with Mr