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have to sell them tomorrow, you are likely to sustain a loss.”
    â€œI don’t care,” he said. “I need the money now.”
    â€œAll right,” I said. “But as your financial adviser I have to ask you again why you need your money so quickly. If I had more time to sell, you might get a better return.”
    â€œI haven’t got more time,” he said.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI can’t tell you.”
    â€œBilly,” I said seriously, “are you in some sort of trouble?”
    â€œNo, of course not,” he said, but his body language gave another answer.
    I could remember most of the details of the investment portfolios of most of my clients, and Billy Searle was no exception. His was rather smaller than one might imagine after so many years at the top of his profession, but Billy had always been a spender rather than a saver, driving expensive cars and staying in lavish hotels. However, as far as I could recall, he had a nest egg of around a hundred and fifty thousand growing nicely for his retirement, certainly more than he would prudently need just for a new car or a foreign holiday.
    â€œOK, Billy,” I said. “I’ll get on with liquidating everything tomorrow. But it’ll take a few days for you to get the cash.”
    â€œCan’t I have it tomorrow?” He looked desperate. “I need it tomorrow.”
    â€œBilly, that simply isn’t possible. I need to sell the shares and bonds, have the funds transferred into the company’s client account, and then transfer it to your own. Banks always say to allow three days for each transfer so overall it might take a week but it will probably be a little quicker than that. Today’s Tuesday. You might have it by Friday if you’re lucky, but more likely it will be Monday.”
    Billy went pale.
    â€œBilly,” I said, “are you sure you’re not in any trouble?”
    â€œI owe a guy some money, that’s all,” he said. “He says I have to pay him by tomorrow.”
    â€œYou will just have to tell him that’s impossible,” I said. “Explain to him the reasons. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
    Billy gave me a look that said everything. Clearly the guy in question wouldn’t take excuses.
    â€œI’m sorry,” I said. “But I can’t do it any quicker.”
    â€œCan’t your firm lend me the money until everything’s sold?” he asked.
    â€œBilly,” I said, “it’s a hundred and fifty thousand pounds. We don’t have that sort of cash lying round.”
    â€œI only need a hundred,” he said.
    â€œNo,” I said firmly. “Not even a hundred.”
    â€œYou don’t understand,” he said in desperation. “I need that money by tomorrow night.” He was almost crying.
    â€œWhy?” I asked him. “Why do you owe so much?”
    â€œI can’t tell you.” He almost screamed the words at me and the heads of a few other late-leaving racegoers turned our way. “But I need it tomorrow.”
    I looked at him. “And I cannot help you,” I said quietly. “I think I’d better go now. Do you still want me to sell your portfolio and liquidate the money?”
    â€œYes,” he said in a resigned tone.
    â€œRight,” I said. “I’ll get the office to send you a written authority. Just sign it and send it straight back. I’ll try and get the cash into your account by Friday.”
    He was almost in a trance. “I hope I’m still alive by Friday.”

4
    I sat in my car in the members’ parking lot and thought through my recent conversation with Billy Searle. I wondered what I should do about it, if anything.
    As he had said, it was his money and he could do what he liked with it. Except that he clearly didn’t like what he was doing with it.
    He’d also told me that he owed some guy about a hundred thousand and