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Authors: Sharon Owens
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forehead. Watching from across the crowded harbour, John realised his old friend and colleague was a thief.
The head waiter ordered a double whiskey in The Anchor Bar while he pondered the situation. It was hard to betray a fellow worker. Very hard indeed. Maybe the poor fellow was in some sort of financial trouble, and the wages at the hotel were criminally low. He might be in debt to a bookmaker, a pawnbroker or even a loan-shark. On the other hand, if the hotel was losing money, all their jobs were at risk. John Anderson smoked a couple of cigarettes, and ate a shepherd’s pie. Then, with a heavy heart, he telephoned the owner of the hotel from the payphone on the bar counter.
Mr Tweedy’s face flushed crimson with rage when he took the phone call, a roast beef and mustard sandwich suspended halfway to his open mouth. He ordered Daniel’s locker to be forced open by the hotel handyman, and it was found to contain forty tins of Canadian salmon, twenty teaspoons, one hundred bars of lavender-scented soap and a silver-plated gravy boat. An investigation was launched, and the accounts were examined. It was concluded that Daniel Stanley had been stealing from the hotel for more than a year. The information buzzed through the building with feverish excitement. The female staff were nearly hysterical when they heard that Daniel Stanley was nothing more than a common criminal. They rushed home after work to tell their families all about it. Mrs Doherty, from the laundry-room, said that she always thought there was something fishy about the head chef. Nobody’s that perfect, she said, wisely.
Mr Tweedy had to sit at the bar and drink four brandy and ports to steady his nerves. His right eyelid twitched violently when he thought of the lovely painting of Portstewart Strand and Constance Delargy’s little clock, and God only knew how many tins of best Canadian salmon – all whisked away from under his large, purple nose by a man he would have trusted with his life.
When Daniel reported for work that evening, they were waiting for him in the staffroom. Mr Ivor Tweedy expressed his grave disappointment in his best chef, and dismissed him with immediate effect, and without references. It was all he could do not to punch Daniel Stanley square in the face, he said, but he was a religious man who did not believe in violence. He informed Daniel that he would not involve the police, in order to avoid a scandal, the Delargys being old friends of his. However, he would personally see to it that no other hotel in the country would give Daniel an interview. He knew all the hoteliers in Ulster, he shouted, and he would make sure that Daniel was not given alternative employment, not even in a back-street chip-shop!
The humiliated Daniel was swiftly escorted from the building by two sniggering doormen, one of whom whipped off his white chef’s hat, and closed the door in his face. He stood forlorn in the cement yard, beside the bins and the empty beer-kegs. It began to drizzle softly. For the second time in his life, Daniel Stanley was alone in the world.
For days afterwards, he sat brooding in his rented room on Palestine Street. Without references, he could not get another job. He had considerable savings, but nowhere near enough to set up in business on his own. Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to tell Mr Tweedy that he had gambled all his ill-gotten gains on the horses! At least he got away without returning the money. He studied his big blue eyes in the peeling mirror, and thought again of his lovely mother, Teresa – a beautiful woman who dreamed that her face would surely bring her good fortune.
Well, life had not been kind to Teresa. If it had, she would surely have come back for him. But there was more money about the city these days. Maybe there was a wealthy widow-woman or divorcee out there, who would be willing to share her earthly possessions with a charming companion?
And so, Daniel Stanley got himself done
The head waiter ordered a double whiskey in The Anchor Bar while he pondered the situation. It was hard to betray a fellow worker. Very hard indeed. Maybe the poor fellow was in some sort of financial trouble, and the wages at the hotel were criminally low. He might be in debt to a bookmaker, a pawnbroker or even a loan-shark. On the other hand, if the hotel was losing money, all their jobs were at risk. John Anderson smoked a couple of cigarettes, and ate a shepherd’s pie. Then, with a heavy heart, he telephoned the owner of the hotel from the payphone on the bar counter.
Mr Tweedy’s face flushed crimson with rage when he took the phone call, a roast beef and mustard sandwich suspended halfway to his open mouth. He ordered Daniel’s locker to be forced open by the hotel handyman, and it was found to contain forty tins of Canadian salmon, twenty teaspoons, one hundred bars of lavender-scented soap and a silver-plated gravy boat. An investigation was launched, and the accounts were examined. It was concluded that Daniel Stanley had been stealing from the hotel for more than a year. The information buzzed through the building with feverish excitement. The female staff were nearly hysterical when they heard that Daniel Stanley was nothing more than a common criminal. They rushed home after work to tell their families all about it. Mrs Doherty, from the laundry-room, said that she always thought there was something fishy about the head chef. Nobody’s that perfect, she said, wisely.
Mr Tweedy had to sit at the bar and drink four brandy and ports to steady his nerves. His right eyelid twitched violently when he thought of the lovely painting of Portstewart Strand and Constance Delargy’s little clock, and God only knew how many tins of best Canadian salmon – all whisked away from under his large, purple nose by a man he would have trusted with his life.
When Daniel reported for work that evening, they were waiting for him in the staffroom. Mr Ivor Tweedy expressed his grave disappointment in his best chef, and dismissed him with immediate effect, and without references. It was all he could do not to punch Daniel Stanley square in the face, he said, but he was a religious man who did not believe in violence. He informed Daniel that he would not involve the police, in order to avoid a scandal, the Delargys being old friends of his. However, he would personally see to it that no other hotel in the country would give Daniel an interview. He knew all the hoteliers in Ulster, he shouted, and he would make sure that Daniel was not given alternative employment, not even in a back-street chip-shop!
The humiliated Daniel was swiftly escorted from the building by two sniggering doormen, one of whom whipped off his white chef’s hat, and closed the door in his face. He stood forlorn in the cement yard, beside the bins and the empty beer-kegs. It began to drizzle softly. For the second time in his life, Daniel Stanley was alone in the world.
For days afterwards, he sat brooding in his rented room on Palestine Street. Without references, he could not get another job. He had considerable savings, but nowhere near enough to set up in business on his own. Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to tell Mr Tweedy that he had gambled all his ill-gotten gains on the horses! At least he got away without returning the money. He studied his big blue eyes in the peeling mirror, and thought again of his lovely mother, Teresa – a beautiful woman who dreamed that her face would surely bring her good fortune.
Well, life had not been kind to Teresa. If it had, she would surely have come back for him. But there was more money about the city these days. Maybe there was a wealthy widow-woman or divorcee out there, who would be willing to share her earthly possessions with a charming companion?
And so, Daniel Stanley got himself done
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