TAKING BUSINESS ELSEWHERE

The story is about financial dealings of a past century, encapsulated in this incident of client loyalty and retention.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” he enquired in a high-pitched, almost squeaky voice. He really infuriated me with his constant questioning. He had never stopped his jabbering all the way. The coach had been most uncomfortable; the journey made even more disagreeable by this lame duck of a human being, attempting to ingratiate himself into my good graces.

Earlier that day I had had the misfortune of being selected by Mr Herbert Entwhistle, my employer, to accompany the gentleman to the said property. “Now, young man, mind you take good care of Mr Bagshaw! He is a valued customer, whose service we do not under any circumstances wish to lose to another competitor. So take the utmost care of him at all times! I stress, at all times!”

Mr Entwhistle was not a man to be trifled with, as I had discovered from time to time to my cost. He had a quick temper, which would flash in an instant, but on the positive side he never bore grudges. In fact, the storm soon passed, and he was as right as rain, smiling broadly at the one who had only shortly before been on the receiving end of one of his tongue-lashings.

He had obviously forgotten our little contretemps the day before with the account books, when he was convinced I had made a mistake in the figures, only to find out on rechecking that my accuracy, for which I take great personal pride, was confirmed but not necessarily praised. It was just expected of me. I did not mind that too much, but I was upset when my probity was unjustifiably questioned.

So now on this not so auspicious morning I had been given the unenviable task of taking the said Mr Bagshaw, for whom I had developed such a disdain as to make my upper lip curl up involuntarily - a dangerous move with the prospect of encountering my boss if the matter was not satisfactorily concluded.

Deep in thought about my present predicament, I was suddenly jolted out of my musings by the coach coming to a sharp stop in front of what could only be described as an elaborately constructed mansion. As we arrived, the large frame of the front door opened and out stepped a man, dressed as a butler or a footman.

“You are expected, gentlemen.” Was this said with a disdainful sneer on his face? I am sure I saw one. The voice was taking a falsely obsequious manner, which wanted to convey to us it knew its place, but, as far as I was concerned, did not quite succeed. There was a willfulness there. A readiness to overthrow the system in revolution, which just waited for the signal.

“Please come in. The master is waiting for you in the green room. Follow me.”

Suddenly Mr Bagshaw decided he had had enough of my presence, and shooed me back into the carriage. So much for the valued customer! “I’m sorry, sir, but my instructions are quite specific. Mr Entwhistle clearly stated to me I was not to let you out of my sight, and that is what I intend to do.” Mr Bagshaw turned back to me and gave me such a belligerent glare I was tempted to yield my ground, but I was more afraid of the repercussions from Mr Entwhistle. “You are just a messenger-boy. What gives you the right to dog my footsteps? Go away, I say! Get back on board. You will return from whence you came and tell that Mr damned Entwhistle that he has lost a client, because I am now with Murtle, Mardie & Co, Solicitors, and we have arrived at Mr Murtle’s house. I have set a little trap for him and as it turns out for you as well, my not so charming fellow.”

My messenger-boy status was now indeed threatened. I could not return empty-handed, nor could I yield to this weasel, whom I despised, and who did not seem in any hurry to leave me outside. I did not move. I kept my eyes on him for a few seconds before I spoke.

“Mr Bagshaw (I wanted to place an expletive in the middle of the two words, but thought better of it!), as I understand it, you have broken a solemnly binding contract with my employer by entering into an illicit agreement with arguably the most devious and unscrupulous of competitors. Therefore I am confident that Mr Entwhistle will use the good offices of the law to extract the fullest compensation from you, sir.” My words were brave and accurate, and Mr Bagshaw knew they were.

His next move was an attempt to strike me on the head with his silver-topped cane. “You vilest of creatures! I will have you horsewhipped.” He was too slow for me. I grabbed his cane and tore it from his grasp. I was about to strike him in similar fashion to the one he had intended for me. I had even lifted the said weapon above his scraggy top. He shrank back in terror, but I changed my mind.

“I shall take this as a souvenir, Mr Bagshaw. Good day to you.” With that I jumped on board the coach, and told the driver to race back to the office, where no doubt Mr Entwhistle would express his outrage at this turn of events and then institute the necessary proceedings against such a wantonly fickle client, and of such there had been many in the past.