Escape to Scotland

By Richard F Jones

I used to work for an Accountancy practice. There, I was accused of misappropriating twenty five thousand pounds from the firm’s books, of which, of course, I knew I was completely innocent, although all the evidence pointed to me as being guilty. My firm put me on a months leave while they investigated it further.
Time went by and I was getting no further in proving my innocence. Somehow or another, my then girlfriend Pat, who worked in the same firm as me, seemed to me to be involved with the fraud. So I delved further. It appeared that her ex-husband, Tony Ashurst, who was a computer expert, was the one who had fraudulently transferred the money from the firm’s accounts into one of my little used bank accounts and then transferred it from there to use for his own purposes.
I passed all this information on to my employers and the police, who were now also involved in the case. At that point I took a break to get away from it all to a cottage in the mountains in the Western Highlands of Scotland, where I met and fell in love with a Scottish lassie named Sheena.
When I eventually returned to my home, after much nagging and harassing on my part, I managed to convince the police and my employers that Ashurst and Stewart were the guilty parties in the fraud. There was a trial and sentence pronounced.
During all of this my love for Sheena increased but you’ll have to read the whole story to see where that led me.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard F Jones
• Release date: Apr 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224200603

Richard F Jones

I was born in Wales, but have lived in Spain, Majorca, the western highlands of Scotland and the Wye Valley.My books are mostly set in the places where I have had homes. These include ten published paperbacks and eleven e-books.I append below a review from Mr Derek J Edwards of my novel, 'Time on their Hands'.'I could not put this book down. It was full of interesting characters, with twists and turns in every chapter. I will certainly be looking for other novels by Richard F Jones. 'You can check Amazon Kindle for the authenticity of the review.

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ESCAPE TO SCOTLAND

by

RICHARD F JONES

SMASHWORDS EDITION

To my wife, Meg, whose tireless efforts made the publication of this book possible.

©2024 All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electrical, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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ESCAPE TO SCOTLAND

CHAPTER ONE

It was a Saturday morning. There was a strong wind blowing, but at least it wasn’t raining.

I was staying in a rented cottage in the Western Highlands of Scotland. Snow was on the peaks all around the village. It was January but I decided to go for a walk while it was dry, although I wouldn’t risk the mountains whilst the snow was still up there. I donned as many pullovers and waterproofs as my body could cope with, but it was still damn cold when I got outside.

From the cottage at the end of the road there was a track that led to the foothills of one of the many peaks. It would take about an hour to get to that point, so it meant that I would be out for about two hours in all, which was enough for me in that weather. The temperature must have been bordering on freezing. I had with me a mountain walking stick.

About a mile or so along the track, which was surrounded by trees on both sides, something moved in the foliage on my right hand side. Then I heard a rustle and from out of the trees a red deer suddenly appeared. We obviously had both startled each other. We stood motionless, still looking at each other. Then he took off at a gallop and dived back into the wood further up the track. I never saw him again but his image stayed in my mind for the rest of the day.

What was I doing up there in Scotland? It’s quite a tale but I will try and keep it condensed as much as I can. At the time I was working for an Accountancy firm in Newport in South Wales, which is the third largest city in Wales, although having lived there most of my life I don’t really think of it as a city, more a large industrial town with mostly a working class population who used to work in the large steel works and the big worldwide port exporting steel and coal from the nearby Welsh valleys. It qualifies, however, as a city as it has a Cathedral near it’s centre. I am a qualified Chartered Accountant by the examination process. Suddenly there was a discrepancy of approximately twenty five thousand pounds in the firm's books which I was accused of misappropriating. Of course I maintained that I had nothing whatsoever to do with it. To me it just looked like a fault in the firm's computer system had thrown up the error, but the bosses were convinced that I had misappropriated it. I even showed them all my bank statements which didn’t show any credit amount like that, but they still suspended me whilst they carried out their investigations, so I took off for Scotland just to get away from it all. They had, of course, my mobile phone number, my email address and the address of the cottage where I was staying, which I had booked up on the internet.

CHAPTER TWO

To enlighten you further I have to go back sometime before all that happened. As I have said I was working in the Accountancy office, where I’d been for just over five years.

There I met a woman named Patricia Stewart, or Pat, as she was known to everybody. She joined the firm not long after I did. Like me she was a qualified Accountant and quite bright with it. We got along together well from the time she joined the firm. More importantly though, she was blonde, about five foot two in height with a sexy slim figure. She was thirty two years of age. Most of the men in the office ogled at her but I did manage to persuade her to go out on a date with me. I treated her to a meal at a good Italian restaurant I knew in the centre of town. We got on well, as we’d done in work. She was good company. We chatted amicably and joked about some of the people we worked with. She told me she didn’t have a boyfriend at the moment, but there had been a divorce recently from her husband, which had caused her a lot of grief and mental pain.

They'd got divorced because she maintained that he had been seeing another woman at the same time as he was married to her. She indicated that it was therefore a messy divorce. They sold their joint home and she bought a small house on the outskirts of the city which was convenient for work. So all in all it was a good first date.

‘If you're willing, I'd like to meet up with you again, outside of work?’ I said as we were coming to the end of our meal.

‘Fine by me,’ she replied. ‘What have you got in mind?’

‘Do you fancy a walk in the mountains? It’s one of my hobbies. I’ll drive you there.’

‘Sounds interesting.’

‘Good. You’ll need an anorak and some walking shoes.’ I said.

‘I think I can just about manage that. Where are we going? Ben Nevis?’

‘No, not quite as far as that. Somewhere reasonably local actually.’

I left it at that and arranged to pick her up at her house at ten o’clock on the coming Saturday morning.

She was wearing a multicoloured anorak, tight fitting blue slacks and stout walking shoes. She was dressed for the part anyway. ‘I thought we’d have a go at Twmbarlwm,’ I said as we drove away from her dwelling. ‘Have you been up there before?’ I continued.

‘Can’t say I have,’ she replied. ‘But I haven’t been up many others either.’

‘Well this will be a good starter. It’s not far to the car park and the only really steep bit is the last bit to the summit.’

‘Let’s give it a go then,’ she responded.

Twmbarlwm is about thirteen hundred feet in height and on a clear day has magnificent views over most of Gwent and across the channel to Bristol and Somerset. We drove up a steep winding track road through a forest to get to the car park which took us onto the mountain.

‘This is some countryside,’ Pat said as I drove upwards. I parked the car and pointed out the distant hill top. ‘That’s it,’ I said. We set off. Fortunately the weather was dry, although a bit breezy.There is a fairly steep path at the beginning of the climb which Pat managed OK, then it levels out for about a quarter of a mile where we got the picturesque views.

‘That’s something else,’ she said as we looked out across the Bristol Channel. When we got to the short path to the summit I said, ‘Now this is the difficult bit.’ However she kept up with me most of the way, although she was puffing by the time we got to the top. We looked around. The weather had held and we could see for miles.

‘Great,’ she said. We continued to take in the views for some minutes before we made our slow descent back to my car.

There was a pub on the way back into Newport where we stopped and had a bar lunch and a couple of drinks, then I drove her home. ‘I have enjoyed that Martin,’ she said before she got out of the car. ‘If you want to, I'd like to do it again.’

‘Good,’ I replied. ‘I’ll see you in work on Monday and we’ll go on from there.’

Which is what we did. It wasn’t long before we ended up in bed together and as far as I’m concerned the sex was pretty good. Her sexy body was everything I imagined it to be.

The problems in work began about six months after I started going out with Pat as my girlfriend. By then we were regular lovers and continued to explore the peaks and countryside around South Wales at the weekends.

One day the senior partner in the firm called me into his room. By then it was already known to the people who worked in the practice that there was this twenty five thousand pounds shortfall in our books, although of course we didn’t actually keep any of our records in books, all our work and transactions were recorded on the computer.

‘I’ve called you in Martin,’ John Sherwood, the senior partner began, ‘because we think this twenty five thousand pounds difference in our accounts points to you.’

For a few moments I was completely stumped for a reply. I just didn’t know or see how any such discrepancy could in any way be attributed to me. So I stumbled out. ‘How have you possibly come to that conclusion?’

He then produced many sheets of paper which in his estimation he had concluded in his mind that I was the culprit responsible for the deficit in the firm's accounts. At that moment I was too befuddled to even look at the papers he’d passed to me.

‘Why would you think I wanted to acquire twenty five thousand pounds of the firm's money?’ I said. ‘I’ve been working here for some years now and to date you’ve made no complaints about my work have you?’

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Not until this came to light anyway.’ He pointed at the papers he’d given me.

‘Well what reason would I have for stealing that amount of money now? At the moment I am no better or worse off than at any other time since I began working here. OK, I have a mortgage on the house I own, but I’ve had that for a few years now and on the salary you pay me I can afford that, I don’t really have any other major expenses. I’ve got a reasonably priced Ford car which I bought for cash, but I’ve had that for five or six years as well and so at the moment I’ve got no good reason to change it.’

For a few moments Sherwood said nothing and we just stared at each other. Then he said, ‘but now we understand that you're seeing and going out with Patricia Stewart. That must cost you a pretty penny or two.’

‘What the hell are you talking about Sherwood?’ I said. ‘You must be off your bloody rocker. I have had girlfriends before you know and anyway Pat usually pays her own expenses on our jaunts out and most of them are actually in the countryside where it doesn’t cost us a penny, except for the petrol to get there.’

‘Well you read through the papers I’ve just given you,’ he said.

‘I will do,’ I replied, ‘and then I’ll consult my solicitor. I’ve never heard so much rubbish in all my life.’

‘Well that’s your prerogative,’ he responded, ‘but if you do we will have to do the same thing.’

I got out of the chair and stormed out of the room, left the office and drove home. I just couldn’t believe that this was happening to me.

* * * * *

Once inside my house the first thing I did was to pour myself a large Scotch. After a few mouthfuls I spread the papers given me out on the dining room table and tried my best to fathom out what Sherwood was implying. It took me more than an hour to go through them all, but initially nothing made any sense to me or how I could be blamed for these obviously fraudulent transactions in the firm's accounts.

Then after another hour or so and a couple more whiskies I began to cotton on to the drift of it. I could see that money had been paid into a Visa account in my name which I hardly ever used, so I hadn’t checked in on the account for quite a few months. There, I could see that twenty five thousand pounds had been credited into it and payments to restaurants, pubs and hotels had been paid out. None of which I had anything to personally do with. So for the first time I could understand where Sherwood was coming from.

I still hadn’t eaten, but I phoned Pat and told her the news.

‘I wondered why you had left work early,’ she responded. ‘I thought you were ill or something like that.’

‘It’s all too difficult to explain over the phone,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if I will come into work tomorrow, but if I don't perhaps we can meet up for a drink tomorrow evening.’ she agreed to that and invited me to her house.

In the morning I phoned Sherwood and told him that I wouldn’t be in work that day as I had to check on this Visa account where all the fraudulent transactions had passed through. I added that they were nothing to do with me and just couldn’t understand it all.

He understood that and I said I would be back in touch with him as soon as I had some clearer picture of what had been going on. I continued to add that I had known nothing about all these transactions.

That evening I called in on Pat at her home address, a small semi-detached house in the suburbs of Newport. Over a drink of white wine I showed her the papers Sherwood had given to me. Fortunately she was financially sufficiently competent to understand what it all implied.

‘This is just terrible Martin,’ she said.

‘I know,’ I replied, ‘but I just don’t know what to do to prove I’m innocent. That is my Visa account but I had nothing to do with those transactions. I swear it.’

‘Can I take a copy of these?’ she said. ‘It’ll enable me to look into it further, if you're happy for me to do that.’

‘Of course I am,’ I replied. She went to her computer photography section and did so.

So when we finished our drinks we left it at that. We didn’t go to bed together that night.

* * * * *

I went back into work next day. Having to concentrate on the things I needed to do workwise slightly eased the pressures in my mind on what else was going on in there. Later in the day Sherwood asked me to come into his room. He pointed to the chair opposite his desk.

‘What do you make of the papers I gave you the other day?’ he said.

‘Not a lot,’ I replied. ‘I can see what you're getting at but I actually promise you I had nothing to do with those transactions. No way would I do that sort of thing and from what I know of Patricia Stewart neither would she.’

For some moments he looked at me steadily, then said, ‘I think the best thing we can do here is to put you on suspension. We’ll pay your salary for a month whilst we try to get to the bottom of this. If our original suspicions are correct we can’t have you continuing to working here, but if there is not, well we’ll take you back on board, but I think you must also do everything you can to try and sort out what exactly has been going on.’

To be fair I couldn’t disagree with much of that. His words left a big hole in my life but it was up to me to prove my innocence as much as him, because I badly needed the job and all that went with it.

The next day I arranged to see Pat that evening at her house. She welcomed me in with a passionate kiss on my lips. In her lounge she had set out two large glasses of red wine. We sat down on the settee together and clinked glasses. I told her more about what had been revealed to me about the matter.

‘I just don’t understand that Martin,’ she said. ‘I just don’t believe you would do something like that.’

‘Neither do I.’ I replied, ‘but you’ve seen the documentary evidence.’

‘H’m,’ she responded, ‘let me see what I can dig up on where this money was used.’

So I left them with her for the night and went home to study my own copies of the papers. It took me some time to read through them all but I could see that some of the transactions were obviously used to pay for restaurant meals, some clothes shops and a couple of hotels for what looked like one night stays. I made a separate list of my own on my computer of these individual transactions and the names of the locations where possible. Then I spotted something I hadn’t noticed before, there was one fifteen thousand pounds transfer to a foreign overseas investment bank. Seeing that shook me rigid. No way would I ever do anything like that as I knew it was strictly illegal for a British Taxpayer to do, which of course I was aware of because of my work.

Next morning in work I told Pat of my findings and she said she had also discovered much of the same details. Except she had also found that the overseas bank where the fifteen thousand pounds had been sent to was based in the Bahamas!! It was called RBC Royal Bank (Bahamas) Limited.

‘That’s pretty good Pat,’ I responded. ‘Now all we have to do is find out who the hell arranged and organised all this.’

For some moments we both looked at each other blankly, then someone else interrupted us with something to do with our normal work and we had to get on with that and other related matters for the rest of the day.

That evening we again met up at her house. It was obvious that we were still physically attracted to each other. Again a glass of white wine was shared between us, Together we went over what we had discovered in the notes we had shared between us. Pat said that as far as she could ascertain the hotel bills and the restaurant bills emanated from somewhere around Bristol, which was over the Severn channel from where we lived in Newport. The Bahamas bank transfer though was a completely different matter.

We talked about it some more and then we ended up in bed together. The sex between us was pretty good.

Before I left her