Kathleen Clay
Flight 201 to Madrid
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1. Auflage1Version 1 | 2020
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Internetadresse: www.klett-sprachen.de
Illustrationen: Richard Kennedy, Maidenhead
Satz: Satzkasten, Stuttgart
Umschlaggestaltung: Elmar Feuerbach
Umschlagbild: Alamy Images / Emmanuel LATTES
eISBN 978-3-12-909087-9
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Questions
“A funny thing happened at the bank this morning,” said Mr Jarvis at dinner on Wednesday evening.
“Oh?” said his wife dutifully. Ian, his nineteen-year-old son, did not look up from his plate. Only fifteen-year-old Melanie asked eagerly, “What, Dad?” She always enjoyed her father’s stories, and funny things seemed to happen at his bank every day.
He smiled at her. “Well, Flower,” he said, “Jack Bobsworth – you know, he owns that big greengrocer’s shop in the High Street – came in to get fifty pounds. Dennis Baker, who works next to me, took the cheque, murmured something and went off. He came back with the deputy manager.”
“‘Well, – er –’ said the deputy manager in an embarrassed way, ‘this is a rather difficult case – !’
‘Wotcha mean?’ demanded Bobsworth. (He’s a real Cockney – a rough diamond, you know!) ‘Wot’s difficult abaht it? I just want fifty quid!’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the deputy, ‘but I’m afraid I can’t let you have any money at the moment!’
‘Wot?!’ roared Bobsworth, ‘That’s a fine way to treat a customer! I demand to see the manager!’
Then at last Big Boss Potter appeared, looking very hot and uncomfortable.
‘Ah – Mr Bobsworth – ’ he stammered, ‘ah – the fact is – to put it briefly – your account has been closed.’
‘Closed?!’ exclaimed Bobsworth. ‘Why?!’
‘Well – ah – you see, officially you’re dead!’
‘DEAD?!’
‘Yes.’ The Big Boss wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. ‘You see, it is one of my duties, as manager, to read the obituaries in the local paper, to find out if any of my customers have died. Your name was there last week, so I immediately closed your account. I’m sorry if there has been a mistake – ’
‘IF?!’ exploded Bobsworth. ‘There’s no if abaht it! That was my uncle’s obituary in the paper!’”
Melanie laughed. “So what happened? I suppose Mr Potter reopened the account?“
“It wasn’t as easy as that!” chuckled her father. “We live in a world of computers, my dear! The computers had been told that Bobsworth was dead, and they had closed his account! Now it must stay closed until we can persuade the computers that he’s alive after all!”
“Poor Mr Potter!” said Mrs Jarvis. “How embarrassing – ”
“Serves him right – the conceited ass! He saw me laughing, and gave me a dirty look!”
“Was that wise, dear? Mr Potter’s been very kind to you!”
Her husband shrugged his shoulders. “Will you excuse me, please? I’ve promised to play at the Boathouse Club this evening. Their guitarist has fallen ill, and they’ve asked me to take his place for a few nights.”
He left the table and went out into the hall. Mother and son looked at each other.
“He oughtn’t to laugh at Mr Potter!” said Mrs Jarvis worriedly. “If it weren’t for him, he wouldn’t have this job at the bank!”
Ian nodded.” He shouldn’t talk about business, either, and mention customers’ names like that!” he muttered.
“Oh, you’re always criticising Dad!” exclaimed Melanie. “He only tells us!”
“That doesn’t matter! He shouldn’t even tell us!”
Melanie sighed. Ian was probably right. He had gone into banking when he left school three years ago, and was now a cashier like his father. The difference was that Ian would almost certainly stay in banking all his life, and might one day become a manager himself; whereas Dad had only worked at the bank for a year, anyway, and would probably not stay there long. Dad never stayed long in any job. He might give up banking any day to become a musician, for instance, or a photographer, or an artist!
She was just thinking how very lucky it was that Dad and Ian did not work at the same bank, when Dad put his head round the door.
“Cheerio!” he said. “Oh, by the way, Joan, I’m going down to the coast this weekend. Three or four of the boys are hiring a boat to do some sea fishing, and they’ve invited me.”
“But Daddy!” protested Melanie. “What about Hampton Court? Ever since we did Henry the Eighth at school you’ve been promising to take me there, and you still haven’t done it! You’re never at home at the weekend lately!”
“I’m sorry, Flower!” exclaimed her father. “I completely forgot about Hampton Court! But never mind – we’ll go next weekend! Don’t sulk now – there’s a good girl! Next weekend – I promise!”
dutifully as one is expected to do; from: duty = a job; a function; what one is expected to do, e.g. It is a doctor’s duty to save life.
Flower Mr Jarvis calls Melanie ‘Flower’.
cheque [tʃek] Each bank customer has a cheque book. He fills in a cheque to take money from the bank. He can also pay with a cheque instead of with money.
deputy manager the next bank official under the manager, who takes the manager’s place when he is absent
embarrassed [ım'bærəst] not at ease; uncomfortable
Wotcha mean? [ˌwɒtʃə'miːn] What do you mean? (Bobsworth talks Cockney English)
Cockney Londoner
rough diamond rough-mannered but good-hearted person
quid slang: pound
to put it briefly in short; to say it in a short way
account If I have money in a certain bank, I have an account there.
obituary [əʊ'bıtʃʊəri] notice in a newspaper, saying that s.o. has died
to chuckle to laugh softly
to persuade s.o. to convince s.o.; make someone believe
embarrassing painful
It serves him right He’s got what he deserved
conceited [kən'siːtıd] having a high opinion of oneself
ass fool. An ass is a donkey.
cashier bank official who receives and pays out cash, i.e. money
Cheerio! Goodbye!
Hampton Court [kɔːt] One of Henry VIII’s palaces, now open to the public
to sulk [sʌlk] to be, and look, angry; to show one’s anger by saying nothing
Melanie’s school put on a play every year, and this time she had a part in it. Only a small part, but she looked forward eagerly to the rehearsals. The next day there was to be a rehearsal after school, but when Melanie went to the hall, she found the cast and the two drama teachers standing glumly around, doing nothing.
“It’s that Findley boy!” explained her friend Jane. “He’s not come!”
Michael Findley, the boy who had been given the leading role, had missed the last rehearsal, and now he had missed this one. Melanie’s heart sank. It was because of Michael Findley that she enjoyed the rehearsals so much!
“He’s not ill, you know!” said a boy bitterly. “I saw him yesterday night in town! He’s just skiving!”
us all down again!”