I had known David for years; not well, but well enough to know a lot about him and his lifestyle. He was a man I could not respect, a well-heeled, very social, party-loving type. Good looking and free living, he was very popular. He had an established professional career, an income to die for and was very generous with his money; indeed, he splashed it around as if there was no tomorrow.
An inveterate womaniser, he was particularly generous towards his succession of girlfriends. Over the years I’d known some of these women, as we were all in the same loose social network. To all of them he had been free with expensive gifts, sometimes spending thousands of dollars on presents, holidays, restaurants and hotels for his favourites. Most people thought him a good fellow, liked him in his own right, but liked him even more because of his openness with his wallet.
David made no secret of the fact that he was divorced and had three children, but, unlike the others, I knew his ex-wife Liz. We had done our nursing training together and remained good friends, though we didn’t live in each other’s pockets. David himself was unaware of my friendship with Liz and I made sure to keep it that way.
My problem with David was that I knew for a fact that he was mean and ungenerous towards Liz and the children. He was forever behind with his maintenance payments, baulked at paying the children’s school fees, never took them away for holidays and thought he was a jolly good fellow for remembering their birthdays.
The unfairness of it all enraged me. Liz worked hard and long as a nurse to keep her family going and meanwhile this irresponsible man lavished his money on a succession of women and a fast lane lifestyle.
The day came when I needed to consult David in his professional capacity. It went against the grain to be the means of contributing to his income, but I knew no-one else in the field and the matter was a minor, one-off issue.
We faced each other across his desk. Our business concluded, he named his fee and requested a cheque there and then. Fair enough. I wrote out the cheque in good faith; at the same time he printed out and signed my receipt. I handed him the cheque and he placed it on top of the litter of papers on his untidy desk. He was distracted by a phone call and when he had finished he picked up the receipt, the papers dealing with my business and my cheque and handed them all back to me without checking them.
I saw his mistake and should have said something immediately — with anyone else I would have. I have never been a dishonest person. But this time I didn’t. Something inside me made me take advantage of this unlooked for opportunity to mete out some natural justice. I took the cheque home, tore it up and kept his signed receipt.
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