What's Better Than Money by James Hadley Chase

pretty good. We felt we had at last arrived. Then one morning the telephone bell rang and Mathison came on the line.
    “Come over here right away, Jeff,” he said. “Drop everything. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
    This abrupt summons left me wondering, but I dropped everything, told Clara I’d be back when she saw me, told her to tell Jack who was out on a construction job where to find me, and hot footed over to City Hall.
    Mathison and Webb were together in Mathison’s office.
    “Sit down, boy,” Mathison said, waving me to a chair. “You’ve heard about the Holland bridge?”
    “Why, sure.”
    “This morning we have got it fixed. We have the money, and now we’re going to build.”
    This was a project that every construction engineer in the county and a lot outside the county had been waiting for. It was to take the up-town traffic out of Holland City across the river. This was the big job. The estimated cost ran into six million dollars.
    My heart started to thump. Mathison wouldn’t have called me just to tell me this piece of news. I waited, looking at him and then at Webb.
    Mathison grinned at me.
    “Do you think you and Osborne could build it?”
    “We can build it.”
    “I’ve talked it over with Webb. Of course it’ll have to go before the committee, but if you come up with the right figures and you can convince the bone heads you can build the bridge within a year, I think I can persuade them to let you go ahead. You’ll have all the boys up against you, but I’m going to lean over backwards just a little and if your price isn’t right, I’m going to tell you so before the committee sees your estimates: that way you should get the job.”
    For the next thirty days I scarcely saw Sarita.
    Jack and I slaved in the office from eight o’clock in the morning until sometimes as late as three o’clock the next morning.
    This was our big chance to break into Big-time and we weren’t taking any chances.
    Finally, the pressure got so tough, I asked Sarita to come into the office to handle the typing so Clara could spend her time on the calculating machine, getting out figures for us.
    The four of us slaved.
    At the end of thirty days we had the estimates and the plan of operation ready.
    I went around to Mathison and handed the document over. He said he would let me know, and that was that.
    We waited three long, nerve-racking months, then he telephoned me and told me to come over.
    “It’s okay, boy,” he said, coming over to shake me by the hand. “The job’s yours. I’m not saying I didn’t have a fight to convince some of them, but your figures were right, and you had half the committee on your side to start with. You can go right ahead. Talk to Webb. There’ll be another meeting tomorrow. I want you and Osborne to be there.”
    That happened exactly ten years, eleven months and two weeks since last I saw Rima.
     
    II
     
    I hadn’t considered what the building of a six million dollar bridge would mean until Joe Creedy, the City’s Public Relations Officer, breezed into our office and told me.
    We had celebrated of course: just our own private celebration with Sarita, Jack, Clara and myself. We had gone to the best restaurant in Holland City and had had a champagne dinner. As far as I was concerned the celebrations were over and we had now to get down to the business of building the bridge, but Creedy had other ideas.
    Creedy was a big, broad-shouldered man with a heavy, serious face and a likeable manner. He paced the office while Jack and I sat at our desks and listened to him.
    “There’ll be a civic banquet on Saturday,” he told us. “You two will be guests of honour. One of you will have to make a speech.”
    Jack grinned broadly and jerked his thumb at me.
    “You’re the boy, Jeff. I wouldn’t know how to make a speech.”
    “I’ll write it,” Creedy said. “I don’t care who delivers it so long as it gets delivered. On Sunday at three o’clock