24 August 2021
Tuesday. Inspected the new vault this morning. It is not yet in a bank. It is in a workshop, surrounded by people with pencils behind their ears, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever been asked not to touch.
The door is round, art deco and finished in brass, with a mechanism behind it like the inside of a very serious clock. I have named her Beatrice. The builders have asked me not to name things. I have asked them not to lean on Beatrice. We have reached an understanding.
Then the deposit boxes. Rows of them, numbered in order, every number where a number ought to be. I counted them twice and got the same answer twice, which is more than I can say for most of my staff.
Marble on the walls. Gold on the shelves. A desk for me, with a proper telephone that has a dial on it. A modern bank manager dials. He does not tap.
I asked the builders whether the vault would be secure. They looked at each other for slightly too long. I have written that down.
— The Manager
