Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (21 page)

              A ping from his mobile phone jerked William out of his absorbed contemplation of the fan vaulting. Removing the Apple iPhone from the inside pocket of his jacket, he stared at the screen. The pinging noise he was aware alerted him to something. Staring, he couldn’t fathom what he was being alerted to.

              Technology had passed him by. He had only begun using an ancient computer to write sermons and send emails because Freddie had demanded that all of his clergy were electronically available. He had resisted with stubborn obdurateness for many months, claiming that he could not respond to Freddie’s missives, because try as he might he couldn’t load the email program onto his old Remington typewriter. Freddie had arrived the following day with the ancient computer, set it up, loaded an email program and a word processing program and given William an exhaustive tutorial on its uses. Fait accompli, n’est-ce pas?

              His purchase of iPhones for himself, Ben and Annabel, had been an impulse. He needed to be able to contact them and though he owned a mobile phone, it was ancient and temperamental, so had asked a saleswoman in a high street store to advise him. She had of course proposed the top of the range all singing, all dancing smart phone. Dazzled by her sales patter he had signed an eighteen-month contract and, at no extra cost, added a phone each for Ben and Annabel. Ben had been excited by the iPhone and had gone into raptures as he described what it could do. Annabel had been pleased, but concerned that he had spent so much money.

              Staring at the iPhone; he wondered if the messages icon that had a number one superimposed on it
,
indicated that he had a message. Tapping the screen, a message appeared from Ben to advise him that:

‘The only problem with your computer is a lack of electricity; the battery was completely flat. If you need to work you can still use it while it charges. It might be useful if you let me show you the basics; how to charge the battery, open a program...’ Smiling, William tapped the message closed, picked up his bag of documents and collected Wooster from outside the Abbey.

***

“Jemima darling” Jemima winced as she heard her sister’s pretentious voice. Felicity wanted to be liked, admired, and loved. Her faux accent and inelegant behaviour left Jemima feeling irritated and embarrassed.

“What?” she replied, hoping her coolness would stem the pretensions.

“Bacchus, has he been to the bank? Did he collect anything?”

Jemima paused before answering. How much did she want to tell Felicity? Did she want to jeopardise her burgeoning relationship with Ben before it had got off the ground? Circumspection was called for, at least in the short term combined with obfuscation. After all, she hadn’t been able to see that much from the café.

“Yes and no.”

Felicities voice crackled with poorly disguised irritation, giving it an icy quality.

“Yes, and no? What exactly do you mean? Stop pissing around and tell me.”

“Dear me you’re slowing down sister. Yes, he went to the bank and no, he didn’t collect anything. Do try and keep up.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. She continued enjoying what she knew would be a brief ascendency.

“When he came out of the bank he didn’t appear to have anything other than his rucksack, which he had gone in with. The rucksack didn’t appear to be any more or less full, I can’t guarantee that, but that is how it appeared. Don’t you have a contact at the bank? Someone who could check the safe deposit box for you? Tell you if Bacchus’s box had anything in it? Work that iPhone honey, work it.”

Felicity continued unabashed,

“Have we made any new friends? New friends; that is who might have some idea of who William Bacchus is?”

“The vicar wasn’t interested in talking or anything else for that matter, so I’ve reverted to Plan B.” Jemima said slipping back into her customary position; underdog.

“Rebuffed by the clergy, you are losing your touch.” She continued, letting her irritation at this setback show.

“Plan B? You thought far enough ahead to formulate a Plan B, how enterprising of you. What is it? A waitress?”

Biting back an acerbic response Jemima answered,

“Ben. We’ve had coffee; tonight we’re meeting at the Digby Tap for a drink. Your words I think were ’get to know the cripple.’ I am. ”

The laughter she heard from her phone was the most unfeigned sound she had heard her sister utter in weeks.

“A dyke and a cripple, on a date. Oh god, I’ve now heard it all. Let me know how it goes.”

The click of the phone hanging up precluded an inappropriate response.

Thrasher leant back in his plush leather executive chair putting his hands behind his head and smiled. The conversation he had with the Master Treasurer had been very illuminating. Not unequivocal but he now possessed some very strong hypothetical evidence.

              Sanderson had been a client of the Master Treasurer in the early seventies when the Master Treasurer had first been at Gray’s Inn. Neville was a newly appointed silk and keen to attract good quality commercial work. He had been approached by Sanderson’s solicitor to assist with a complex patent problem Sanderson was looking after for his brother Jonas.

              Sanderson had been coming to Neville’s chambers for six months and Neville recollected that Angela Bacchus had been promoted to be his personal secretary from her position in the typing pool. He was certain that she would have met Mr Sanderson. Her role, as well as secretarial was client orientated, ranging from arranging appointments and managing his diary to meeting and greeting clients when they came to chambers. Her outgoing exuberant personality was the reason he had chosen her as his personal secretary.

              One final thing that Neville had told him as they were finishing their conversation was that Sanderson had stopped coming to chambers at the same time as Angela had left chambers, very odd. He’d never heard off the chap again.

              The fact they had met would mean nothing to Felicity. She would want incontrovertible proof that Sanderson was related to William Bacchus and that was the reason that he was a significant beneficiary. 

“Get me definitive evidence by yesterday.” Was what she had screamed at the top of her voice yesterday. Well, now she could wait.

***             

              Juanita watched William open the files of documents he had collected from the bank that morning and look at the pile. She grimaced as she read his mind, following his train of thought.

              Juanita could see, as if she were reading a book, William’s feelings and emotions as he surveyed the room. He was overwhelmed by the volume of data and annoyed by the off-handed attitude of his newly acquired father. His father’s casual thoughtlessness was difficult to understand, as he hadn’t grown up with his quirks and character eccentricities. Juanita knew that Ernest was merely measuring everyone by his own standards. He had become the man he was by a ferocious determination to succeed. If a thousand pages of data had to be absorbed, then it was, irrespective of the obstacles.

              Perched on a side table next to the antique desk the pile of single spaced, typed documents, maps and miscellaneous letters was the product of forty years of Ernest’s research. William shook his head as he surveyed the stack of papers. Turning back to the desk, he opened the MacBook Pro computer and clicked on the directory that contained all of the computerised files associated with his task. Twenty-five word processing files, spreadsheet files, photographs and everyone packed with information. They ranged in size from a few pages to a few with over one hundred and fifty pages. They were separated into three defined areas, Jonas’s diary, his research papers and patent information, Ernest’s diary and Ernest’s investigation of his brother’s death and CHC Industries.

              William leaned back in the Captains chair and stared at the ceiling lost in thought. How, he wondered, was he going to manage to even read all of this; understand it and have an opinion on the contents in anything less than a month? Muttering to himself he said,

“This isn’t going to work. Ernest had forty years I have three days. I need some help.” Juanita heard his words and perceived his thoughts. Ernest’s blithe instructions to William; that she had encouraged were unrealistic. His tenacity had generated a considerable body of research. Now she had heard William’s brief analysis she knew he was right. Smiling, she also perceived who he would want to be his assistants. Now all she had to do was to convince Ernest.

              As William reached for his iPhone it began singing; ‘All things bright and beautiful’ at him. The display read ‘unknown number’ which was odd as the only two people who knew the number also had iPhones. Answering he said,

“William Bacchus.”

“Hi William its Annabel. I’m between meetings and thought I’d check in and tell you how much I miss you. Do you want dinner at my place tonight? Or go out for a drink?”

Thinking as he replied, he said,

“I’d love dinner at your house, but can you invite Ben too? I need to talk to you both about something. First though, I have to go to Yeovil.”

“Ben’s going out tonight with his new mystery woman for drinks and then, who knows. They’re not meeting until eight o’clock so I’ll ask him around for a drink before he meets her.”

“It shouldn’t take too long, half an hour or so. Then we have the rest of the evening to ourselves.”

***

              Juanita rolled her eyes and paced around Ernest. Why was he so difficult? ‘Modern man’ as he liked to describe himself was an actually a stubborn, silly little boy.

“Idiota, idiot! The man needs help. You have given him a lifetimes worth of documents, ideas, reports and photographs and just said, ‘Here you are, get on with it, and
I’
ll call you in a couple of days.’ He’s not a god. If you are going to be so inflexible you’ll be here forever.”

“His girlfriend..
.
”

“Your niece”

“My niece. Maybe. Ben no. He couldn’t, wouldn’t cope. No.” He sat, glaring back at her, resolute in his belief that he was right.

“Three things you should consider. First, Ben is a great deal stronger than you realise, second, William needs Ben’s technical genius and third, there is nothing you can do to stop him asking Ben for his help.”

Ernest stared back shocked by her words.

“Nothing I can do? Can’t you stop him?”

“Yes, I could, but I won’t. It
’
s William
s’
s decision; he has to choose whoever he wants. They’ll all still need our help. Only as a team will we resolve your unfinished business. You understand that don’t you?”

Ernest looked at her and then gave a slow nod.

***

              Ben stared at Annabel and then at William. His expression showed a mix of indignation and confusion.

“He didn’t trust me. He thought more of you than he did of me. He had me fooled. He had begun telling me that he trusted my judgement, was impressed by my skill with computers. I have spent most of my adult life trying to fill his impossibly large shoes, and I have never managed it.” He paused to take a deep breath and regain control of his emotions before he spoke again. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then said,

“I am the product of my father’s relentless, unreasonable expectations.  I started my childhood as a quiet, reserved boy with a gammy leg and a love of knowledge. I was born the year after the Internet was conceived, a child of the Internet generation.  I could code almost before I could talk I was good. For dad, I was never quite good enough. I had long conversations with mum about him and his intransigence when it came to his expectations of his son. In the end I accepted it and toughen up. From mum I received all of the love, support and praise, which help form a healthy child. Every ounce of praise or recognition I got from my father I fought for. Finally, after mum died, I thought he had begun to recognise that I had potential, it’s obvious, I have misunderstood everything he said to me. Or, and I am embarrassed to be even thinking this, he has lied to me ever since my mother died.” Gazing at William and Annabel he asked in a neutral curious voice,

“Which version do you think I should believe?”

              Annabel launched herself off the sofa causing Ben to take a step backwards to avoid being trodden on. Stomping out of the living room and into the kitchen she muttered,

“I cannot believe I was so wrong about him.”

Her muttering faded as she went into the kitchen making it difficult to hear her, but returned as she re-entered the living room.

“William, I’m sorry this was a poor idea. You were right, no let me be precise, Ernest was right. Ben isn’t mature enough.”

Turning to Ben she continued,

“I believed that William would be able to rely on you. I have sung your praises; eulogised on your skills with a computer, quoted examples of how you had helped me and members of my congregation. I believed; no, expected you to step up and be happy to help your brother sort out this mess. The mess that your father left, that William, discovered he was a part of a scant few days ago. But no. You assume the persona of a jealous son and bleat on about how hard done to you are. In reality, your father didn’t want to burden a twenty-five year old man with his problems. Instead, he ensured you would be financially independent, left you with a bookshop to play with and entrusted his problems to your brother. Your brother now needs you. Are you ready to help him?”