Radical Reaction

by Dawn Marsanne

The phone rang.

  ‘Storeroom,’ he answered.

  ‘It’s Adam Newman, I put in an order a while ago but it’s not been delivered yet.’

  ‘Yes, hi, Adam. Oh, yes, your order has just come through on the system.’ Eddie grinned to himself as he heard Adam muttering and sighing on the other end of the phone. ‘No, I don’t know why it didn’t show up on the system earlier. You know what a crappy old IT system we have here.’ He listened to Adam explaining the urgency of his order.

  ‘I’ll go and fulfil it straight away, mate but I’m afraid you’ve just missed the next delivery round. It’s just left.’ Adam was cursing over the phone now. Eddie was almost laughing.

  ‘Just give me ten minutes mate then it will be ready for you to come and collect it.’

  He hung up and at that point, Bernie came in.

  ‘This the next delivery to go now?’

  ‘Certainly is. All ready for you.’

  Bernie wheeled the trolley out into the corridor and began his circuit. Eddie began to get Adam’s order ready whistling to himself as he went along the shelving.

  Chapter 43

  The next day, Maureen was characteristically early for her meeting with Francis Harcourt. The receptionist had offered her coffee and she had accepted. She hadn’t been to Brigstock and Wellman for a while as her husband had been in the driving seat as far as the business was concerned. As she waited she looked around the old-fashioned office with the wood panelling and high ceilings with plaster cornices and ornate roses from which hung the light fittings. Despite the authentic features of the Victorian style building, the secretaries were using hi-tech computers and telecoms equipment which gave an air of modernity and professionalism.

  At just after 11 a.m. there was a call on one of the phones and Maureen was asked to follow the assistant. They climbed the wide wooden staircase furnished with a plush deep red carpet runner towards the first floor where she walked the length of the landing to the furthest office. As Maureen entered the room, Francis Harcourt walked out from behind his desk and shook hands with his visitor.

  ‘Mrs Welch. Do take a seat. Can Joanna get you a coffee or tea?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ve already had a coffee.’ She smiled at Joanna and sat down on one of the straight-backed chairs. Francis made his tall slim frame comfortable in his high-backed leather desk chair. His pinstripe suit looked immaculate and he wore a white shirt with a blue and white spotted tie. He picked up some half-moon reading glasses and opened the folder in front of him.

  He looked up, ‘Firstly, my sincere condolences on the death of your husband. I realise that you were separated but it must have come as quite a shock, all the same.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I still can’t believe that he was so desperate that he took his own life. We were estranged but we were together for a long time.’

  ‘Quite. I don’t wish to upset you so I think we will press on with business.’

  Maureen nodded and smiled nervously.

  ‘As I already mentioned on the phone, this firm is your late husband’s executor so I have a copy of his will here. It is quite straightforward despite the considerable size of the estate. As I’m sure you can imagine, Hubert was a wealthy man.’

  Maureen shrugged slightly. Obviously, they had owned a property business but Hubert had been the man behind the business and she had been a minor shareholder. She had never shown as much enthusiasm for it as he had done and there had been some disputes in the past on the subject of taking on too much debt.

  ‘Hubert has made bequests to his brother and his nephew and niece. They will each receive a nice surprise. Should the two children be interested in university the money should come in very useful.’

  ‘Well, that’s good to know. I’ve not been very close to them in recent years but of course, they came to the funeral.’

  ‘There are also some charitable bequests and then the remaining estate will pass to one beneficiary, yourself.’

  Maureen sat in silence, her mind processing what she’d just been told. She felt her face flush and her heart missed a beat.

  ‘Mrs Welch, are you alright? Would you like a glass of water?’

  She heard the solicitor’s voice but it sounded distorted as if he was speaking down a long pipe and the words were echoing back and forth, bouncing off the walls of a tunnel. She looked ahead and he began to come back into focus.

  ‘Sorry, I’m fine. It was just a bit of a shock. I mean, well we were separated. The final divorce papers would have been signed in a few weeks, or months. Hubert had agreed to divorce proceedings.’ She paused. ‘There had been a bit of a hold up due to his refusal to accept that our marriage was over.’

  ‘Indeed. The fact is that once the divorce had been granted the will would have been invalid. However, as you were still legally married to Hubert at the time of his death, then you will inherit under the terms of it.’

  ‘But, I can’t understand it. I’ve rewritten my will, I assumed Hubert would do the same. I’ve made my sister and her child my beneficiaries. I didn’t include Hubert at all.’

  The solicitor merely smiled. He had done his job in explaining the matter.

  ‘I would just like to add that though the estate is of a sizeable nature it will be exempt from inheritance tax as it is passing between husband and wife.’

  ‘I see,’ was all Maureen could manage. It was all too much to absorb in one fell swoop.

  ‘I should emphasise that once the assets have been transferred across then it would be advisable for you to consult a financial advisor. We never know what is around the corner and well, it would be a pity if your beneficiaries should lose out on a large proportion of money to the dreaded inheritance tax. We have some people we can recommend. There are some charlatans out there who will be only too eager to relieve you of your inheritance. We see that all too often.’

  ‘Yes, thank you that would be very useful,’ said Maureen, touching her top lip as she felt it may be showing signs of perspiration.

  ‘Of course, were you to marry in the future then you would also benefit from exemptions on transfer to your new spouse. You should also make a new will as marriage will invalidate your current will.’

  ‘Yes, I understand,’ said Maureen quietly.

  ‘Ah, one thing before you go, I forgot to mention it.’

  Maureen put down her handbag once more.

  ‘Did Hubert ever mention the fledgling company PersCure?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. But I’ve heard of it. It’s the new cancer company at the University.’

  ‘That’s right and very promising it looks too. Well, Hubert now owns some shares in that, although I don’t know exactly what percentage of the equity. I doubt it is a huge stake but a few percent no doubt.’

  ‘Oh, well that’s amazing. I didn’t know he was interested in that sort of venture.’

  ‘Well, don’t hesitate to call me if you have any queries. I will press on and start to prepare the valuations for probate. Please, can you send in some copies of the death certificate?’

  ‘Of course. Thank you.’

  Francis handed her his business card and she made her way unsteadily down the stairs. Before attempting to drive home she went into a cafe and ordered a cup of tea. She really felt like a brandy but that would have to wait until later. Just when she thought life had started to get more simple it had suddenly got hugely more complicated.

  **

  Christian had just finished interviewing the first cohort of patients assisted by a nurse who performed the necessary checks of blood pressure, heart rate and lung function. Data gathering was tough in some instances as the patient’s English was rather stilted but by writing some of the questions down they were able to elicit adequate responses. The healthcare assistant took a blood sample from each volunteer and tested a sample of their urine as it was necessary to have control measurements before any drug was administered.

  Two out of the cohort of patients had not been able to provide
a GP in the UK so Christian had pretended to flick through a file containing random printouts which were supposed to be summary medical records. He would have to compile some vague details for these patients in order to comply the with regulatory authorities. This whole charade made him feel guilty and did not sit easily with him. Having previously trained and qualified as a doctor he had been bound by the Hippocratic oath and this was a blatant breach of it. He tried to banish these negative thoughts by considering the bogus doctors who had been able to con their way into the health service and in some extreme cases had actually operated on people without possessing any qualifications whatsoever. This was a far cry from such a crime. Nor did it come anywhere near Münchhausen's by proxy where nurses had harmed others under their care. He had somehow convinced himself that he was acting in the greater good and was enabling these financially poor volunteers to earn a small amount of money when they would have had no initiative to apply for a clinical trial.

  ‘Dr Dalton, Dr Dalton?’ he heard his assistant calling.

  ‘Sorry, I was just, sorry, just thinking of something else,’ he burbled.

  ‘We have finished with this patient. Was there something else you needed to ask?’

  Christian realised he had drifted off into his own world again which was an indication of how uncomfortable he felt pursuing this avenue which had been foisted on him by avuncular Ron Radford.

  ‘No, that’s fine. Sorry, I’m fine. I’ve just remembered something I need to do later,’ he replied lamely. ‘I think I’ll just take a break.’

  ‘Well, it’s lunchtime now. We’ve finished the morning set of volunteers, the next group is due at 2 p.m.’

  ‘Yes, of course. We’ll carry on after lunch.’

  ‘Oh, Dr Dalton?’ called Fay through from reception. ‘There’s a visitor here for you.’

  ‘Who is it? I’m not expecting anyone.’

  ‘She said not to tell you, it’s a surprise!’

  Suddenly Christian felt faint and had to sit down.

  ‘Are you OK, Dr Dalton? Are you OK,’ said the healthcare assistant.

  Christian looked up and his colleague loomed into focus. Everything looked in black and white, images were swimming before his eyes. He had one thought racing through his mind. Had the odious Laura returned once more to ramp up the pressure on him even more? A glass of water was pressed into his hand and he sipped the cool liquid which helped him return to the present world.

  ‘Sorry, I’m feeling rather tired today. It feels a bit hot in here, don’t you think?’ He loosened his tie. ‘I’m fine, thank you. I’ll get some fresh air over lunch and see you back in here.’

  ‘Your visitor, remember,’ said Fay.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Christian with menace. ‘I’ll go through to reception now.’

  He was dreading who might be waiting for him. Christian scanned the waiting area and saw his wife who stood and called over to him, ‘Surprise! I’ve come to take you to lunch!’

  A huge wave of relief washed over him and he walked over to Geraldine and kissed her. His skin was clammy after coming out of the faint and was quickly noticed by his wife.

  ‘Darling, you feel all sweaty. Are you OK? Have you got a virus?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. It’s been a busy morning and I don’t think the air conditioning is working as well as it should.’

  ‘It feels fine in here, positively chilly!’ said his wife.

  ‘So, why are you here? I mean it’s good to see you but you don’t normally pass this way.’

  ‘I had to take some papers around to a client on this side of town. Bit of a rush job but it was only nearby so I felt like popping in.’

  ‘That’s nice. Where shall we go?’

  ‘Well, somewhere near, there’s that cafe on the Science Park where you can sit outside, what about that?’

  ‘Sounds perfect. I’ll just go and get my jacket and phone.’

  ‘OK, I’ll wait here.’

  Christian returned to his office relieved it was Geraldine and not Laura out in the reception area. No wonder he kept feeling faint. Living in a constant state of anxiety must be taking years off his life. Once Laura had been persuaded to leave him alone he would be able to carry on with his life without constantly looking over his shoulder.

  Chapter 44

  Nimrod was awaiting the arrival of his comrades to assist with his illicit reaction in the shed. He was concerned if anyone saw a lot of activity out there it would raise suspicion so he had raised his concerns with Warrior had who come up with a plan. Two disciples of the cause would provide a distraction by stripping down a troublesome bicycle in the garden whilst Nimrod and Warrior set to work in the shed. A sunshade which could be angled at the top was erected in the garden doubling as protection from the summer evening sun and a screen from prying eyes in the house.

  Nimrod had also ascertained his housemates’ routines and had managed to find an evening when only one other member of the house was in residence. Nimrod had also put his washing in the rather old and noisy machine on a long hot wash so that the sound would mask some of the activity in the garden. Orion and Thor who were servicing the bike could also act as lookouts. No plans were ever foolproof but this was the best they could do under the circumstances.

  Nimrod had been unable to concentrate all day so when 7.30 p.m. arrived he felt an overwhelming feeling of relief. He ushered them around to the rear of the property and for a while they sat on the grass, chatting and drinking cans of beer. Nimrod would dearly have loved to have several beers but he and Warrior had to keep their wits about them. They could not afford to be clumsy.

  The lookouts began to dismantle the bike and Warrior and Nimrod entered the shed where they donned the protective equipment they had left in there on the previous occasion. Each had safety glasses and a face visor over the top. They zipped up some protective coveralls as if they were about to begin painting. Over the top of rubber gloves, they placed long thick gauntlets to protect their arms and then placed the wooden screen they had used before, between themselves and the reaction.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Warrior.

  ‘Yes, the water is here to pour it into.’

  ‘Right, on the count of three. One, two, three,’ and they picked up the drum containing the reaction medium and crystals and slowly poured it into the water.

  ‘Looking good,’ said Nimrod.

  ‘It is. That’s excellent, now rinse the drum with some water and we can get the rest of the material out.’

  They added some more water to the container and swirled it to release any stubborn crystals from the sides and poured that into the container. The crystals sank to the bottom in the water and coated the whole of the base. The crystals looked innocuous and beautiful but contained within was energy which was desperate to be released.

  ‘Right, I’ll remove some of this liquid and we can add some more clean water.’ Warrior used a jug to remove the liquid sitting above the crystals and then more clean water was added. By repeating this process several times they had the product sitting beneath the almost clean water. Nimrod consulted his preparatory details and judged by eye how much water to leave in the drum. By leaving the material wet and beneath water it should sit happily until the final stage of isolation when it would be filtered off and transferred to the containers for transportation and its final journey.

  ‘That looks about right from these details’ he said.

  ‘Let me see?’ asked Warrior.

  ‘I reckon that’s OK. Jeez. I can stop holding my breath now!’ Warrior covered the drum and stepped back. He and Nimrod high-fived each other and smiled.

  ‘Good work,’ said Warrior. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Sure. That worked a treat. Also, thank your source for the method.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll be in touch for the final stage. It won’t be me for that part of the process. We have an expert ready and waiting.’

  ‘Is the target identified?’

  ‘Almost. This will be supplied
to you verbally when the device is prepared. Too risky to send by any other means.’

  They stripped off their protective gear and stowed it in the shed. Nimrod’s T-shirt was soaked and his hair was sticking to his forehead. The two friends looked up and nodded, acknowledging the deed. The evening had been a success. Nimrod lay down on the lawn. Adrenaline was coursing through his blood and he had a terrific high. He wondered how he would sleep tonight. For once in his life, he felt he had a cause and purpose. The support and comradeship of like-minded individuals had given him such a boost. His parents had never shown much interest in him as they had been too busy making ends meet. They had worked all their lives and had achieved nothing. No status, no savings, no prospects. Yet people who came to the country and abused it by claiming benefits and treating English girls badly were taking over. It was time to redress the balance. If the politicians wouldn’t do anything about it, he would.

  **

  Nick and Polly were making sure they spent as much time together as possible prior to Nick’s trip to India. Polly was worried about him going alone but he’d shown her his itinerary and had promised to keep in touch regularly throughout the day except when in meetings.

  ‘Shall we go out tomorrow evening? Have a meal, do something special?’ asked Nick. ‘Obviously, on Saturday, we won’t be able to do much as the taxi will be coming at 4 p.m. for my evening flight. Besides, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything. I might go for a run then do a bit of gardening.’

  ‘I think we should eat here. I’ve been feeling so tired this week,’ replied Polly.

  Nick raised his eyebrows. ‘So, does that mean, you know?’

  ‘Nick, don’t get too excited, I don’t want to tempt fate. I could be pregnant but I could just be tired. It’s been a busy week at work.’

  ‘I understand, whatever suits you best.’

  ‘Did I tell you that we have to examine whether we had enough security for the talk on Monday evening and whether it could have been handled better?’

  ‘No, you didn’t say. There were really ugly scenes. Adam and Hannah told me about it. Anyway, tomorrow evening, we’re going to stay in, yes?’