“The ambulance crew were called by a lady who had found you unconscious in your bathroom. It would appear that while you were urinating you collapsed into unconsciousness. As a rule urination is not considered traumatic enough to induce unconsciousness, so we need to apply ourselves to discovering what caused this unusual event.”
Gesturing to a nurse who had been fiddling with needles and wires, he continued,
“This lady has, as well as sticking needles into you, also performed an ECG. An ECG measures the electricity in your heart and shows us how it is beating and how well it is feeling. From this, I can deduce that your heart is not feeling well at all. In fact, it is looking like you have had a heart attack. Not a big one I think, but a heart attack nonetheless. In Gujarat, we say that any heart attack is too big, or maybe that was in medical school, I can’t recall. Anyway, this machine does not give a complete answer so we will also take a little more blood to test and this will tell us how big a heart attack it has been. Okay?”
William was sure that this was a very truncated version of the actual conversation. His next thought disturbed him. Was the strong smell of urine coming from him?
Dem continued,
“So let us bust that clot and offer Mr er …”
“William.”
“Mr William, sorry no just William, some more pain relief. 10 mg of Morphine and a little something, er Metoclopramide I think, for the inevitable vomiting.”
William had remembered very little after that. The following morning he woke in a ward full of old men and women attached to beeping monitors, covered in tubes and breathing oxygen. Looking down at himself, he realised that he was also covered in tubes, attached to a beeping monitor and breathing oxygen through a small tube that sat at the entrance to his nostrils.
William settled back into the forest of pillows that were supporting him and studied his surroundings. He had another bed, at the moment empty, to his left and another three beds opposite him. Behind the partition wall opposite were another two beds and then two side rooms. The nurses’ station was along the wall to his left where they monitored each of the patients in the Cardiac Care Unit. The decor was a neutral light green and cream brightened up by extravagant floral curtains around each bay.
One of the few things he had remembered from the previous evening was a nurse sitting down on the edge of his bed to tell him that they’d had the results of his blood tests back and he had suffered a heart attack. Not a large one, but a heart attack nonetheless. He recalled saying to her that any heart attack was too large. How could he have had a heart attack? He was forty-four. Heart attacks were the domain of the elderly, not a young man like himself.
The attractive nurse saw that he was struggling to accept his heart attack and came and sat on his bed. William looked at her and said.
“I’m forty-four, isn’t that too young? Compared to these people,” he indicated the other patients on the Cardiac Care ward,
“I’m no age at all. Why me?” Her answer was honest and illuminating.
“Age is only one factor. Lifestyle plays a much bigger role in deciding who is affected by heart attacks. Do you smoke?” William nodded,
“I did until twelve hours ago”
“Do you exercise on a regular basis?” He indicated his overweight body, but said nothing.
“Is your diet rich in vegetables and fruits? Oily fish? Low in sugar and salt?” William didn’t know what to say. His diet hadn’t been rich in any of those things. His lifestyle was killing him.
“Treat this as a wake up call, a warning that if you don’t change the way you live, you might not be living as long as you had hoped. We can help, the tablets will help, but the hard work’s down to you.”
A voice to the right hand side of him startled William out of his reverie.
“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that,” William said as he turned to see a very large chap in the bed next to him. On closer inspection, he seemed to be a similar age to William, a few years older perhaps, but a lot younger than the other patients on the ward. He had a rugged, handsome face; a nose that had been broken a number of times and a fine scar running from his hairline above his left ear to his chin that accentuated his looks, giving him a dangerous air. William smiled at the man.
“I said, it’s good to see you awake, you didn’t look great yesterday. You were grey. You look a lot healthier this morning.”
“I’m delighted by the improved prognosis.” William said. He continued,
“Yesterday was a blur, but from what I can remember, I feel a lot better today. I’m William Bacchus.” William leant as far as he could across the intervening gap proffering a hand to his neighbour.
“Tiny Jonson. I manage a nightclub in Yeovil, or did. I don’t need the stress anymore; not after this.” He patted his chest indicating his heart problem.
“What about you?”
“I’m supposed to be the vicar at St Bartholomew’s, but I seem to spend most of my time doing project work for the bishop. My parishioners, or at least those who know what I look like, are not happy.“ He paused to see what the reaction would be. Nothing. Well, nothing other than,
“Anglican then I expect. My brother’s with the Catholic’s at The Church of the Holy Sacrament at the far end of Yeovil. I was visiting him when all this happened.” He said pointing to his heart again.
“He has a very relaxed attitude to the evils of drink and will often come down to the club for a drink and a chat. It’s odd, my customers behaviour improves when they see a dog collar. In return, I run a youth club for some of his more challenging young parishioners, helping to keep them out of trouble and channel their energy in a more positive way.”
“Channel their energy in a more positive way?” William asked.
“Don’t let the nose and scars confuse you, they come from another life. No, we bird watch, more nature watch really. Liam, one of my greatest challenges has recently finished a degree in Zoology and Ecology at Bristol; by all accounts, he is a young man who is going places. With many of these kids, you just need to show them a different side to life. They will do the rest themselves.”
“Mr Jonson? Time for your echocardiogram.” said a young nurse pushing a wheelchair to the side of his bed.
“We’ll have to carry this on later,” Tiny said. William nodded and as the wheelchair was turned around for Tiny to climb in, William said,
“I’d like that. Lunch time?”
Chapter 5
The sound of the doorbell and the demented barking of his Labrador, Wooster, shattered Williams concentration as he considered the report he was writing for Freddie Aldhelm, his bishop.
“Wooster shut up. It’s the front doorbell.”
As William rounded the corner with the door now in sight, the bell rang again. Peering through the frosted glass and not seeing any signs of life the ringer turned and started down the house steps to the road. William grasped the door handle and, while fighting off Wooster, opened the door. He looked left and right but couldn’t see anyone and cursed the kids from the estate across the road under his breath. Mick, his postman, emerged from two doors down, glanced in his direction waved and started back towards him.
“Morning Father, having a crap was it? I haven’t got all day to wait for you to grace me with your eminence.” Grinning, he continued,
“Got a registered for you, Bishop decided to sack you by post now has he?”
“Thank you for sharing the subtle nuances of your famous Bangladeshi wit with me.”
William slit open the envelope with a steak knife and eased out the letter. Smoothing it flat on the breakfast bar William scanned the brief letter and then read it again with more care, absorbing the detail.
Confused, William addressed Wooster, his black Labrador.
“I have no idea what this is supposed to mean Wooster. It appears that I have a relative, a distant relative who has bequeathed something to me. I have to arrange an appointment with a solicitor in London, the author of th
is letter, and he will furnish me with details of the bequest and the conditions attached to it. I’m not even sure they have the correct William Bacchus.” The conditions imposed in the letter from the solicitor where unequivocal. If William wished to discuss the possibility that he was the correct recipient of the bequest, he would have to sign the copy letter confirming adherence to the stated requirements laid out in Mr Sanderson’s last will and testament. Left with little choice, if he wanted to exercise his curiosity, William had decided to sign.
Now that the letter had been dispatched, the secretary had called and an appointment was made, William was left to consider the relative or perhaps friend of the family he was unaware of.
As information on the man himself was proving elusive, William chose to imagine his own Ernest Sanderson. The odd thing was, he felt he had been spoken to by Ernest Sanderson, but he wasn’t sure when, nor could he remember who Ernest Sanderson was. The only thing he was sure of was that it had happened since his heart attack. He was certain that Ernest Sanderson needed his help. How he could help, he couldn’t say. Why he should help a man who he had not met, troubled him a little more. The parable of the good Samaritan entered his consciousness for a fleeting moment, although how that related to a man he neither knew or had spoken to he didn’t know. Maybe, whatever he discovered about Ernest would throw a little more light on the man. Remember, he reassured himself: ghosts do not exist.
***
Gerald Thrasher was average. Average height, athletic build that had begun to run to seed, his hair was a generic brown and he wore a pin striped suit and a loud tie. Not a single distinguishing feature except a tic that caused his left eyelid to spasmodically move of its own volition. Until he spoke. He had a deep rich baritone voice that reverberated around the office dominating everything.
“Sit down Mr Bacchus, tea, coffee?” He boomed. William shook his head, declining.
“No? Well, to business then. The late Ernest Sanderson asked me to be the executor of his estate. In his last will and testament, his principal beneficiary is William Bacchus, vicar. Mother, Angela Bacchus and father,” Thrasher paused while he read a little further and then continued,
”Is not specified, though I’m assuming you have one, ha, ha.” William offered a slight smile, but didn’t respond, leaving the solicitor to fill the awkward silence with more inane chatter.
“I’m presuming that is you. If not we would have to abandon the reading of his will now I’m afraid.”
“Angela Bacchus is my mother,” William confirmed, “I am William Bacchus and I am a vicar. All of those facts are correct. However, I have not heard of Ernest Sanderson and wasn’t aware that Mr Sanderson existed until your letter arrived. I am still at a loss as to why you believe that I might be this gentleman’s benefactor. I’m sure my mother would have mentioned if she had known someone called Sanderson who might one day include me in his will.”
William eased himself back into the armchair he was in and waited. Gerald Thrasher smiled. A confident smile, without a trace of smugness or superciliousness.
“He said you would say that, when we lunched a few weeks before his sad death.” Mr Thrasher continued.
“Ernest has been keeping an eye on your progress. When your father left home in nineteen seventy-three, you were three months old, Ernest helped your mother find a job, helped with your school fees and ensured that neither of you wanted for anything. When your mother died, as you were finishing your A levels, Ernest added to your mother’s estate to help you continue your education. That was when he began to take a closer interest in your career choices. He was delighted when you achieved a first class honours degree in Economics and equally delighted when you achieved the same result in your second degree, Theology, he had a great love of learning. He has never interfered. He had planned, as part of his seventieth birthday celebrations, to introduce himself. He was unable to do this as he died two weeks after his birthday.“
Gerald Thrasher pulled a file from a pile on a small table at the side of his desk. Placing it with precision on the desk in front of him, he angled his head to one side and looked at William. If he wanted any more information he would have to ask for it. So, William asked.
“So what happens next? Do I have to do anything else? DNA sample to prove I’m me? Photocopy of my driving license and passport? I’m curious how you can be so confident that William Bacchus is the correct recipient of this bequest and that I am the correct William Bacchus? I’m also surprised that you think my mother knew Mr Sanderson well enough for him to have taken an interest in us. In fact, I’m sure that mother didn’t know him, or are you telling me that you know that he was a family friend I knew nothing about for many years?”
Opening the folder, Thrasher rifled through the contents until he found the page he was looking for.
“When Ernest was alive, he provided very precise information on your life, education and family. We then traced you to your current parish, obtained photographic proof for Ernest that we had indeed found the right person and have been keeping an occasional eye on you ever since. Your identity has been confirmed beyond reasonable doubt, which is why you are sitting here today. As to whether he knew your mother, you, or any member of your family, I cannot say. In fact, as far as we are aware, he did not. All of his assistance was for his own reasons and was delivered anonymously from when it commenced on your third birthday, until now. I know no more than that. Now have you any further questions before we proceed to the conditions attached to this bequest?”
Shaking his head, William leant forward to retrieve the piece of paper that had been pushed across the desk toward him. The title written at the top of the page was ‘Immutable Conditions of this Bequest’ at the bottom was a line of dots preceded by the word ‘signed’ and underneath another row of dots preceded by ‘date.’ There were five conditions. William skimmed the list; the conditions were as follows:
Conditions are that:
1. William Bacchus is bound by the contents of the bequest until he has fulfilled their requirements.
2. William Bacchus must use his best endeavours to fulfil the requirements to the exclusion of all else.
3. William Bacchus will be compensated in part at the outset and the remainder will be paid to him at the successful conclusion.
4. Confirmation of successful fulfilment of the requirements will be decided by a person named in the bequest. They will be responsible for releasing the remaining portion of the bequest.
5. The bequest covers a matter of a sensitive nature, confirm discretion, in writing.
“I’ve already signed this.” William said, “I thought I was going to see something with a little more detail. I signed your document to arrange an appointment, as an act of faith. I assumed that at the very least, you would be able to explain in a little more detail what these conditions mean and the effect they will have on the bequest. What happens, for instance if I decide not to be bound by the conditions once I know a little more about them?”
Gerald Thrasher leaned back into his chair and put the fingers of his hands together to form a steeple. Pursing his lips, he touched his chin under his lower lip with the steepled fingers. Shaking his head, he raised his eyes to the ceiling as if calling upon a higher being for guidance or to share the naivety of the person before him. The tic in the corner of his left eye, jerked spasmodically three times before he continued speaking.
“Mr Bacchus. You have signed the conditions. Whatever you did or did not believe is irrelevant. They legally bind you. Please do not be under any misapprehensions; I will hold you to the very letter of these conditions until you have completed your tasks. Shall we continue?” Not waiting for a response, he opened the file again and extracted another sheet of paper. Not looking at William, he began to read from the page in front of him.
“Brief Explanatory Notes to Accompany the Conditions of the Bequest.” He held up the sheet to indicate that they were the explanatory notes.
“Fulfilment of the
conditions of the bequest will be considered successful when the independent assessor is satisfied that either the requirements of the bequest have been fulfilled to their satisfaction or it is not practical to continue or it is deemed that it is not possible, at that time, to complete the conditions of the bequest. The best endeavours of the inheritor will be deemed to have been used if they apply themselves to the requirements of the bequest to the exclusion of all other forms of work, family or other commitments, including, but not limited to: holidays, short breaks, sabbaticals, courses and full or part-time education. Illness for short periods would not be considered a breach of the terms of these conditions.”
Holding his hand up and coughing William interrupted the solicitor’s monologue. When the flow of words ceased and he was sure he had his full attention, he spoke.
“Mr Thrasher, I was hoping that the explanation would be couched in a way that would make them understandable by anyone. Can we dispense with the legalese and use ordinary English, please? Parts one and two seem straightforward and easy to understand. Part three, compensation and part four, confirmation of fulfilment, what has Mr Sanderson to say on those points?”
Looking flustered and nonplussed by the direction the conversation had taken, Gerald Thrasher sorted his notes until he came upon the relevant sections.
“Compensation. Yes, compensation. Ernest has gifted one hundred thousand pounds, tax free, as recompense for the level of commitment he is asking for, this covers the first year. If the terms of the bequest take longer than a year to fulfil; then a further one hundred thousand pounds will be available to be released and so on until the terms of the bequest are fulfilled. If this were to take longer than five years then you would be released with a further one hundred thousand pounds as compensation for your efforts. In addition, the deeds to the freehold of a bookshop in Sherborne in Dorset, an area you know well I believe. On successful fulfilment of the terms of the bequest, adjudicated by the individual named in the bequest, the sum of fifty million pounds will be released to you along with the title deeds to other properties in both Europe and America.”
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 4
