She had known from an early age that he despised her father; labelling him, as it turned out correctly, as a weak man with no vision, no ability and no balls. His remaining choices for a successor were then limited. Alexander was in place as a Member of Parliament and working to climb the slippery Home Office pole. Freddie wasn’t interested in business and was pursuing a career in the church. That had left her father James, who was discounted because of his invertebrate tendencies. This had left his grandchildren. Of these, grandfather Charles had little or no time for any of them apart from her.
He had started grooming her for the responsibility she would inherit from the age of twelve. He had seen in her a flash of his own spirit and had taken over her life from that point onwards. The lessons were hard, some with him and others with handpicked managers all over the globe. They were aware that they were training the next head of CHC Industries; they had to ensure she was as ruthless and cunning as her grandfather. Their futures depended on it.
At school she had to be the best, anything less was unacceptable. She could still remember the way her grandfather had spoken to her. His voice filled with disgust, when she had complained after receiving a brutal tongue lashing for being second in her end of year rankings. She could see him sitting behind his desk, now her desk, as he bellowed at her.
“What do you want from life? To be a nobody, play house, have children, die? Is that all you think you are worth? You are a Cortez! Behave like a Cortez! In a few years, you will have the whole world before you, jumping at your command. You will control one of the largest corporations in the United Kingdom. You will also control our personal, family business. You will be wealthy beyond imagination. I give you all of this and what do I receive in return? Second place is what I get and whining that you want to see your friends and go shopping. Shopping for god’s sake.”
When she had asked him about the ‘personal, family business’ she thought he was going to have a seizure.
“When you have shown that you have the maturity and intellect, then I will share that with you. When you have shown that you are worthy of the name Cortez.”
It had been her fourteenth birthday.
“Felicity, this is your grandfather. Get up off that sofa, now. We need to talk.”
Felicity shot upright as if a jolt of electricity had flowed through her. She looked around the room, frightened by the sound of her grandfather’s voice. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down. Speaking aloud to herself, needing to hear her own voice, she said,
“Grandfather is dead and has been for months. He can’t help you. What you heard was your own mind projecting, caught up in your reminiscing.”
Pulling a packet of Dunhill International cigarettes out of her bag she lit one with a heavy gold Dunhill lighter, drew on it and exhaled a plume of smoke.
“Felicity...”
“What?” she snapped, then with an outward calm she didn’t feel,
“What on earth am I doing talking to myself?” Instead of continuing this conversation with herself aloud, Felicity thought rather than enunciated the words.
“I am not the same as my mother. She was weak, vulnerable, and mad. I will not follow in her footsteps. I have never been paranoid, well not since childhood and I can barely spell schizophrenic. I am not delusional. If the voices I heard are not a symptom and I’m not delusional then...”
Speaking aloud she said,
“Prove you’re who you say you are. Prove that I’m not mad. You’ve ten seconds. One, two, three, four...”
Her grandfather’s voice entered her head again and described the moment that he had told her about the personal, family business. She had craved that knowledge and the trust that telling her bestowed. What she heard had left an indelible mark on her and the realisation of the consequences now that she knew everything there was to know about CHC Industries and the Cortez family. Her apprenticeship had started then.
When the voice had finished describing to her in precise detail all that had taken place that day she was sure it was her grandfather talking.
“What do you want?”
Charles response was acidic, re-establishing his position of power over her.
“Young lady, you have no idea of the potential problems you have ahead of you or how much you need my help. I say potential, because we still have time to avert this disaster, but only if you sharpen up and start working to your capabilities. Helena and I can only do a small amount of what will be necessary; the largest and most difficult part you must do.” He added to clarify,
“Helena is my spirit guide. Focus Felicity. Sanderson might be dead, but he can still hurt you. I assume he’s appointed someone other than his cripple to continue harassing us?”
Felicity didn’t answer, just stared out of the window. Charles had always been a tricky bastard but how in god’s name had he managed to come back from the dead. She had been the person who had identified him at the morgue; old age had killed him. So how was he chatting to her, here in her living room? Coming to a decision, she walked over to the large Victorian mirror above her fireplace and stared at her reflection.
“A voice isn’t good enough. Even if it’s a voice that purports to know some of my secrets. If you want me to believe that the voice I am hearing isn’t early dementia, you’re going to have to prove it. Until then, I have a business to run.”
Turning, she walked towards the door collecting her handbag and jacket. Pausing with her hand on the handle she turned to look back into the room and said,
“My grandfather was a hard nosed bastard and one of his famous sayings was, and I quote, ‘if you can’t see it; it doesn’t exist.'"
Chapter 17
Annabel held William’s face with tenderness, stroking his cheeks, before leaning forward and kissing him for the second time in as many minutes.
“I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” Annabel stared into his eyes concentrating on him.
Her transformation from sceptic to evangelical disciple had been an uphill struggle until he had remembered Ernest’s advice: If you need me, call.
When he had heard Ernest’s voice in his head, he had told him that he had to once again prove that he wasn’t a mental illness but was a reality. William reassured Ernest that it wasn’t him who was having doubts but a friend, Annabel, who he expected to be pivotal in solving Ernest’s problems if they could get past her difficulties with acceptance.
Walking to the mirror, William asked Annabel to stand beside him and concentrate very hard on his face. He had expected shock, fear, a scream, for her to faint and have to be revived; anything apart from the reaction that he got.
“Hello Uncle Ernest, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
“Annabel, how are you? Well, I hope. Has this handsome priest been looking after you?”
Annabel smiled at the reflection of her Uncle looking at her.
“Yes, he has, very well,” she took William’s hand as she said it and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
“I’ve not been quite as nice as William has though I’m afraid. I didn’t understand what he was trying to explain to me and so I was rude and unreasonable.” Staring with uncertainty at the familiar face in the mirror she took a deep breath and continued,
“Even though I can see your face, hear your voice in my head, watch you smile at me. I am struggling to rationalise what I see with what I believe. William tried to explain to me why you aren’t in heaven or hell but I didn’t take it in. So, is this correct? You are in limbo. Limbo is a holding area for people who die with unfinished business. The unfinished earthly business arises because a person has died before their death date.”
Ernest smiled and nodded,
“Exactly. Juanita has told me that unfinished business cannot remain without conclusion. Arriving in limbo starts a chain of events; a sequence that begins with the assignment of a guide, for me that is Juanita, and ends with the loose ends tied up and the subject continuing their journey to heaven. In between the
se poles lies the work. To achieve, this we need help to do the things that require a solid form. Checking records, talking on the telephone, researching on the Internet. Human support. A human that we have a connection to, someone we know and trust. A strong determined...”
William interrupted Ernest and said,
“Thank you. I’m sure that has given Annabel the flavour of what you were looking for when you came knocking at my door.” Turning away from the mirror William broke contact with Ernest, regaining his own features. Looking at Annabel with a surprised and disappointed expression on his face he asked,
“Uncle Ernest? That puts a different and disappointing slant on our relationship, as Ernest is my father.” Before he could continue, Annabel said,
“His sister, my mother was his adopted sister. Grandma took mum in when her parents were killed in an airplane crash in nineteen sixty. She adopted her the next year when it became apparent that no one else was interested in looking after a traumatised nine year old. Mum became one of the family, warts and all. She recovered from the trauma of losing her own parents and came to love her adopted parents as her own. Ernest and Charity, mum, were inseparable as children and remained close until mum died five years ago; six months before Ernest’s wife, my Aunt Jess. I have often wondered if he ever considered suicide. He lost the two most important people in his life within six months of each other.”
William reached out and took her hand in his and led her into the sitting room and sat her down on the sofa before taking a seat opposite her in his armchair. Before either of them had had a chance to speak, William clapped his hand to his forehead and rushed out of the room returning a few moments later with an excited Labrador.
“The last time Ernest was here Wooster went mad so I locked him in my bedroom.” Sitting back down he gazed at her with concern and said,
“I’m sorry if you were scared; I needed you to believe me. I needed to believe it myself. When Ernest and Juanita visited me yesterday it seemed real. When I woke up this morning I was less sure. Perhaps I had a vivid dream. I was certain that I had had a conversation with Ernest, sure I had committed to helping. I needed confirmation, this flies in the face of everything I have believed in for most of my life. However, having looked at some of the material Ernest left me as part of his bequest, I realised I’m going to need some help. Bright, capable help from someone I have come to like and trust in the very short time we have known each other. Annabel I need you. That is why I wanted you to believe.”
Annabel stared at William. A man, no a vicar like her, who she had met only a matter of days before, had turned her world upside down. She knew that what she had seen wasn’t a party trick or illusion it was real. It was also of course impossible. Ghosts do not exist. Faces don’t change while you look at them. You cannot speak to someone who is dead. Unless, she thought, you’re a vicar.
Every day she had a conversation with God, praying. It was a central tenet of her existence. Talking to someone; someone that you couldn’t see, that never vocalised a response was normal. Why, she wondered was she finding it such a leap of faith to accept that she had had a conversation with her dead Uncle Ernest. If she believed in God, Jesus, the resurrection and all of the other religious doctrines that formed part of her daily life, why not consider Ernest in the same way; as an unproven aspect of her life. It was still a difficult step to take for her but a belief in Christianity, father son and Holy Ghost was an equally hard concept for a lot of other people. Her answer to these arguments was simple, to believe one must open one’s mind. To consider the impossible, embrace the improbable and if you could do that then you could believe, truly believe. Now she was faced with having to take her own advice.
“It’s terrifying, astounding, and exciting. William, what am I letting myself in for?”
William hesitated a moment and then said,
“I’ve no idea. I’ve thought about that very question many times over the last couple of days. All I’ve come up with is that it might be dangerous. The amount of data, information and documents Ernest has left me indicates it’s going to be time consuming. I am going to need some help. Your help and the help of someone who knows computers and can manipulate data...”
Interrupting, Annabel said,
“Ben” and continued, “I told you that Ben’s childhood was restricted because his leg stopped him doing a lot of the things normal kids do. So he did the stuff he could do; computers. Not just games, everything. He has a gift, an understanding of order, the ability to analyse, a unique way of looking at complexities and simplifying them and he is a genius with a computer.” Pausing, Annabel took William’s whisky from him, sloshed a generous measure in, took a large gulp and continued,
“One afternoon when I was in the coffee shop with a friend, he overheard us talking. I was telling her that I needed a way of controlling all of the information on my parishioners and the school children that I provided pastoral care for. Scraps of paper, as a system was not working. The next day he gave me a disk and told me to load it onto my laptop. He had written me a database that enabled me to keep track of everyone I had contact with, what I discussed with them and important information relating to each person. It can analyse the information I input and cross reference everything that enables me to link parishioners with each other.” Seeing William’s look of confusion she said,
“Let me give you an example. Mrs A had said she is lonely since her son moved away and misses his visits and the help he used to be able to offer her around the house. Mr B is a widower who was a builder and wants to keep working. He is a little reclusive since his wife died and is struggling to get to grips with cooking as his wife did that for them both. Mrs A is a wonderful cook who misses having someone to cook for. The database identified that they could help each other and after speaking to them both, I brokered a meeting. Mrs A now has company, all of her odd jobs done for her and someone to cook for, Mr B keeps busy, gets out of the house and is fed in return for doing Mrs A’s odd jobs. Both are much happier. Ben’s amazing database has identified scores of instances where this could work. I have one of the happiest and most fulfilled parishes in Freddie’s diocese. In fact Freddie is so impressed with it, he wants Ben to design copies of the database for his other parishes. Ben is your man.”
Looking at her William asked,
“You’re sure Ben designed the database?”
Annabel smiled and said,
“I asked him as I couldn’t believe it either. I then spoke to Ernest, his London solicitor, his accountants and his broker. They all believe Ben is talented. The database he designed for me, I thought was amazing. By comparison, work he has undertaken for other people was in a different league. The solicitor had even offered to finance Ben and recommend him to his large corporate clients he wasn’t interested. He enjoys working in the bookshop and doing an odd computer job every so often as long as it interests him. Why don’t you have a chat with him tomorrow? Put his expertise to the test. We’ll all need to know what you want us to do. In fact don’t worry I’ll call him and arrange everything. Now,” she said, “I need to talk to you.”
Annabel held Williams face in her hands; stroking his cheeks, before leaning forward and kissing him for the second time in as many minutes.
“I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” Annabel stared into his eyes concentrating on him and what she was saying to him.
“I’m sure we are going to be busier than we have ever been before. Completing unfinished business, righting wrongs, beating the bad guys and making the world a safer place. For tonight William,” she said, “It’s about us.”
Standing up she walked out of the sitting room and started to walk up the stairs. Continuing she said
“I’ll see you upstairs.”
Chapter 18
Helena looked at Charles with her head angled down towards her right shoulder, a look of wry amusement on her face. She floated around his drawing room in limbo, enjoying the moment.
“Statesman like. H
andled with finesse and style. As you said she would be. May I quote?” Without waiting for an answer, she continued in a passable imitation of Charles’ voice,
“’If I can convince her that there will be something in it for her, a prize worthy of her efforts, then Felicity is our woman.’” Returning to her own voice she added,
“Before we can tell her of the prize that is worthy of her efforts we have to connect with her, convey our need, our desire that she helps us. You think you’re a great communicator? Then find a way to make her listen to you, at least long enough for a brief conversation.”
Standing up, she circled the chesterfield sofa that Charles was reclining on. His confident, superior smile irritated her. He exuded self-assurance and condescension in equal measure. His demeanour was chairman of the board, in control, able. Her criticism of him and his handling of Felicity was amusing, ill informed and irrelevant. Helena smiled, stood in front of him and held out her hand to him.
“Charles I need you to see something. You seem to be having trouble grasping the position you are in. You do need to understand. You see Charles; I’m not very nice. I thought you understood that I had been bad, unpleasant and evil. You aren’t marked as a candidate for downstairs by being a little offensive. Do you understand how binding our contract is? Do you realise that we are bound to each other until we have completed what needs to be completed?”
Charles stared at her, mocking her. He shrugged his hands palm up and extended out in front of him. His body language shrieked indifference and contempt.
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 13
