Taking a sip of his coffee, he gave Jemima an appraising stare. Attractive, good figure; curvaceous rather than slender, and a wicked sense of fun as he had already experienced. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons booming from his jeans pocket interrupted his distracted appraisal. Pulling the phone from his pocket, Ben looked at the display groaned and swore. Glancing at Jemima, he indicated his phone and cocked his head to one side asking with his gestures if it was ok to answer it. Jemima nodded amused that he had sought her permission. Standing up as he answered the phone, he began to pace.
“William, hi. I’ve just noticed the time, sorry.” Ben listened for a moment and then answered,
“Of course, I can be with you in twenty minutes, is that ok? Great, I’ll see you both then. Oh, can I bring anything? Wine, takeaway?” Ben waited for a moment while William spoke to someone who was with him.
Ben replied to something William said to him,
“Ok, just wine and you’ll cook. See you.” Returning to his seat on the sofa opposite Jemima he said,
“Sorry, I need to go. I’d forgotten I was supposed to be meeting some friends for dinner. I’ve enjoyed chatting with you.” Correcting himself he repeated his previous sentence,
“I’ve enjoyed talking at you. Perhaps we could have another coffee or a drink and you could talk as well.”
Struggling to stop herself from laughing she replied,
“I’d love to. Tomorrow evening? Why don’t I buy you dinner at my hotel and we can have a few drinks before. Where’s good?”
Without hesitation he replied,
“The Digby Tap. Great beer, nice atmosphere. Eight o’clock ok? I’ll text you directions. What’s your number?”
Chapter 20
Thrasher looked at the clock on the wall of his office and saw that it was six thirty pm and he was not a single step further forward. The Ladrones had broken into Bacchus’s house and found nothing. No letters, no documents, no finger drives, and no laptop. Not a thing. They hadn’t found the documents that had been the bulk of the bequest he had given to Bacchus in his office. What had that priest done with every scrap of paper in his life? He knew the answer, but didn’t have a clue how he was supposed to break into a safe deposit box in a bank. Perhaps he needs to use Felicities contacts. Bank CEO’s shouldn’t cause her a problem.
Staring down at his notes, he reviewed his efforts to date. William Bacchus had to be connected in some fashion to Ernest Sanderson. He knew he was missing something but what? Why would a person be chosen to inherit from another person? Family? Of course, but he had not found any documented connection between the Bacchus’s and the Sanderson's. Close friendship? Maybe, but again, no contact between Sanderson and Bacchus’s mother.
Thrasher leant down and picked up a folder that contained all he had accumulated on Ernest Sanderson since he had first been instructed by him. He had resolved to keep his research to himself for the moment, as Felicity could be paranoid and suspicious of anything and everything. Why encourage her capriciousness if he didn’t need to.
The folder was uninspiring, the potted biography of an ageing conspiracy theorist with more resources than sense. Thrasher had constructed a timeline of Sanderson’s life from school through to the present identifying any points that were relevant to his bequest or CHC Industries. He had run his own multinational group of companies, bagged a society wife and been blessed with good looks and charm. Each portion of his life was documented; school, college, university, general work, then career, friends, his marriage; everything.
A similar though less detailed timeline had been produced for Angela Bacchus again split into distinct sections to show the different areas of her development. Angela Bacchus had known Sanderson at some point and their relationship, because that was what it must have been, had been one of friendship. Thrasher sat back in his executive chair and thought. He had to prove beyond doubt that Angela Bacchus and Ernest Sanderson had met. Until he could show they had met he couldn’t show they had shagged and little William was the outcome of this supposed liaison.
Laying the two timelines side by side, he compared each section of their lives. There was no point that intersected they can’t have met. Then he saw it a small inconsequential detail that he had almost overlooked. In the early seventies, Angela had been a legal secretary for a silk who was based at Gray’s Inn. Sanderson began a relationship with that set of chambers at about the same time, a complicated patent problem that he was handling for Jonas. Had they met? A furtive look over the photocopier, a bashful glance as they pass on the stairs?
Thrasher rationalised that this was the only connection he had. It was tenuous, but it was a connection.
“Siobhan, could you get me the Master Treasurer at Gray’s Inn please and a cup of your delicious coffee. Thank you.”
***
William sat at the dining room table deep in thought. Annabel was right they would need a computer genius to rationalise the volume of data that Ernest had left for them. The small dent he had made in the hundreds of files on the memory stick hadn't given him more than an inkling of what they would need to do or how they were going to do it. Ben would be perfect, but would he want to? William knew very little about Ben and wasn’t sure how he would react to helping William. Wooster’s damp nose butted against his hand. When this failed to illicit a response, he licked William’s hand and forced his head through the crook of Williams arm.
“Are you bored Wooster? Would a walk help? Perhaps a bowl of tea and a teacake?”
They walked in the morning sunshine along the quiet residential streets that led into the centre of Sherborne. William thoughts slipped back to the implications of the previous evenings meeting with Annabel and Ben. Annabel had known what he had wanted to talk to them about, but not the detail. They had discussed how much they should tell Ben. They had decided that for the moment they should keep their contact with Ernest to themselves. Annabel had been an enthusiastic proponent for including Ben in the ghost dilemma. She argued that she knew Ben quite well. Ernest, she said, was guilty of still being overly protective now that Ben was an adult. He hadn’t recognised that Ben had become a confident, articulate and balanced young man, who had the advantage of an interesting leg. Ben didn’t see his minor disability as a problem. If he thought about it at all, it would be as a feature. Ernest hadn’t felt that Ben was strong enough to cope with hearing his father’s voice in his head or mature enough to understand what it meant or how to deal with it. Annabel was sure he was wrong and William on balance agreed. William had been on the verge of sharing his meeting with Ernest and Annabel’s subsequent epiphany. What had stopped him was Ernest’s desire to save his son from psychological damage. It was misguided, but was it any more than that?
As he walked with Wooster down Long Street, he considered Ben. Was his father, right? Would he be able to cope with the voices and seeing his father’s face again? William’s instinct was yes he would cope. It would be a surprise; a shock even at first, but having the chance to speak with Ernest again would be worth the initial fear and confusion. William decided to bide his time before broaching this with Ernest, he needed to know a lot more about Ben first.
Arriving at the bookshop, he went straight to the office taking with him strong sweet Colombian for himself and a bowl of tea for Wooster. Retrieving the computer from his backpack, he pushed the power button and waited for it to start working. Nothing. Pressing the power button again, he watched for an array of lights at the front of the laptop. Nothing, no lights, no noises, nothing. Panicking he closed the lid of the laptop, opened it and pressed the power button again; hoping that these random actions would encourage the computer into life. Nothing.
Picking up his iPhone, he selected the number for Ben he had input the previous evening and dialled him. Ben answered in a deep authoritative voice,
“Ben Sanderson”
“I gather you like your new phone.” William said, continuing he asked,
“Can I separate you from the instruction
book for as moment and ask your advice?”
Ben began,
“Annabel is a very complicated woman; you need to approach her with caution and sensitivity...”
Interrupting; William continued, ignoring Ben’s gentle teasing.
“Computer, my computer won’t do anything. I’ve pressed every button twice, closed the lid, opened the lid, nothing.”
Ben replied,
“I’ll come to the shop and have a look. Twenty minutes ok?”
“Thank you.”
Muttering to himself he said
“Not problems, opportunities.” William and Wooster walked across the road to the bank to deposit the cheque Ernest had left him and to collect the source document’s from the safe deposit box. Completing both of these tasks, he walked the short distance to the front of the mediaeval abbey then stood and stared.
How had the mason’s known that if the proportions were correct then the Abbey would be beautiful? How could they build with their archaic tools a complex structure and achieve such startling elegance? The Abbey’s vaulted ceiling was a case in point. Depositing Wooster outside, he walked through the Norman porch into the Abbey, William walked to the centre of the Nave and looked up at the ceiling. The fan vaulting perfectly made, it had remained almost untouched for five hundred years. The design of the intricate carving was thought to have been that of William Smyth who was the master mason of the main Abbey and the Lady Chapel at Wells where fragments of a similar design were found.
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.
Chapter 21
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 ro
om. 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.
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 15
