Banker's Draft

by Clive Mullis

  ‘Jack,’ she breathed huskily. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

  ‘How could I not, Isabella,’ replied Cornwallis, giving a silent whoop of delight. She moved over a little to allow him room and patted the place she’d just vacated. ‘I took the liberty of instructing the landlord to bring us something to eat and drink,’ he added as he sat down. ‘That should come quite soon, and then he’s promised to leave us well alone. I assume you need to be undisturbed to achieve what you need to achieve?’

  ‘Oh yes, Jack, I’m sure that just you and I can manage.’ She reached out with her hand and traced a finger down his arm. ‘Why don’t you take your jacket off? I think it’s going to get very hot in here soon.’

  Cornwallis didn’t need a second invitation. He cast off his jacket, kicked off his boots and joined Isabella on the bed. She turned over and lay flat on her back, with a lazy arm stretched out above her head, one knee bent showing a shapely leg right up to the thigh. He now lay propped on his elbow and looked down on her. Her hair fanned out behind her head and she smiled as she looked up at him. He took a deep breath and placed his hand gently on her waist, and then leant forward, bringing his head close to hers.

  She stopped him with a finger placed on his lips just as they were about to make contact with hers. ‘I have a job to do first, Jack, we must wait for the ghost; but once he’s gone, we’ll have the rest of the night to ourselves.’

  Cornwallis sighed, mentally hammering it back down; he just hoped that the bloody ghost wouldn’t be too long in appearing, then they could get down to the real business of the evening.

  ‘Mee, ow.’

  Miss Thrape sat up, all her senses quivering. ‘What was that? They told me a man haunted in here.’

  Cornwallis had heard it too. ‘Sounds like a cat to me, ignore it, it must be outside.’

  Miss Thrape settled herself back down to wait; she snuggled up to Cornwallis who had put a pillow behind his head and now lay with her head on his chest. She breathed deeply and relaxed as his hand gently stroked her shoulder. She thought for a moment, and then suddenly sat back up. ‘Jack, we’re on the third floor.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So how can a cat be outside?’

  Cornwallis had a feeling of dismay, and as if to compound his misery he heard a reply to Isabella’s question.

  ‘Yeah, how can’s I be outside, I ain’t on a bungy, youse knows.’

  Cornwallis jumped off the bed and scrambled on the floor; he thrust his arm under the bed and grabbed hold of a big ball of fur. He dragged it out and stared into its eyes. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Fluffy?’

  The cat grinned. ‘Looking fer work, what are youse doing?’

  Cornwallis grimaced. ‘Never mind me, how did you get in?’

  Fluffy twisted in his grip and broke free. He shook himself, then sat down and licked his paw. ‘Followed youse in, didn’t I. Saw’s youse in the street coming in ‘ere and I fought’s there has to be mice in a pub, so I might’s get a little employment. When youse opens this ‘ere door, I sort o’ skittles by.’

  ‘Ah bless,’ purred Isabella. ‘Isn’t he sweet?’

  ‘No, Isabella, this cat is anything but sweet. You can get out now, Fluffy; there is no work for you here.’

  He went to move over to the door, just as the cat jumped onto the bed, padded up between Isabella’s legs, and then curled up between her thighs. Fluffy regarded Cornwallis with a look of utter contentment as he nestled down, his head burrowing deep into the area that Cornwallis planned to explore.

  ‘Out,’ ordered Cornwallis.

  ‘Oh no, Jack, let him stay, he’s doing no harm,’ defended Isabella, stroking its head.

  ‘No harm?’ exclaimed Cornwallis aghast. ‘How the hell are we going to…? Well, you know, with the cat here?’

  She smiled as Fluffy rolled over onto his back and stretched out. ‘It’s only a cat, I’m sure he won’t take any notice.’

  ‘Isabella, this cat will hold up a bloody score card.’

  Fluffy seemed to chuckle. ‘Can’t do that, no thumbs, see.’

  ‘Besides,’ continued Isabella, taking no notice. ‘Talking cats are so rare nowadays; I might ask him to be my companion. They’re very sensitive to the spiritual, you know. Would you like to be my companion?’ she asked, directing her question to the cat.

  Cornwallis’ shoulders slumped and he held out his hands as if pleading, he opened his mouth to say that the whole evening will be ruined when he heard a knock on the door, closely followed by a girl’s voice announcing that room service had arrived. He shook his head in resignation and then stepped over to the door; at least he would now be able to drink himself into oblivion.

  As he opened the door, a figure barged past him, and with the light being so poor, the figure just about registered in his subconscious as being a bit big for a girl. Another large figure entered, and he suddenly had a feeling of dread; they had cornered him with no means of escape, perhaps this would be the successful attempt on his life. He only hoped they would leave Isabella alone, she didn’t deserve to be part of all this.

  ‘Evening, Jack,’ said the first figure.

  ‘Wha… wha…?’ stammered Cornwallis.

  ‘Evening, Jack,’ said the second.

  ‘Frankie, Jethro,’ replied Cornwallis. ‘What the…?

  Frankie grinned. ‘Don’t forget Rose, she’s got the grub. Come on, Rose, don’t worry, there’s nothing untoward going on.’

  Rose now entered carrying a big tray laden with food, while Frankie and Jethro had hold of the wine and the beer. ‘Evening, Jack. I hope we’re not disturbing you?’

  Cornwallis sighed. ‘No, you’re not disturbing us. Nothing at all happening here; and neither is anything likely to happen, not now,’ he added, almost silently to himself.

  ‘Evening, Miss Thrape,’ said Frankie and Jethro together.

  Rose just looked at her and smiled, and immediately an understanding passed between them.

  ‘Good evening,’ replied Isabella politely. ‘So kind of you to bring the food with you.’

  ‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t Fluffy,’ said Frankie innocently. ‘Look you two, it’s the cat.’

  Both the cat and Isabella jumped off the bed. She then quickly buttoned up her blouse and skirt, once again looking the prim and proper medium. She brushed herself down and watched as Frankie went over to the window and peeked behind the curtain, retrieving the two chairs that she had hidden earlier. Rose put the tray down and started fussing the cat.

  ‘All right, all right. What’s this all about?’ asked Cornwallis, now exasperated.

  Frankie plonked a chair down and sat. ‘All about, Jack? You told us you were ghost hunting. When I told Jethro here, he said he’d never seen a ghost hunt, so we got it into our heads to pop down here to have a look. You don’t mind, do you? I mean, it’s not as if you were getting up to anything you shouldn’t have, is it?’

  Cornwallis’ mouth moved, but to start with, nothing came out, but then he rallied a little, and in a quiet but slightly menacing voice said. ‘I think we’ll have a chat about all this another time, Frankie.’

  MacGillicudy offered the other chair to Rose, but she declined, preferring to sit on the end of the bed. The cat jumped up next to her, and eventually Isabella sat down next to her with the cat in-between. Fluffy was in his element as two hands were stroking him at once.

  Frankie and MacGillicudy began to open the bottles and pass the drinks around, both taking mouthfuls of the food at the same time. Cornwallis pulled his boots back on and stood up, morosely, with his hands in his pockets; until MacGillicudy thrust a beer bottle at him and he had no choice but to take it.

  Within a few short minutes, Rose and Isabella had their heads together and were talking quietly so that the others couldn’t hear. Frankie talked loudly about what he hoped to see to MacGillicudy, while Cornwallis just sat at the top of the bed dejectedly and drank his beer. Eventually his sense of disappointment dissipated; he decided
that it wouldn’t do to carry on being peeved at them all, so he joined in with the conversation with Frankie and Jethro and learnt that Dewdrop had been re-christened Lord Dick, and that there were loads of little cartoons doing the rounds of the Yard.

  As the beer began to run out, Frankie had to pop out to get some more, he came back up shortly with a handful, saying that the landlord will send some more up in a bit; so the little private twosome that Cornwallis had expected, turned into a jolly little private party.

  Rose and Isabella were getting on famously, as their frequent laughter indicated, while Fluffy lay there, curled up in a ball. MacGillicudy entertained them with his impression of ex Senior Sergeant Grinde as he heard he was being reduced in rank, which left Frankie in hysterics, and even Cornwallis couldn’t help but laugh along too, when suddenly the hackles on Fluffy’s coat rose. The cat half stirred but then quickly went back to sleep, then there came a knock.

  Frankie half turned mid-guffaw and waved a hand at the chest. ‘Shove it all there will you mate, and shut the door, it’s a bit nippy, all of a sudden.’

  ‘Er… sorry?’

  ‘The beer, the wine. I told you to send some more up.’

  ‘No,’ said the man thoughtfully. ‘No, I don’t believe you did.’

  Frankie sighed noisily. ‘Yes I did… ‘ang on, who are you? You’re not the landlord.’

  The man shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid I’m not.’

  ‘Then who…? Ah!’

  The man smiled bashfully before reaching into his pocket to pull out a piece of paper. He looked at it then put it away again. ‘Whhhhooooooooooh,’ he said, raising his arms half-heartedly.

  Cornwallis and MacGillicudy turned to look and lapsed into silence. Rose and Isabella did likewise, until Isabella suddenly remembered why she was there.

  ‘Oh, so you’re the ghost?’ she asked hesitantly.

  The ghost nodded. ‘Whhhooooh,’ he said again. He appeared to be a man in his sixties with grey wavy hair, wearing light-tan coloured trousers with a matching waistcoat and a darker jacket, a dainty white cravat at his throat.

  ‘Very scary,’ observed Frankie wryly. ‘Aren’t you meant to sort of pounce at the same time?’

  ‘Er, I don’t think so. I’ll just check,’ and he pulled the piece of paper out again. He read it for a few moments and then shook his head. ‘Doesn’t say anything about pouncing here.’

  ‘What have you got there?’ asked Frankie, holding out his hand. ‘Let’s have a look.’

  The ghost shrugged his shoulders and offered over the paper. Frankie reached out for it, but found that his hand just passed straight through.

  ‘Ooooh,’ said the ghost, ‘that tickled.’

  Frankie tried again and suffered the same effect. ‘This ain’t gonna work; tip it around so I can read it.’

  The ghost unfolded the paper and held it out while Frankie peered at it; he had to concentrate hard to see the vague writing, but at last managed to read the words.

  ‘These are instructions on how to haunt,’ said Frankie, feeling innately pleased with himself. ‘The heading says G.A.P.S, what’s that?’

  ‘It’s the Ghosts, Apparitions and Poltergeist Society. They’re taking care of me.’

  Frankie turned to Isabella. ‘Have you heard of this crowd?’

  Isabella shook her head. ‘No, I haven’t. Perhaps the ghost will tell us all about it.’ She stepped towards the ghost. ‘Erm, excuse me, but what’s your name?’

  The ghost smiled. ‘I’m Greyson De Garcy, at your service ma’am.’ He held out his hand as if to shake, but then withdrew it awkwardly when he remembered a ghost couldn’t.

  Isabella smiled warmly. ‘Now, Greyson. May I call you that?’

  Greyson nodded.

  ‘Good, now who are these, er, people?’

  ‘Ah well, now I can tell you that. They are what you might call the ghosts’ union. They give us legal protection and the power of a body united. That’s their motto, that is: The power of the body united. Good, eh?’

  ‘Very nice, I’m sure. Now, Greyson, how did you meet these people?’

  Cornwallis and the rest looked on with interest as Isabella started to get into her stride. They were now in her territory, and somewhat lost in how to deal with all this. Fluffy sat up, then jumped off the bed and sauntered over to Greyson, he sniffed and walked through him, turned, and walked back. He shook himself, and then jumped back up on the bed. ‘Call that a ghost,’ he huffed, dismissively. ‘Seen scarier kittens.’

  ‘Greyson turned to the cat apologetically. ‘Look, it’s not my fault, I’m new to all this. It’s a fine art, this haunting; I’ve got to learn the ropes. Come back in a hundred years or so and I should have got the hang of it by then.’

  Isabella cast Fluffy a glance and then returned her attention to Greyson. ‘These G.A.P.S people, you were just about to tell me all about them.’

  Greyson looked a little downcast at the cat’s comment and seemed to be about to burst into tears. ‘Yes, well. S’not my fault, I’m doing my best.’

  ‘I’m sure you are, Greyson. Now, could you tell me please?’

  The ghost sniffed and then stood up straight. ‘All right,’ he said, stiffening what used to be his backbone. ‘When I passed over a few weeks ago, in this very room, I’ll have you know; bit unfortunate that, as I hadn’t quite planned to pop my clogs just yet. Had a lovely meal and came up to rest for an hour or two, when suddenly, whumph: I got poleaxed. The old ticker, don’t you know, couldn’t take the strain anymore, I suppose. Always planned to shuffle off this mortal coil in bed with a lovely young thing, in flagrante delicto, alas though, it never came to pass. Anyway, there’s me looking down on me and I feel a tap on my shoulder. There’s a fella standing there urging me to come with him, a guide, you know, so I start to follow him. Up or down? I ask, and he grins. Ho, ho, I says to myself, I’m going down. So I decide to come back and stay here.’

  ‘That’s not right,’ said Isabella. ‘If fact there is no heaven or hell, or up or down; just across. I’m told you get a choice; you could even come back as a person again. If you don’t, then it’s a bit like being on holiday, you can do what you want.’

  ‘Oh. Really?’ he sounded disappointed.

  Isabella nodded. ‘So what happened when you came back here?’

  ‘Erm, another ghost met me. He said he was the G.A.P.S representative, gave me a book of rules and welcomed me to the brother and sisterhood of the departed. Told me we were a minority and we should all stick together, after all, we have rights too, you know. We have meetings and all sorts of things. It’s rather fun actually.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Greyson. The problem though, is that Mr Jacobs, the landlord here, can’t let this room out to guests. So I’m afraid that you’ll have to go.’

  Greyson shook his head. ‘No, that’s not exactly right.’ He pulled a thick book out of his other pocket and began to read. ‘It says here, “a spirit has the right of occupancy, that when there is a conflict between the departed and the pre-departed then mediation should be sought from the appropriate authorities.” We have branch negotiators you know, but nobody wants to listen. At some point, we may have to all go out on strike and then where will you be, eh? Income from us ghosts will dry up, people will lose money; you’ll want to listen then, won’t you.’

  Isabella sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Greyson, but you leave me no choice.’ She turned back to the others. ‘I’m afraid that I’m going to have to have some help here, he’s been indoctrinated and he’s going to be stubborn. I will call down one of the supervisors.’

  Cornwallis raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, and how are you going to do that?’

  ‘Ectoplasm, I’m afraid. It won’t look very nice so I would prefer it if you would look away.’

  ‘Ecto what?’ interjected Frankie.

  ‘Plasm,’ explained Isabella. ‘Life force. A spirit needs a life force to manifest, and I supply that. Green gunge, as it’s commonly known. It sort of comes out o
f my body’s orifices, so it’s not pleasant to look at. Rose can look, as she might be able to help.’

  Rose nodded. ‘Of course I will, just tell me what to do.’

  Isabella smiled. ‘If it seems to be getting out of control then just give me a slap. It should be a nice steady stream which coalesces into the shape of a figure. If it seems to be turning into anything else, then give me a slap, it will jolt me out of the trance. It will only be a slight trance and I will be able to answer questions.’

  Rose nodded again.

  ‘Good, now the rest of you can turn your backs please, this won’t take long.’

  Cornwallis, Frankie, and Jethro reluctantly huddled into a group and turned away from Isabella as she began to go into her trance state to summon the supervisor.

  Rose looked on fascinated as tiny little tendrils of vivid green luminescence began to emerge from Isabella’s mouth, eyes, nose and ears. She looked down, and even saw two tendrils seep out from the bottom of her skirt.

  ‘Oh my,’ exclaimed Rose. ‘It’s coming out from under your skirt.’

  Isabella slightly turned her head. ‘It will, Rose. It’s lucky that I’m not wearing any underwear, otherwise the pressure can really build up.’

  Cornwallis opened his mouth and rolled his eyes. No underwear! She just said she wasn’t wearing underwear! He felt like crying.

  ‘Yuk,’ said Fluffy, watching the ectoplasm get thicker.

  Rose looked on as the green gunge began to morph into a man; it sort of swirled around getting faster and faster until it began to solidify and change colour. Her eyes widened as he began to take more of a shape and she could see that he was going to turn out rather handsome and well dressed. Then she heard a clicking sound and the ectoplasm began to dry up. Suddenly a man stood there, solid, whole, and she wanted to reach out and touch him.

  ‘You can turn back now,’ said Isabella to the others. ‘It’s all done.’