Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (11 page)

“William?” Without waiting for a reply, she thrust out her hand to him and continued without pausing for breath.

“Annabel. Annabel Anderson.” Having shaken William’s hand to the point of numbness, she opened the boot threw in his holdall and indicating the front seat said,

“Let’s go. Can you both get in the front?”

              On the brief journey to William’s house on The Avenue
,
Annabel gave William a potted history of the Abbey and a critique of a selection of the town’s restaurants.

              The car slid to a halt outside a nondescript house on a leafy road. Immediately the car had stopped Annabel turned to him and said,

“Sorry to dump you and run but I’m late for a tutorial at the boy’s school. I’ve been late every week this term, it’s becoming a bit of a joke. Here are the keys, settle in and I’ll meet you outside the Abbey at seven this evening for a bite to eat and a couple of drinks. Sorry, I’m doing it again. Is that okay?”

“Of course.” William said, as he climbed out of the car and retrieved his bag.

“See you at seven.”

              William turned around and surveyed the house. It was a red brick semi-detached house with a drive and a small front garden dominated by an ornamental cherry tree. He opened the solid wood front door, letting go of Wooster’s lead and dropped his bag at the bottom of the stairs. The house had the mildly musty smell of a property that needed airing.  However, the house was clean and tidy and William was sure that soon the musty smell would be replaced by the smell of wet Labrador. The hallway had two doors leading off it and a staircase leading upstairs. The first door on the left led into a spacious sitting room come dining room, simply furnished as befitted a church house.

“Well Wooster, it looks good so far. Shall we try the kitchen? Maybe we can scare up some tea for us?”

              The kitchen had a small pine table with two chairs as well as a cooker, sink and fridge freezer. On the table was a note from a lady called Mrs Davis explaining she was his cleaner and would come in three times a week to clean, do his washing and any ironing. If he wanted her to cook then she was happy to. The groceries on the table and in the fridge would keep him going until he had a chance to shop for himself; twenty pounds should cover it. If he had any questions she would see him tomorrow. Smiling, he walked upstairs to explore the bedrooms, bath/shower room and toilet. Tour over, he collected Wooster from the sofa and they set off to find the bookshop.

              The walk was short enough to be a suitable introduction to Sherborne, a delightful place to walk and live, while being long enough to allow time to ponder and reflect. The enigmatic ending Ernest had used in his letter intrigued William. ‘I would be obliged if you would keep an eye on Ben.’  Who or what was Ben? Felicity’s obfuscation had been equally mystifying. ‘I know who Ben is. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting Ben.’ He hoped that when he met Ben he wouldn’t be disappointment.

              He was feeling anxious and unnerved by the prospect of being responsible, solely responsible, for fulfilling the requirements of Ernest’s will. He had been manoeuvred into a position that was almost impossible to extricate himself from and then set adrift with little or no information other than what he would find at a bookshop in Sherborne. He assumed no one knew he was the new owner, which could prove troublesome. Explaining you want access to the office safe as you walk in off the street might not engender cooperation from his new employees. Slowly, slowly he thought. He needed to see how the land lay before he announced himself.

              Walking past the Eastbury Hotel on Long Street, he felt his pulse begin to quicken. The only bookshop he could remember had been on the corner of South Street and Half Moon Street, a small, dusty place that specialised in antiquarian titles and second hand rubbish. If it was still as boring and tired as he remembered, he had a job on his hands. If, however, Ernest had thrown some of his millions at it, then who knows.

              The bookshop, now called The Library, had been refitted with taste and in keeping with the building. Peering through one of the large windows that were each side of the front door, he saw the interior was light and airy using the height of the ceilings to their full advantage. The walls were lined on three sides by solid oak shelving that was groaning under the weight of the thousands of books on them. Along the left hand wall was a long zinc-topped counter doubling as the checkout for the bookshop and the counter for a small coffee shop. The seating for the coffee shop was in the centre of the downstairs shop floor and at the far end a distinctive spiral staircase disappeared to the floor above. William looked at the doors and windows to see if he could see a sign excluding dogs. Not seeing one he walked in, saying to Wooster as they entered,

“Tea and a teacake Wooster?”

              He ordered coffee for himself and Wooster’s tea and teacake and sat down in a battered leather armchair facing the back of the room. The shop had a buzz about it, popular classics playing in the background, staffed by young attractive girls and a young man who the girls all defer to. The young man looked to be in his early twenties, twenty-four at most, with short-cropped hair and a physique that suggested he had a far greater interest in gymnasiums than William did, though the crutch and limp were at odds with his physique. Sipping his coffee, he considered whether this was the interesting challenge called Ben that Ernest had referred to in his letter.

              He tested the temperature of Wooster’s bowl of tea and set it down on the floor for him, then went back to people watching. The customers ranged in age from young children and toddlers in with their mothers, to pensioners enjoying a coffee and the daily newspapers that the shop provided. The majority of customers were a mix of teenagers and young adults in their twenties mirroring the age group of the staff and prosperous women meeting for coffee and shopping. To William it resembled an American style bookshop/coffee shop, relaxed, urbane and popular. Ernest’s sense of humour showed through in the name he had chosen for the shop. Apart from the vast array of books, he couldn’t think of a place less like a library.

              Attracting the eye of one of the waitresses, William asked if Ben was in. Gesturing to the young man, she glanced with obvious interest in his direction. Levering himself out of the armchair, he wandered across to where Ben was standing unpacking a box of books onto a display.

“Ben?” turning to face William he replied,

“Yes I’m Ben, can I help you?” He had an educated voice that was less Home Counties and more Somerset levels, soft with a slight burr.

“I’m not really sure how to begin. My name is William, not that that should mean anything to you. I received a letter from a man who was my father, part of which asked me to look you up when I came to Sherborne.”

              The blank look on Ben’s face showed that he had no idea why William’s father would want William to introduce himself to Ben. This was going to prove harder than he had imagined.

“Can I buy you a coffee while you try to explain?” said Ben.

Indicating a couple of the voluminous leather chairs, he went over to the counter and made two coffees and a bowl of tea for Wooster. Sitting down opposite William, he said,

“I saw your dog enjoying his tea earlier and thought he might enjoy another. I think it would be best if you start from the beginning of your story.”

“How long have you worked here Ben?” William asked hoping to get the conversation started with a few simple questions. Ben’s answer left him speechless.

“Since my father bought it two years ago. He asked me to manage the shops revival, to project manage its transformation to what you see today. You should have seen the place. Dad was happy to spend what needed to be spent to let it come alive again. Now he’s died I don’t know what will happen. It depends on who he has left it to I guess.”

Keeping his voice as calm as he could he asked Ben,

“I’m sorry your father has died, when did it happen?”

“A couple of months ago a heart attack the solicitor said. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘you’ve been well provided for,’ he said, ‘you’ll never have to worry again.’ Worry, I’ve never worried before, now I have no one, he says I’ll never have to worry again. Fucking idiot. Sorry. Mum died five years ago from breast cancer, now dad’s gone too. I'm by myself now.”

              He bit his lip and looked out of the shop’s window lost in his own thoughts. William sat waiting for Ben to regain control of his emotions and continue. After a few moments, he shook his head and looked down at Wooster. Picking up part of a teacake that was on the plate in front of him, he offered it to Wooster who swallowed the teacake, barely chewing it. Looking at William, he grinned and said,

“Sorry, I should have asked. He does seem quite hungry though.”

William smiled,

“He’s a Labrador; he seems quite hungry every minute of every day, no matter what you feed him. Ben, why wouldn’t your father leave this shop to you?”

“I’m good with a lot of things. Computer’s, girls, books, but I’m crap with responsibility, apparently. Dad wanted a clone for a son. Someone to mould into the archetypal city businessman.” Ben gestured at himself and continued.

“He got a computer geek, with a love of books and girls. He was still coming to terms with his disappointment. The Library was his way of letting me indulge my love of books and be responsible for a project from start to finish.”

“Ben, was your father Ernest Sanderson?”

“Yes, it was, did you know him?”

“No, I didn’t get a chance to meet your father, though I would have liked to. He sent me a letter asking me to look after this shop with you and to help you if you needed any help. Would that be OK?”

Looking confused, Ben sat staring at the bookshelves in front of him for a minute, concentrating very hard, blocking everything out. One of the waitresses asked him a question but he didn’t respond.

“Why would he give you the shop?” Ben asked, anger flaring.

William spoke without pausing, so that he could say as much as possible, to try and explain.

“He was my father too but I only found out that he was yesterday when I discovered I had inherited the shop. I know that this is shocking but we’re brothers and I would like to get to know you and maybe become friends with you one day ...” The last sentence he spoke to Ben’s back as he hobbled out of the shop his crutch tapping a rhythm as he made his way up South Street towards Cheap Street and the top of the town. William stared out of the window wondering what he should do now.

“Felicity? Uncle Freddie. Apologies for cutting you off last night, but I had an old friend round for a bite and it all got a bit involved. Anyway, what can I do for my favourite niece?”

“I’m just around the corner from you; outside the Cathedral, could I pop in for a chat?”

“Delighted, I’ll get the kettle on. See you in a few minutes.”

              Felicity slid her mobile phone closed and put it into her jacket pocket. How much should she tell him? Turning into West Walks, Felicity hesitated before she approached the front door of Freddie’s house, The South Canonry. She needed Freddie to understand the danger this errant priest presented the family firm, including Freddie. The income he received from his share options and his non-executive directorships allowed him a more comfortable life than he would have had on just a bishop’s salary. Fine wines, malt whiskies and Cuban cigars didn’t grow on trees. Bracing herself, she rapped the door-knocker and waited for her drab little cousin to let her in.

“Sarah how nice to see you, looking as plain as ever I see. Freddie is expecting me.”

Without a word, Sarah led Felicity to the library.

“I’m sure you can pour your own coffee, I’ll let daddy know you’re here.”

Within a few minutes, the library door opened and Freddie wandered in.

“Good morning Felicity, we haven’t seen you in Salisbury for a long time. Has London disappeared? Or, your ulterior motive is important enough to drag you out to the shires in person. How intriguing. Coffee?”

              Freddie enjoyed giving his considerable intellect a good workout and she had piqued his interest by her sudden appearance. He had proven many times that he was brighter than his brothers were and perhaps even as astute and perceptive as his father.

“Can’t a girl visit her favourite uncle on the spur of the moment? I had a little business to complete and thought I could pop in for coffee or to take you to lunch on my way back to London.”

“Felicity, you haven’t been extemporaneous since you left primary school”

“Extemporaneous? I haven’t had the benefit of your classical education”

“Impromptu, ad lib, off the cuff, unprepared, unrehearsed. Any of those would suffice. Not as descriptive perhaps, but adequate. Much as I enjoy mental gymnastics, I have only a limited amount of time that I can give you before my next meeting. So?”

Felicity smiled and nodded her head once in acknowledgement of his perceptiveness.

“You know William Bacchus don’t you Uncle Freddie? Works in a church that comes under your control.”

“We had dinner yesterday evening. An excellent vicar and a good friend, I expect him to go far. Why?”