Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) (9 page)

“Didn’t it become a dress shop? Or was that on the other side of the road next to the pub?”

***

Juanita looked at Ernest with a mixture of surprise and respect.

“Your son? How can you not know your own son? It’s not possible.”

              Ernest smiled. How do you explain to a girl from medieval, Catholic Spain, that people have affairs, make love and have babies, even if they’re not married? What do you say to explain the circumstances that stopped you seeing your son for all of his life? How can anyone describe the sorrow at not only missing watching your child grow and develop but dying before you could explain?

“It’s a long story. One day when we have the time, I’ll bore you with it. So, to business. In theory, we’ve filled the connection requirement, as William is my son. What happens next?”

Juanita paused before answering, thinking how to phrase what she was going to describe next.

“Next, we need to contact William. You have to begin resolving the problems that you left behind. William is your conduit to mortality, your facilitator. What happens next is that we need to contact William and in contacting him walk a very fine line so that we don’t scare him half to death. However, we do have to get across to him that he is obliged to help you.”

Looking sceptical, Ernest struggled to contain his exasperation.

“Obliged to help me? What do you mean, ‘obliged to help you?’ I’m not really in a position to obligate him to do anything. If he doesn’t understand whatever it is that I am trying to explain or he does understand, but he isn’t interested, what exactly can I do from here? If this is the best you can think of; we’ve got a problem.”

              Juanita frowned. She had known that this moment would arrive, it always did. After hundreds of years of doing this job, she should know better. How many times had she spent months getting a case back on track?

              Juanita looked at Ernest and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way, while wiping her hands on her tunic.

“When I say, ‘has to help,’ that is exactly what I mean. Now you have nominated them as your earthly representative they are committed until our tasks are completed and you move on. To be blunt, they do not have a choice. If unfinished business remained unfinished the mortal world as we call earth, would be a mess. God isn’t all seeing. She can’t possibly know what every single person is doing every second of every day. The woman is busy, keeping track of every crime, misdemeanour and act of unkindness involving nearly seven billion people give or take a couple of hundred million, would not be possible. On top of monitoring such a massive number of people, we have approximately fifty-six million deaths a year to allocate, process and send either up, down or in here. With this level of activity, keeping track of what was happening on earth was an administrative nightmare and was getting worse all of the time. So, it was decided that the deceased would have their souls examined upon arrival, as this was a more manageable number, and outstanding issues could be identified and dealt with from limbo. To ensure that this process wasn’t fudged in any way, guides were given the power to compel assistance from your nominated helpers. By compel I mean exactly that. I have the power to make William do as we need him to do. If he cooperates after he recovers from his initial shock, most people do, then great. If not then I will persuade him to cooperate. I have never yet failed. If we need to force him to help you, his father, then he is not the man you imagined and would be of little use to us. Let us hope your faith in him isn’t misplaced”

              Juanita had ensured her voice was level, calm and quiet when she had spoken the last sentence. This had given her words added emphasis.

              Now she had finished and silence had descended on the room Ernest had a moment to think about the implications of what she had said. With a depth of clarity he hadn’t experienced since before Jess’ death, Ernest realised that William had no choice, that at this moment, he couldn’t protect him and if he could have chosen again knowing what he knew now, he would still have chosen William.

              William left the bishops house and turned left onto West Walk, to take his habitual constitutional. Every time he came to see Freddie here in Salisbury he realised he followed the same route always ending at the same place; the cathedral. The route he followed allowed him to enjoy some of the finest architecture in southwest England and was long enough to stretch his legs, while short enough not to be too exacting. That had always been his rationale for repeating the walk so many times. Now, when he needed more, rather than less exercise, he would have to complete two circuits before he allowed himself the pleasure of listening to choral evensong before dinner.

William ran over the contents of the letter in his head. Some of the events Ernest had described in detail, William could recollect. His life had always been with his mother. Irrespective of her faults, even a generous spirit would admit there had been many, she had given him an honest and loving upbringing. They had never wanted for anything, a fact he hadn’t considered until he was at college and old enough to understand that money didn’t grow on trees. He assumed that her job was well paid and that his father’s money covered their living expenses.

              When his mother had been on her deathbed he remembered her saying that all she had left him were some photographs and books, although he didn’t need to worry as his father would make sure he was well provided for and they had set up a small trust fund to see him through university. He had always presumed that she was describing the man he had been led to believe was his father, his dad, not a stranger.

              William walked on. William’s sixth sense had kept him out of trouble many times. He became aware from his early teenage years that he had the ability to notice people and events that either weren’t yet there or hadn’t yet happened. This accomplishment also made him aware of his surroundings and the people in those surroundings.

              As he started on his second circuit, he felt the presence of another person following him. He stooped to tie the shoelace on his brogues and looked back in the direction he had just come. As he glanced over his shoulder, he caught sight of an elegant, well-dressed woman coming to an abrupt halt fifty yards behind him.

‘I wonder why’ he thought as he stood up and strode up West Walks towards the cathedral.

‘I wonder why she wants to follow me.’ Entering the cathedral through the West Front, William walked down the centre of the nave and then turned hard right into the South transept.

              Pausing to catch his breath, he peered around the corner down the South aisle. As he had expected the same woman, who he had seen outside on West Walks, came through the West Front at an injudicious speed, slid to an undignified halt and scanned the interior of the cathedral. Not seeing William straight away, she started to advance down the North aisle studying people as she approached them.  William moved across from the South transept to the nave putting him straight in front of her. He wanted to find out what she wanted. Why an attractive woman was stalking him around Salisbury.

              She saw him as he stood in the centre of the church looking down the North aisle at her. His outward appearance was of calm and relaxed confidence. Wiping his sweating palms on the back of his trousers he walked towards her calling out to her as he approached within talking distance.

“Can I help you? I’m assuming, as you’ve been following me for the last twenty minutes, you wanted to talk to me.”

“Mr Bacchus,” was said as a statement rather than a question.

“Mr Bacchus, you have something that I want.“

              William looked around him, checking who was nearby should he need assistance. The directness of her approach and her unblinking manner reminded him of a psychotic schizophrenic he had attempted to counsel.

“Have we met before?” William asked keeping the question simple and non-threatening.

“The package you were given at the offices of Gerald Thrasher. I want it. Now.”

Her voice was devoid of emotion. Matter of fact. Continuing, she said,

“Please don’t embarrass us both by denying you received anything. The material he has passed to you was not his to give.”

William smiled as relief washed over him. A straightforward problem, a misapprehension, all he needed to do was explain.

“I think that there has been some sort of misunderstanding. My name is Bacchus and I did collect a small bequest from Mr Thrasher’s offices today. However, I am a little confused as to your connection to my bequest. Are you saying that the bookshop lease is yours and shouldn’t have been gifted to me?”

              Her expression, a smile that chilled your bones, combined with dead empty eyes, left William feeling he was in the presence of evil. She walked across the nave to where he stood. Cocking her head to one side, her short bobbed chestnut hair moved with her head like a close fitting hat. She slowly clapped her hands in an exaggerated mocking manner.

“Very good Mr Bacchus. Most convincing. Please cut the little boy lost routine. If you know anything about Mr Sanderson, then you will know what he has been doing to my family. As the main benefactor to his considerable estate, you will, therefore, be evaluating continuing his persecution of us. That, Mr Bacchus, would be a dangerous idea.”

Interrupting, William tried to explain that he had no idea what she was talking about.

“That is the problem Miss...?”

“Felicity, just Felicity”

“Felicity. That is my problem, our problem. I know very little about Mr Sanderson. I have never met him.”

“Mr Bacchus, this has become boring. Let me leave you with a name, a name that is very significant to you. A name, that if you want to achieve geriatric senility, you will ignore.  Odd, you might imagine, very odd that I am giving you a name that I want you to forget. True. However, I think this name demonstrates how well informed I am. Jonas Sanderson. Oh, and as a bonus, I know who Ben is. I’m sure you’ll enjoy meeting Ben.”

              As William attempted to respond, she interrupted, talking over him. Holding her right hand, palm open at shoulder level to indicate that he should be quiet she continued,

“Please, enough now. I’m sure he is as much a mystery to you as Ernest is. When we talk again Mr Bacchus, and we will, I am optimistic that our discussion will be far more open, honest and productive than this time. Enjoy your shop William, for the moment at least.”

              William watched open mouthed as she turned and sauntered back up the North aisle to the West front. A distinctive ringtone sounded, Mission Impossible, she answered her phone speaking in an irritated voice.

“Gerald? Yes, I’ve just finished with him. You did give him the package didn’t you? Have you completed your puzzle? No, well don’t let me detain you.” Ending the call, she turned her head to look at William, smiled, and then left the cathedral.

              Sitting down on a nearby pew, William considered the conversation he had with Felicity moments before. It appeared she knew far more about Ernest Sanderson than he did. From what she had said, it was obvious that what she knew she didn’t like. Did Ernest Sanderson mention Felicity? Was she the association who would attempt to impede him? Impede him with what?

              William sat at the dining table having enjoyed an excellent meal, exquisite wines and erudite, entertaining conversation. These gatherings where an excellent way to preferment, promotion and patronage. If you wanted a career in the church, and not just a pulpit to keep warm until death or infirmity, then impressing the bishop was de rigueur. 

              William and Freddie had connected from the moment they had met at his interview for an assistant curate role at Cambourne. After a year of training under Monty Taylor, William was ordained by Freddie as a priest and continued with Monty as his training incumbent for the next two and a half years. Freddie, and as it transpired Georgia, had kept a close eye on his progress, which had involved regular dinners, both formal and family only affairs where they had continued grooming him for greater things. After Cambourne; Freddie brought William as an assistant curate to Salisbury for three years and then he was sent for a spell in Bristol, working in homeless and drug dependency units. At this point, William had been brought in for a family dinner and a detailed career chat with Freddie. It was decided that he would have a brief spell back in Salisbury as Freddie’s personal assistant/investigator. His role was to be flexible, working on whatever took his fancy or was required by Freddie.

             
His cases, as he liked to call them, had started small and straightforward. He remembered the anxiety he had experienced on the morning of his first investigation.

“Go to Portland” Freddie said.

“A nice day out by the seaside” Freddie continued.

“While you’re there, can you find out why he isn’t ordering his supplies from the diocese? Easy, home by for high tea with Georgia and I. Don’t be late.”

              William allowed himself a rueful smile. He had been in Portland three weeks. The priest had thought he was ordering everything he needed to from the diocese. His assistant had been ordering over the Internet and reinvesting the difference in the children's services the church organised. Freddie, always keen to encourage innovation had promoted the assistant to reviewing purchasing for the whole diocese giving her a percentage of the saving as a bonus. The priest had fared less well and now was enjoying a spell as chaplain to the crofters in the Hebrides.