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Authors: Simon Speight
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that I have never met or talked to our prospective helper and have no idea how they will react. As well as overcoming the normal obstacles, that I am sure you will have any number of solutions for ; we have to persuade them to help a total stranger.”
Juanita was astonished. Had he not listened to one word she had said?
“The only person you can choose is a stranger? Family is what you need. Synergy, a sympathetic ear, a person who is interested in helping you. At a push a good friend, a distant relative, not Juan Marquis from the street corner. I thought we had covered this, you need to have a connection with them, and you will need to influence them. How do you plan to influence a person you have never spoken to, a person who has no idea you exist?”
A smile played on his lips as he looked up at her and said,
“He’ll know I exist soon enough. He’s the main beneficiary to my estate.”
“Your estate? Why?” confused she waited for his answer.
“He’s my son.”
***
Gerald Thrasher stared at the broken decanter in front of his office door and the whiskey that ran in rivulets down the door and onto the carpet. He then looked down at the telephone on his desk and contemplated the telephone call he should be making.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his thinning hair, fighting to regain his composure. As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal and the spasms of his face subsided, he considered whether he should assist William Bacchus or obstruct him. Squirming in embarrassment as he recalled the scene in his office a few minutes before, he concluded that Mr Bacchus deserved as long as he could give him without putting his own position in jeopardy.
Outwardly, Thrasher was still Felicity’s whipping boy and toady. He absorbed her abuse and displayed cringing sycophancy in her presence; it was expected. Her bark could still be terrifying but her bite had lost a lot of its edge. He surreptitiously pushed the boundaries, judging the moment to push and when overt submission was required. Today he felt confident he could be a little bolder than was normal.
Satisfied that he had made the correct decision, he checked his watch, smiled and picked up the telephone to dial. The mobile was answered after precisely three rings as he knew it would be. The only sound he heard was traffic noise coming through the receiver.
“Felicity?” The silence continued.
“He’s left and is on route to the station”
“When?” The quietness of her voice when she asked the question emphasised the venom with which the word was spoken. The aura of violence she exuded was evident even down a telephone line.
Lying, he answered,
“Five minutes ago. Waterloo to Salisbury. I would guess he is going to see his Bishop. They are good friends and after everything he has learnt today he is going to need someone to discuss it all with.”
“Is his departure point also a guess?”
“I saw his ticket when he removed it from his coat pocket to find a handkerchief.”
“What was in the package?”
“I’ve no idea. He left with it intact. I offered him my services and help if he required them. He chose not to take me up on my offer. He left after he had shredded a letter he had received as part of the bequest. I wasn’t happy. Shredding what was a legal ...”
“Shut up.” her voice combined glacial frostiness and fury. She spat the words down the telephone line at a nervous Thrasher; his tic began a slow twitch.
“He shredded a letter from Ernest Sanderson, a letter you had not seen, in your office shredder and you let him?” Felicity shrieked the final three words at Gerald Thrasher causing him to hold the phone away from his ear. Assuming that the question had been rhetorical Thrasher remained silent listening to the heavy breathing at the other end of the telephone, waiting for the next outpouring of rage. He had known
Juanita was astonished. Had he not listened to one word she had said?
“The only person you can choose is a stranger? Family is what you need. Synergy, a sympathetic ear, a person who is interested in helping you. At a push a good friend, a distant relative, not Juan Marquis from the street corner. I thought we had covered this, you need to have a connection with them, and you will need to influence them. How do you plan to influence a person you have never spoken to, a person who has no idea you exist?”
A smile played on his lips as he looked up at her and said,
“He’ll know I exist soon enough. He’s the main beneficiary to my estate.”
“Your estate? Why?” confused she waited for his answer.
“He’s my son.”
***
Gerald Thrasher stared at the broken decanter in front of his office door and the whiskey that ran in rivulets down the door and onto the carpet. He then looked down at the telephone on his desk and contemplated the telephone call he should be making.
Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his thinning hair, fighting to regain his composure. As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal and the spasms of his face subsided, he considered whether he should assist William Bacchus or obstruct him. Squirming in embarrassment as he recalled the scene in his office a few minutes before, he concluded that Mr Bacchus deserved as long as he could give him without putting his own position in jeopardy.
Outwardly, Thrasher was still Felicity’s whipping boy and toady. He absorbed her abuse and displayed cringing sycophancy in her presence; it was expected. Her bark could still be terrifying but her bite had lost a lot of its edge. He surreptitiously pushed the boundaries, judging the moment to push and when overt submission was required. Today he felt confident he could be a little bolder than was normal.
Satisfied that he had made the correct decision, he checked his watch, smiled and picked up the telephone to dial. The mobile was answered after precisely three rings as he knew it would be. The only sound he heard was traffic noise coming through the receiver.
“Felicity?” The silence continued.
“He’s left and is on route to the station”
“When?” The quietness of her voice when she asked the question emphasised the venom with which the word was spoken. The aura of violence she exuded was evident even down a telephone line.
Lying, he answered,
“Five minutes ago. Waterloo to Salisbury. I would guess he is going to see his Bishop. They are good friends and after everything he has learnt today he is going to need someone to discuss it all with.”
“Is his departure point also a guess?”
“I saw his ticket when he removed it from his coat pocket to find a handkerchief.”
“What was in the package?”
“I’ve no idea. He left with it intact. I offered him my services and help if he required them. He chose not to take me up on my offer. He left after he had shredded a letter he had received as part of the bequest. I wasn’t happy. Shredding what was a legal ...”
“Shut up.” her voice combined glacial frostiness and fury. She spat the words down the telephone line at a nervous Thrasher; his tic began a slow twitch.
“He shredded a letter from Ernest Sanderson, a letter you had not seen, in your office shredder and you let him?” Felicity shrieked the final three words at Gerald Thrasher causing him to hold the phone away from his ear. Assuming that the question had been rhetorical Thrasher remained silent listening to the heavy breathing at the other end of the telephone, waiting for the next outpouring of rage. He had known
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