Perfect Day

by Kris Lillyman

  However, the enormity of that fact could have been potentially mind-blowing had it not been for Vas who relieved him of the responsibility of having to deal with it.

  This had allowed Sam to concentrate his thoughts on other matters he considered to be of much more importance; namely, his speedy recovery and his quest for vengeance. Nevertheless, he had to concede that his new found wealth would significantly help him with both those things.

  Vas had been equally helpful in dealing with The Directors of Beresford Industries; his shrewd business advice and sharp legal mind proving invaluable to Sam as he negotiated the twin threat of fickle shareholders and mutinous board members.

  Indeed, he was viewed by The Board as little more than a boy; a pretender to the throne who had been handed the role as Company Head simply by default due to the premature demise of his father and, as such, the knives were out for him.

  Sam had to get them on side quickly, show responsible leadership and make decisions that were not only good for The Company but also worthy of his father’s trust.

  Which was where, he was hoping, Marcus Ellison would help him.

  Marcus lived in a large brownstone on the Upper West Side, which he much preferred to his sprawling home in Westchester since his wife’s passing three years before.

  It had long been a regret that he and his wife had never been blessed with children, so now it was just him, alone, and even the brownstone seemed far too big. However, he liked the neighbourhood and the friendly community had been a godsend since he opted to take semi-retirement a couple of months earlier.

  After Benedict and Meredith’s tragic accident, Marcus found himself lacking the will to go into the office every day as it was no longer the same.

  He and Ben had been friends for most of their lives. Indeed, Marcus had been Ben’s right-hand man for over thirty years and remained his staunchest ally right up to the end.

  Furthermore, when Sam was born, Marcus and his wife, Trudy, were named as his godparents.

  As such, the Ellisons were a constant presence as he grew up; the two families vacationing together as well as sharing Christmases and Thanksgivings at each others homes.

  When Trudy Ellison became ill with cancer, it was Meredith Beresford who helped her through it by becoming an unwavering source of support. And when she finally succumbed to the disease, Meredith and Ben had been there for Marcus, too, proving without question what good friends they were.

  So after their deaths, Marcus sort of lost hope.

  Upon hearing of the terrible events in Cambridge, which had ultimately been the catalyst that had caused the Beresford’s own deaths, Marcus knew he should have flown to England to be with Sam but he was too grief stricken by the loss of his friends to make the journey. Nevertheless, his decision not to go had haunted him ever since and the guilt he felt by not being by his godson’s side when he needed him most was almost too much to bear.

  So, when Sam telephoned to say he was back in New York and wanted to see him, his delight was tinged with more than a little apprehension.

  However, any anxiety was soon dispelled as Sam was immediately forgiving, aware that Marcus’ grief was probably equal to that of his own.

  With the awkwardness quickly dispensed with, Marcus led Sam and Vasily through to the brownstone’s large drawing room where crackling logs were burning in the wide mahogany fireplace.

  Outside there was snow on the ground and a bitter chill in the air, with Christmas just around the corner. But inside it was toasty and the atmosphere warm and welcoming as Marcus invited them to sit.

  Vas chose the well upholstered couch whilst Sam opted for a comfortable leather armchair. Then, at Marcus’ bidding, he related what had happened on the day of Claudette’s murder, as best as he could remember. However, he purposely kept the story brief for the pain of it was still undiminished.

  Marcus listened intently, visibly moved by what Sam had to say, yet he was apologetic, too, for asking him to speak of it.

  Afterwards he offered his sympathy once more, yet mere words seemed wholly inadequate for the horrific ordeal his godson had miraculously lived through.

  To lighten the mood, Marcus made them all coffee then set about pouring three cups.

  He was in his early sixties and scholarly in appearance; grey, wavy hair swept back off his forehead, a beaked nose and sharply defined cheekbones. As always, he was wearing a bow tie, today’s was red with white polka-dots but he had a vast array. The tie was teamed with a white farmer check shirt, chunky beige cardigan, olive chinos and brown wing tips, making him look every inch the college professor. Yet he was, in fact, a highly respected financier well-known for his sound business acumen. He also happened to be a trained lawyer.

  As he handed Sam his coffee, Marcus studied the young man before him who was a good mix of both his parents. He had his father’s strong nose and proud, masculine jawline, yet his eyes were those of his mother’s; deep blue and capable of showing great compassion as well as steely determination.

  Yet, around his right eye the scarring still remained of the many surgeries he had endured and clearly he had been through much. Furthermore, Marcus was shocked by just how thin he had become. Indeed, he was a mere shadow of his former self and again, for maybe the thousandth time, Marcus cursed the men who had not only robbed him of his two dearest friends but also destroyed the very fabric of Sam’s whole life.

  “So, what is it I can do for you?” Asked Marcus as he nestled into his favourite wing-back and stirred his coffee.

  “I need your help, Marcus,” Sam replied, getting straight to the point.

  “Of course,” said his godfather without hesitation, “anything.”

  “I want you to act as my proxy,” Sam stated, hitching forward in his chair and staring Marcus straight in the eyes, “be my representative in all matters pertaining to The Company.”

  “What?” Marcus was stunned, his face a picture of surprise. “But why? It’s your company now - you’re Chief Executive and rightly—”

  “No, Marcus,” Sam broke in. “What The Company needs now is a steadying hand. Someone with experience and the respect to reassure The Shareholders and keep The Board in line - who can instil much needed confidence. Someone like you, Marcus.”

  “But your father left it to you, Sam. It’s your inheritance, what you are entitled to.”

  “And in time I will take up the reins,” Sam said. “But not just yet. I have too much to do at the moment, many things I need to resolve before I can take my place at the head of the table.”

  He was going to say more but the expression on his godfather’s face made him stop.

  They had known each other for many years - indeed for the whole of Sam’s life. Marcus and his wife had been a constant and knew him as well as anyone possibly could. Moreover, they understood him, just as they had his parents. Because they were cut from the same cloth.

  “My God,” said Marcus, his voice incredulous as he placed his cup and saucer down on the table in front of him with a clatter, “you intend to avenge them, don’t you?”

  Sam stared into his face, his eyes showing the same steely determination that his mother’s had throughout Trudy Ellison’s dreadful illness; the look that said no matter what happened, no matter what it took, he would never give up.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “I do.”

  Marcus slumped back into his chair, the room deathly quiet with only the occasional crackle of the fire interrupting the silence. All the time, Sam keeping his focus on Marcus as he watched the thoughts ticking through his mind.

  Vasily looked on with bated breath, fascinated to know what Ellison’s reaction might be to Sam’s revelation. Indeed, he had not expected his friend to be so honest and the fact that he had been was a little surprising. However, Vas was fast coming to learn that he should cease to be surprised by anything Sam did and was quickly
gaining a whole new perspective on him, coupled with a great deal of added respect.

  Marcus did not say a word for an interminably long time as he mulled over the various computations of what he had been told; his hands pressed together in front of his pursed lips and his eyes closed with concentration.

  Then, at last, he spoke. “Okay,” he said. “I’m with you. I’ll do whatever it is you need me to do. Just promise me one thing.”

  “Of course,” said Sam, “anything. What is it?”

  Before he answered, Marcus thought once more of how tragically his friends had died as they rushed to be with their only son. Their deaths due solely to an abhorrent act of violence perpetrated a thousand miles away by six despicable individuals. “Promise me you’ll make every single one of them pay,” he said at last.

  Again, Sam stared deeply into Marcus’ eyes, still showing that steely determination. “You have my word,” he said.

  ***

  For the next couple of hours the three of them discussed the way forward, Vas impressing Marcus with his perceptive business insights and his total grasp of legal matters as Sam repeatedly asked for his opinion.

  After setting out their agenda, Marcus then got busy on the telephone to arrange a meeting of the full board for the following morning.

  Once matters concerning Beresford Industries had been discussed, the topic moved on to how Sam intended to proceed with his quest. He, in turn, told Marcus that once he was fit enough, he would return to Cambridge and start searching for the skinhead he had recognised in the photograph, hoping that finding him might also lead to the others. It was a long shot and fraught with danger, but time was on his side and sooner or later, Sam promised, he would find him.

  Vas then told Marcus about his father, Vladimir, explaining how he hoped to utilise his connections to find an alternative source who might lead them to Claudette’s killers should Sam’s efforts fail.

  At the very least, Vladimir could supply Sam with things he might not be able to purchase on the open market without raising questions.

  After all, Sam would need to stay under the radar; both with the police and the men whom he was hunting. No one must know what he was up to - stealth and surprise being his most valuable assets.

  That meant he could not pursue them as Sam Beresford. His name was too well known, his family too high profile, and if his prey should ever get wind that he was tracking them, then those he loved would surely be at risk of a backlash.

  Again, this is where Vas’ father could be useful. Vladimir had the means to supply Sam with a new identity - passport, driving license and any other documentation, which would help him to remain anonymous.

  To the world at large, Sam Beresford would become a recluse, living his life away from the public glare in the solitude of his parents’ New Hampshire home, unable to face the rigours of normality after the tragic deaths of his loved ones. What is more, it was a believable enough pretence which Marcus would find easy to perpetuate.

  But in reality, Sam would take his mother’s maiden name, ‘Ryder’, so that he could travel freely and set about his task unhindered.

  Indeed, for all intents and purposes, Sam Beresford had died in that glade with his fiancé and in his place, Sam Ryder had been born.

  And God help anyone who got in his way.

  ***

  The next morning, Sam and Marcus, both wearing their best suits, walked into the board room of Beresford Industries to address its directors.

  Two hours later they emerged with Marcus installed as the new Chief Executive Officer and The Board well and truly back on side, confident in their belief that The Shareholders would soon fall into line too.

  The day after that, Sam was at J.F.K. saying goodbye to Vas who was returning to Cambridge to continue with his studies, but the two of them would keep in touch regularly.

  Vasily also had Sam’s assurance that should he need anything further he was only to ask.

  In the meantime, Vas would speak to his father to see what he could turn up.

  Finally, the pair embraced and then Vasily went on his way. Sam watched the plane taking off from the front seat of his rented 4x4 in the parking lot, the heater turned up to max to keep out the winter chill.

  He waited until the big 747 was nothing more than a tiny speck in the sky before starting the engine and heading off.

  It was a five hour drive to his parents’ home in Portsmouth, New Hampshire with much to do once he got there.

  And he was not prepared to wait a second longer than absolutely necessary.

  ***

  The huge house was situated on its own 15 acre island which was accessed via a private bridge. Worth over $8,000,000 the house boasted six bedrooms, six bathrooms, stable block, paddock and a boat house complete with 78-foot ocean-going yacht. There was also a tennis court, indoor pool, sauna and a state-of-the-art gymnasium which overlooked lovingly tended lawns.

  Presently, however, the beautiful grounds were covered in over a foot of snow and access via the private road that led up to the bridge was extremely treacherous, but fortunately the 4x4 was more than up to the challenge.

  With the house deserted and locked up for winter, it reminded Sam in some ways of a mausoleum but it had been his childhood home nonetheless and, as such, he felt a certain affinity with it which gave him an unexpected sense of inner peace.

  Yet, the staff were no longer in attendance and the bright, bustling place that he remembered from his youth was no more in evidence. Indeed, with the shutters closed and the furniture covered with dust sheets, it was dark and cold - which precisely echoed the feelings in Sam’s heart.

  And, for now, that suited him just fine.

  ***

  For the next few weeks, Sam lived only in a few rooms of the house; sleeping in his old bedroom and using the bathroom adjacent to it, he also used the kitchen, the gym, the pool and the sauna. Everything else he left exactly as it had been when he arrived.

  He hired a physiotherapist and a masseuse, both of whom visited every day for an hour each. The rest of the time, however, he spent completely on his own, trying to build up his fitness and his stamina as quickly as possible so that he might soon begin the task ahead.

  By mid-December, he had put on over ten pounds and celebrated by spending Christmas alone, eating a microwave meal in the kitchen before talking to Miriam for an hour on the phone.

  She was fine but worried about him and tried once more to dissuade Sam from the mission he had set himself, but he would not be swayed. Nevertheless, it was good to speak to her even though it reminded him of the Christmas before when he, Claudette, Miri and Vas had spent it together - all getting drunk on several bottles of supermarket Chianti.

  He spoke to Vas, too, who was spending the holidays in Russia with his father and happily reported that Vladimir was more than willing to help. Furthermore, he had already sent word to his contacts in England for any information that might lead to the killers.

  New Year came and went and very slowly Sam’s regime began to bare fruit; his weight by the end of January had increased by a further twenty pounds with his body mass and muscle density steadily returning to its former state.

  He worked out, swam, jogged and cycled almost fanatically, his mind completely focussed on his objective as he pushed his body to the limit.

  Soon winter gave way to spring and the snow which had lain heavily on the ground for the past few months slowly melted away to reveal the lush green lawns that surrounded the property.

  However, the change of season served only to remind Sam of how long his recovery was taking. Indeed, his hair was almost shoulder length again and his beard was thick once more.

  But his patience was waning and he found the months of inaction, although necessary to his recuperation, completely maddening.

  Nevertheless, he was getting stronger with every pa
ssing day and that helped motivate him all the more.

  As his fitness increased, Sam hired instructors to teach him the skills of both boxing and karate. His teachers also visited daily and before long, their regular tuition started to pay dividends.

  By early April, Sam was fitter than he had ever been in his life. He had mastered the basics of boxing and could acquit himself reasonably well in karate, too.

  In time, his tutors said he could be extremely proficient in both as they were greatly impressed by his natural prowess and quickness to learn. Six more months, a year at most, and he could have been very good indeed.

  But Sam could not wait any longer. The trail was already cold and he dare not waste any more time.

  Vas did his best to put him off, to make him delay things for at least another month, when he would be stronger still and Sam pretended to heed his advice.

  Indeed, he let Vas believe that his pleas had been successful and that he would, in fact, wait a few more weeks.

  But in reality he had no intention of doing so. He felt strong, fit, ready. It was finally time to set about doing what he had sworn to.

  So, with a passport provided for him by Vladimir Voronin, and travelling under the name of ‘Sam Ryder’, Sam booked an airline ticket to England without telling a soul - not even Vasily or Miriam for fear they might try to dissuade him.

  But they would know soon enough. Once he had something encouraging to tell them, something definite, then he would let them know. At least that was his intention.

  For now though, the hunt was about to begin and he hoped it would soon bring swift results.

  Indeed, he felt confident that it would and believed himself to be as ready as he possibly could be for the task that lay ahead.

  Sadly, however, he was gravely mistaken on all counts.

  Chapter Ten

  Cambridge, England - Six Months Later.

  It was raining hard when Miriam arrived at the restaurant; her hair wet, her shoes soaked through and her tights splashed with water from the puddles she ran through in her rush to get there.