by John Day
Then a gold-plated venture had failed, wiping out most of their profit.
To add to the problem, it was on the back of last year’s business success that Patterson decided to borrow from the company to finance a passion of his, treasure hunting. That high-risk gamble had fallen flat on its face, just like the hunt for Kaltman’s gold.
The surprise UK decision to leave the EU, and the plunging value of the £ compared with the $, had proved to be the final nail in his financial coffin.
***
It seemed the answer to Alan’s prayers when Benny came to him with the Kaltman deal. Benny claimed it was documented by Germany that certain artworks and a load of bullion had been stolen by Grupenfurer Franz Kaltman. It was also certain that not a single item of the artwork had ever been seen, since.
Perhaps Kaltman had never shown or sold them, for some reason. Probably he was smart, kept it hidden, and just lived off the gold. If so, the artworks were still stored and might be tracked down. Alternatively, the vessel that carried the treasure might have sunk.
That is why he and Benny had met up in Berlin to find out from the official documentation, what truth there was in the story.
From the paper trail, the U-159 was officially the vessel to search for and even the internet claimed to know where in the ocean it rested.
Well, now he knew everything about it, but it would not help get him out of the mess he was in.
***
The ring of his desk phone snapped him out of his misery. He closed his eyes for a second and willed good warm thoughts into his mind, forcing a grin to make his voice bright and positive sounding. “Hi, Alan speaking.”
It was his friend. He sounded pleased Alan was back. “The office uproar told me you had just got in. I thought I should give you a few seconds to settle, before I phoned. Can I come and see you?”
Albert Palmer, the financial wizard was clean out of magic and prayed Alan had turned up with a solution to their predicament.
“Yes, please do, Albert. I was about to call you anyway. Pop in now.” Alan seemed upbeat, but the man was always so positive, it was no clue to his real feelings.
Seconds later Albert walked in and closed the office door.
Alan kicked off with the result of his visit to Berlin. “Not good news I am sorry to tell you Albert. I believe there is $400 million in gold on the seabed 2.23 miles down.”
“That sounds like brilliant news, surely?”
“If only it was. I see no real prospect of reaching it, because it is probably strewn over a wide area and buried in deep silt. I confess, I am rather dispirited at the moment, so please forgive me for my negativity. I am sure it will pass and something will turn up to save us from jail.” He gave a brief, half-hearted laugh.
Albert had been with the company since it started and together, they had faced disasters, many times in the past. Until this moment, Albert never doubted Alan would find a way out of this mess, he had always done so before. His boss was a realist and it was not in his nature to bury his head in the sand, even though his buoyant mood might suggest otherwise.
“You don’t seem very worried about our predicament, Alan.”
“Would it help if I looked worried, Albert?”
“You’re quite right, I don’t suppose it would. A glum chairman would give out all the wrong signals, and a loss of confidence in the company would only add to our troubles.
“It breaks my heart to think about all those people out there depending on us and everything going down the toilet at Christmas. I just can’t face it. Their lives will be wrecked. If they can’t get jobs straight away, and times are far from rosy, they will lose their homes, possibly it will destroy their relationships, everything.”
Albert was breaking down and Alan knew that was as fatal to the business as Ebola at a pop concert.
“Pull yourself together Albert, you are dragging me down with you. I feel like blowing my brains out now. I am the one who will have to tell them, not you, so please get a grip and let’s stay positive. We have nothing else to offer at the moment.”
There was a tinge of sharpness in Alan’s voice as he struggled to hold back the verbal broadside he could feel building up. Letting go might have made him feel relieved, but the damage done to their friendship would be irreparable.
Albert could have been more proactive when the Mendez deal came in. If he had, their situation would not have been dire. It was typical of Alan not to throw blame, but to look for solutions.
“Sorry Alan, we are made differently and I can’t keep tension like this bottled up, like you.”
“I appreciate that, but it is not about you and I, it is about all our loyal staff that we have to hold it together. Remember all the times in the past where we believed we had no way out. I agree this is by far the worst, but we have months to go yet and some miracle could save us. Hang on in there!”
Albert nodded, braced himself and forced a convincing smile as he left Alan alone.
The damage was done though. Alan clearly visualised the effects of the disaster on his family and friends.
His parents held socially prominent positions and were a proud pair. The news would kill his mother and destroy his father. Sarah, his devoted younger stepsister would be devastated as well. He would move heaven and earth to spare them disappointment and embarrassment. Because of them, he had strived so hard to make them proud of him. He imagined the looks on their faces as the news broke.
Now at his lowest ebb, he reached for the bottom drawer of his desk, unlocked it and pulled out the small chrome plated revolver. He bought it for protection against Mendez’s men, but never carried the vile contraption. A flick of his thumb and the chamber fell open. The shiny brass heads of the rounds with the dull copper percussion caps filled every hole. Alan flipped the chamber shut, spun it and jammed the stubby barrel in his mouth. The bitter taste of cold metal and fumy smell of gun oil surprised him as he shut his eyes, tensed for the impact and slowly squeezed the trigger…
London.
The phone rang loudly, startling Alan. His eyes opened wide and his finger jerked hard on the trigger.
The hammer fell with a resounding click. The sound was deafening as was the moment of silence before the next ring from the phone. The bullet was a dud… this was a sign, and his faith in the future had been restored. Somehow, he would save the company and the drama would melt away, unseen. He was certain of it.
Tossing the pistol back in the drawer, he snatched up the phone.
“Alan, it’s Sarah. Please come home, Mumsie and Pops were seriously injured earlier today in a pile up near home. I need you. Please say you will come immediately, there’s not much time.”
“I am on my way Sarah, I will get back to you with timings. Hang in there old girl, tell Mumsie and Pops I love them and I will be in London before you know it.”
He didn’t wait for a reply, he jiggled the receiver rest to clear the line and spoke to his PA. “Book me on the quickest flight to London, my parents have been critically injured and I must get home immediately. I am on my way to the airport now. I still have my passport with me, so time saved there. Keep me updated.” He hung up and strode out for a taxi.
Alan’s PA would tell everyone, so he needn’t hang around explaining to the anxious and long faced.
***
Sarah Patterson sent their chauffer, Peter Daniels, to collect Alan from Heathrow airport and rush him to the private hospital where their parents’ lives hung by a thread. Once there, Daniels showed Alan where Sarah would be waiting.
The footfalls of the two men echoed along the long, hospital passage. Daniels, sensitively, made a conscious effort to synchronise his steps with Alan’s, to lessen the irritating reverberation. Neither man spoke. It was not Daniels’ place to chit-chat, even if he knew what to say. Alan dreaded the scene that awaited him and fought back the dreadful, intrusive thoughts that nagged him.
They rounded a corner and there she was. Sarah was pacing the waiting ar
ea like a caged animal at an abattoir, praying for good news and clutching a scrunched up, well used tissue in her right hand. When anyone in a white coat or senior nurse uniform headed in her general direction, her heart sank.
Alan noticed she had organised her blond hair in a ponytail, for convenience. Normally it would hang free, gracing her shoulders, but today, with all that had happened, personal appearance was forgotten. Actually, Alan preferred her hair this way, it made her look cute and less self-obsessed. He often wondered how she could bear constantly sweeping her hair back, behind her ears.
By the look of it, she had come straight from work, 12 hours ago, and hadn’t left the hospital. She was still wore her pristine dark business suit.
Probably sensing him, she turned and he saw her red rimmed, green eyes and tear streaked face.
Was he too late?
Sarah ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, clinging to him for all she was worth. He could feel her slender body convulse with renewed sobbing as she hugged him. Her belief in him was absolute, now Alan was here everything would be alright.
Still cheek to cheek, she managed to blurt out, “Mumsie and Pops are both still with us.” She slackened her grip and faced him. “I am so relieved you are here, Alan. Mumsie is sinking fast, we need to be in there with them.”
Alan was anxious to see them. “Quite right old thing, where do we go?”
“They’re in HDU, and the wonderfully kind staff have put them in beds side by side.
“I must warn you, with all those machines, tubes and bags of fluids attached to them, it looks hideously frightful. They will absolutely hate it when they wake up.
“Come on Alan, we must get back in there with them.”
Sarah hung on to his right arm as they walked briskly along the corridor. They both wondered why it was that hospital corridors had this soulless feel, when they so desperately needed comfort and reassurance.
The chemical smell didn’t help, nor the echo of their footsteps off the hard, gloss painted walls. The token pictures hanging there did their best to be cheerful, but it was a lost cause in this dire part of the building.
It would be different in the plush carpeted area where the private rooms were for non-intensive medical care, like consultations, face lifts and belly tucks.
They arrived at HDU and peered through the large glass viewing panel. Amongst the usual heart attack victims who outnumbered the serious accident cases by a large margin, lay the bandaged heads and limbs of their frail parents.
Everyone laying there, poised on the knife edge of suffering or oblivion, depended on the tubes of blood, plasma and oxygen going in, and the pink through brown stained urine draining out. The tangle of coloured wires connected to monitors hinted at the side of the knife edge they were drifting towards. If the Grim Reaper was anywhere, he would be in here.
The nurse recognised Sarah and noticed the distressed young man with her. Thinking what a perfect couple they looked, she showed the anxious pair to the bay that supported their parents’ dwindling lives.
In Alan’s view, Sarah tended to dramatize things, but he had to agree with her this time. It was heart wrenching to see their parents’ broken, bandaged bodies lying there.
The heart monitor held them both transfixed. Try as they might they couldn’t tear their eyes away from the jagged, sideways scrolling of the trace and penetrating confirmation beep. It was an ugly reminder that it might flat line at any moment. The instant the soul prepares to leave the body and exclaims in a continuous tone, ‘it is all over’.
Another experienced nurse diverted their gaze away from the emotional carnage as she spoke softly to them. “They are both sedated, but will be able to hear you and perhaps be able to reply. It will help them, to hear your voices.”
“Oh,” Sarah whispered apprehensively, “I was afraid it would disturb them.”
The nurse remembered asking this question, many years ago, when she started her training. “Is it better for the patient, clinging to the precipice of life or death by their fingernails, to be disturbed by close relatives, or to leave them in peace with their thoughts?” The patients always died very soon after being disturbed.
The doctor had explained, “No person wants to die alone. They always have things to say in their last moments and will be in a state of mental agony with no one there to tell. True, it keeps them alive, but at a terrible cost. When they hear the voice of a loved one, they are no longer alone. Even though they may be too far gone and unable to speak, or communicate, merely thinking they are communicating is enough to relieve their burden.
“I see it like a person speaking to another in a dream. No actual sounds are made, but the speaker is convinced they have spoken and been heard. At last the patient can relax, be at peace and quickly drift away.
“I see it as a kindness.”
The nurse replied in her gentle, but firm voice, “Lady Patterson is a fighter, but her time is very short. Now is the moment to say goodbye.” The truth hit them hard and for Sarah it focused her mind on the reality, the here and now.
“Oh dear!” Sarah muttered, her voice heavy with dread.
The nurse continued, “Lord Patterson seems to be holding his own at the moment, perhaps he has things to say to you both before he joins her. He has said things in less lucid moments, which caused me to form that opinion.”
“Thank you, nurse. Sarah and I will speak to Mumsie together.”
With their minds reeling at the brutal truth, Sarah and Alan approached their parents, between the two beds.
Sarah spoke first, to her mother. Having pulled herself together, her tone was firm and steady and conveyed warmth, love and confidence in the future. “Hi Mumsie. It’s me, Sarah. Alan is here with Pops and I. I want you to know I love you with all my heart. Thank you for being such a kind and wise mum, the best mum in the whole world.”
Alan sniffed back the tears welling in his deep brown eyes, he blinked rapidly and looked up at the ceiling, to drain them back. “For once I agree with Sarah, you are the best mum ever.” Whatever else he was about to say was eclipsed by her feeble grip on his hand, followed by the loud sustained beep from the heart monitor as the trace flat lined.
The attending nurse silenced the machines, ushered them both to the far side of their father’s bed and drew curtains around Lady Patterson, for privacy. Hidden behind the curtains the nurse and doctor attended to formalities and tidied up the scene for later.
“Hello father,” Alan said, as he looked down at the man’s closed eyes. They flickered open, focused and the semblance of a smile formed around his mouth. He reached up with his hand and pulled Alan closer, the other hand reached towards Sarah to involve her in what he had to say. “Mum has just passed, hasn’t she?”
Alan and Sarah could only manage a nod as tears welled up again. It was just too hard for them to say it.
Their father spoke softly, he sounded resigned to his fate. “I felt her go, you know. She hung on just for goodbyes.
“We all know I am not going to make it either.”
Both spoke at once with conviction and denial. “No Pops, you will…”
He tenderly shushed them. There was no point in pretence.
The battered old Lord paused a moment to compose his thoughts, then spoke. “Now that I have the undivided attention of you both, I want to explain what you will find out soon enough.
No one has a right to expect an inheritance. We adopted you, Alan, because we desperately wanted a child. We gave you all the love in our hearts, a fine home and a good education. “Nearly two years later, Sarah, you came along and made our lives complete. A boy, a girl, both loved equally. Unlike most siblings, you got on well and rather than argue and fight, you care deeply and support each other. It has been wonderful to be part of your lives.
“I must admit I thought you were rather wayward, Alan. It worried me greatly, but you have done well for yourself and stood on your own two feet. You have built your business empire off your
own back, not relying on the family name to help you. I have always admired that of you.
“Sarah, you have also made us proud by ploughing your own furrow, so to speak. Perhaps not as heady as Alan, but no less an achievement, in our eyes.
“Although Sara has no need of our money at the present time, Mother and I decided to bequeath everything to her, to secure her future. Hopefully she will not squander it or make foolish commitments should she marry unwisely.
“From what I know of your character, Alan, you are not avaricious, and you love your stepsister, I am certain you would prefer this arrangement. Nothing is more rewarding than your own achievements.
“I know you will always look out for Sarah, as she will continue to look out for you.
“Your mother and I have often wondered why neither of you have married. We would have adored grandchildren. We even speculated that perhaps you would marry each other, eventually. There is nothing against it of course and I doubt you would ever know another person better. It would have had our blessing, certainly.” The man was tiring and a fit of coughing ended the declaration. He shut his eyes and lay in his bed, gasping.
Alan pulled Sarah close to him and gave her a reassuring hug. “Pops is quite right of course and I am relieved he has seen fit to dump the family fortune in safe hands. Don’t feel awkward about it, I don’t.”
Silent tears ran down her flawless cheeks as she hugged and kissed him. As a family, they all said what they thought, it made life so much easier not hiding behind lies and mistaken assumptions.
Alan spoke his piece. “Thanks Pops. I know you and Mumsie love me and as you rightly said, I don’t need the money. I want to tell you that I love you both too and I am so grateful you chose me all those years ago, as your son. It is your influence and character that has driven me to succeed, so you can feel justly proud of your part in it all.”
Grasping her father’s hand, Sarah composed herself to say her final words. “I love you Pops. No one could have had a better father. You were my inspiration and kept me in line. I regret not having produced grandchildren, but to be honest, I never met a man who could meet your standards. As for marrying Alan, the silly thing never asked.” There was a stunned silence.