Book of JUDAS

Chapter Three-2

“I’ve booked a flight for tomorrow evening,” he replied. “What about you? − I guess Heather must be keen to get you back.”

Heather Adams was Philip’s beautiful fiancée. They had met in Manhattan while working on a project of mutual interest to both their prestigious firms. She was a highly successful, highly-respected lawyer in her own right and would have gladly attended the funeral service herself if it had not been for an unprecedented multi-million dollar deal that would have stalled without her presence.

“She’s really busy at the moment so I’m going to stay back a couple of days longer to sort his affairs out − if you’re leaving that quickly we’ll have to make a few joint decisions tonight and tomorrow morning,” said Philip.

“What decisions?” asked Simon quizzically, having assumed that Bairstow could handle most of the outstanding matters.

“Well, for a start, what are we going to do with this place?” said Philip, casting his arm around the room to indicate the house and its belongings. “You might need to give me your Power of Attorney.”

At that moment, Felix Bairstow entered the room.

“If you’re both ready, we can begin the reading?”

Simon nodded towards his brother.

“Ok, let’s hear what has to be said and then we’ll sit down and go through the details − I don’t suppose there are any major surprises in the will are there, Felix?” he asked flippantly.

Bairstow, in his long-term capacity as Sir Lawrence’s confidant, knew the drama of what was about to unfold. Normally calm and assured, he suddenly seemed slightly and uncharacteristically – anxious. He fidgeted apprehensively, contemplating his answer to Simon’s question before giving them a bewildering response.

“I think you’ll find that the contents of the will the least of your concerns when you learn your grandfather’s real legacy,” he stated ominously from the doorway.

Simon and Philip were momentarily stunned by the reply; surprise registering across their faces.

“What do you mean, Felix?” asked Philip curiously.

“All will be revealed very shortly…” he replied slowly and mysteriously, before tapering off deep in thought. Suddenly, he jerked back to life. “Why don’t we begin in the study? It’s much more private in there.”

Philip and Simon followed Bairstow down a wood-panelled corridor off the main hallway that led to Sir Lawrence’s private study. Inside, it was like an exhibit room in a museum, every available space packed with ancient artefacts and relics from a bygone age displayed in glass presentation cases. It was an archaeological treasure trove; a testament to his life’s work. Simon shuddered as he passed through the creaking wooden door – he still felt as if he were trespassing whenever he entered the study. As young children capable of getting up to all kinds of mischief, the brothers had been expressly forbidden from ever entering his sacred domain. From floor to ceiling, the walls were clad in bookcases and shelves and any space that did remain uncovered was filled with a mosaic of mostly monochrome and sepia framed photographs – pictures of excavation sites, ancient ruins and other interesting places he had visited on his archaeological tours. One particular picture always caught Felix Bairstow’s eye – a photograph of Sir Lawrence as a youth, standing in front of the Winter Palace Hotel in Luxor. Next to him was a solitary, distant-looking gentleman in his mid-sixties. As Sir Lawrence had recounted to Bairstow on more than one occasion, this aloof-looking gentleman was none other than Howard Carter, probably the most famous Egyptologist of all time. His most notable achievement and the one for which he received extensive international acclaim along with the Fifth Earl of Carnarvon, was the discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb in 1922,

Outside, the evening was drawing in and Mrs Vines was busying herself drawing the long velvet curtains across the latticed window to replace the sun’s fading light with that of two table lamps and a reading lamp that stood on their grandfather’s antique leather-inlaid desk. Bairstow, anxious to commence proceedings, promptly walked around the desk and sat down on the old swivel chair. Bending down to his left, he clicked open a case and produced a carefully sealed package, which he laid out in front of him. Looking up, he politely ushered the brothers into the two armchairs he had arranged in a slight arc facing the desk. The brothers, still looking perplexed, dropped themselves down into the amply cushioned seats.

Behind Bairstow, Mrs Vines gave the room more light by pulling the dangling cord of a tall standard lamp.

“Thank you, Emily,” said Bairstow and she smiled warmly before leaving the room.

Using an ivory-handled letter opener, Bairstow slit the envelope across the top. He pulled out the contents, which included a few bound sheets of paper and a plastic case the size of a thick paperback book. Putting on his half-moon reading glasses, he glanced at his audience before focusing on the will’s italic writing and commencing his administrative role.

“In my capacity as Executor to the will of the late Sir Lawrence Trenchard, I am bound to carry out his specific wishes. In fact, as you will understand later, the reading of the will is only one of my duties this evening.”

He glanced up, checking that he had the brothers’ undivided attention.

“Fine, let’s make a start. Firstly, I’ll deal with the capital distributions of the estate before moving on to the real reasons why your grandfather was so adamant that both of you, and you alone, should attend this meeting.”

Bairstow peered over the top of his glasses as the brothers traded confused glances.

What on earth does he mean? thought Simon.

“In no particular order, I’ll run through the major contents of the will. The house and its possessions, save for your grandfather’s private archaeological pieces, are bequeathed jointly to you both,” said Bairstow, looking up.

“Your grandfather left a comprehensive list as you can see,” he said, holding up a thick file containing a computer print-out of Sir Lawrence’s private collection.

“Over the next few days, the artefacts will be carefully transported to the basement of the Ashmolean Museum where they’ll eventually go on display. About two years ago, the Dean of Oxford University and Sir Lawrence reached a confidential agreement regarding the donation of his personal collection. The University wanted to commemorate the work of their most famous archaeologist and have made financial provisions to refurbish an exhibit hall to be named after him. That hall will become the permanent home to his artefacts and a testament to his life’s work.”

That’s exactly what he would have wanted, thought Philip, nodding his approval. Up until that point, the question of a final resting place for his private collection had preyed on his mind.

“Your grandfather was a wealthy man,” continued Bairstow, “and he has made some generous monetary gifts to me and to Mrs Emily Vines. He also consulted with Doctor Gifford and agreed to pledge a sum towards the appeal for a new ward at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Am I right in understanding that you were familiar with these arrangements?”

Philip and Simon nodded.

“In total about three hundred thousand pounds, isn’t it?” queried Philip. He then went on to tell Bairstow his understanding of how the generous bequest was broken up.

“That’s correct Philip, but I suspect you may not be aware of the following,” he continued raising his eyebrows. “Sir Lawrence has divided the balance of the estate three ways.”

“What do you mean?” said Philip with a puzzled expression. He was not unduly concerned about the size of his inheritance now that it would be split by an additional fraction but he was genuinely taken aback by the revelation of a new third party.

“After government taxes have been paid and allowing for some fluctuation on his market investments, your grandfather’s estate amounts to approximately one million eight hundred thousand pounds and is to be divided evenly between yourself, Philip… Simon… and… Anna Nikolaidis.”

“And who is she exactly?” Simon asked sarcastically. He was genuinely startled by the news but as he thought about it a bemused smile spread across his face.

Well, well, well, there must be a skeleton in the closet after all that we don’t know about, he thought. Like Philip, he started imagining the revelation of a love child from some illicit, extra-marital affair.

“I’m going to let your grandfather explain that,” replied Bairstow dispassionately. His words took a few seconds to sink in.

The amused look on Simon’s face was replaced by one of astonishment.

“What are you saying, Felix?” asked Philip, the irritated inflexion in his tone creeping up to reflect his increasing annoyance with Bairstow’s games.

“You are both aware that over the two-week period before your grandfather passed away that he was very extremely keen to see you…”

Bairstow looked up, waiting for their acknowledgements. They both gave one nod of the head; it was not something they cared to be reminded about.

“Well your grandfather knew he didn’t have long to live and he desperately wanted to have one final conversation with you both. His anxiety that you wouldn’t reach him in time increased with each passing day and, with the help of Doctor Gifford and myself, he decided to make a back-up plan.”

The brothers sat frozen, absorbed by what Bairstow was saying and fascinated to hear what would come next. Each of them suddenly sensed that somehow their deceased grandfather was going to speak to them − but how?

Is this woman, Anna Nikolaidis somehow connected? thought Simon.

Confused, they clung to every word the loyal and dutiful family solicitor had to say

“This…” said Bairstow, picking up the package in front of him, “… contains the real reason why Sir Lawrence was so anxious to see you. He knew he didn’t have much time left and asked us to help him set up a video camera so that he could record himself. Your grandfather was adamant that his written word was not sufficient… He wanted to address you both in person.”

Philip and Simon watched Felix Bairstow take off his glasses and open the sealed package to produce a video case.

“This is the only copy… It’s your legacy − Are you ready to watch it?” he asked, holding up the black case.

Surprised, this is not what they expected and after a moment’s contemplation, Simon was the first to speak.

“I don’t have any problems, do you Philip?” he asked, sighing out loud.

At that particular moment in time, Simon couldn’t possibly imagine what it was that their grandfather wanted to speak to them about.

What on earth is your secret? What have you got in store for us? he wondered, pondering the various possibilities. Maybe it’s something to do with his guilt about leaving a third of his estate to somebody else that we’ve never heard of – or maybe he wants to make amends, or at least get us to understand...

The same myriad thoughts ran through the mind of his elder brother.

“No… I’ve no objections,” Philip replied slowly with a hint of reluctance. His enthusiasm was not tempered by worry about what the truth might hold, but from a fear of seeing his surrogate father dying before them in his last few days. His concern only escalated as Bairstow issued the following words of caution.

“I’m afraid I must warn you that this film was made two days before your grandfather died… You must be prepared for that… His condition deteriorated considerably over the last week.”

“Ok, we understand,” said Simon, “I’m sure whatever he has to say must be extremely important for him to go to these lengths.”

Bairstow stood up and walked over towards the large wooden wall cabinet and pulled open the double doors to reveal a television screen. Previously, the cabinet had been used to house some of the larger items in Sir Lawrence’s collection and the modern flat screen appeared completely out of place.

“I had this unit installed specially for this purpose,” he said, pulling out the cassette and leaning down to install it. The brothers jumped up and shifted their chairs around to get a better view. Bairstow, with a finger on the play button, turned his head to face them.

“Ready?” he asked, quizzically raising his eyebrows.

They nodded and the screen lit up as he pressed the button. Bairstow immediately stood up and walked slowly backwards, perching himself with his arms crossed, on the edge of the desk. The opening frames on the screen were slightly distorted as the picture showed the novice camera operator going in and out of focus until he reached the true definition.

Philip was shocked. He automatically reached out and put his hand on Simon’s shoulder as they both recoiled from the painful, harrowing sight of their dying grandfather. They were used to seeing him buoyant and full of life but this was distressing. With sunken cheeks, his face looked drained and sallow. It was immediately apparent that any movement, no matter how small, required a substantial concerted effort. Motionless, he lay in his four-poster bed upstairs in the master bedroom. At that moment, the figure of Doctor Gifford entered the screen as he leant across the bed, locking his arm under Sir Lawrence’s so that he could pull him up and place an additional pillow behind him.