Road to Recovery Page 3
As promised the Air Ambulance arrived within the hour, apparently when you have George’s kind of money it does, if you wished to stay in business, and from the seemingly chaotic General Hospital we were all moved, Robin, Alice and I to a superb 5 star hotel that George and Millie were staying at, that also just happened to do medical things on the side, (and I used to think that BUPA was the height of luxury). First I was shown (or rather pushed into) my beautifully appointed suite, which consisted of two large interconnecting rooms. My room had all the medical bits in it thankfully; the second was my lounge, for when I was ‘ambulatory’. As I was not at the moment (and for a considerable amount of time to come), then ‘perhaps my guests could use it when I was ‘resting’, or if they wished to take their meals up here rather than walk all the way to the Restaurant’.
‘The menu of course is replaced every day’, the Maître D΄, sorry - Ward Manager assured me, god forbid that my visitors should be forced to have Beef Wellington two days running - whilst I was tucking into whatever was flowing down the blue tube.
Alice and Robin were apparently sharing the ‘suite’ next door, and their rooms had been equipped with king sized beds, ‘what no lounges for them - however will they cope?’, and then, after the pleasantries were over, they started on me with a vengeance, ‘no peace for the wicked’. First I was re-examined, re-x-rayed and re-scanned from every conceivable angle, with and without some very strange tasting (when they went via my lips) fluids flowing through my body, and life slowly started to come back into focus, despite still missing my Sheila terribly. Alice and Robin gently started to prod me into taking some, not a lot, but some interest in my injuries and treatments, and to that end, a week after I had arrived, they held a ‘case conference’. I didn’t particularly enjoy being referred to as a ‘case’, but it seemed to be the only way that ‘they’ could communicate with each other in large numbers. I was still tucked ‘securely’ into a bed, but it was now a much nicer bed. It was more comfortable; it looked more like a normal bed, and the sheets were heavenly, I doubt that even Sheila would be able to get them crisper, damn it; I must stop thinking that way, WHY MUST I? The panel of experts, made up of more Professors’ & ‘Senor’s’ than I thought could ever physically fit into one room arrived on time. They introduced themselves and announced to all and sundry what their particular ‘speciality’ was’, it was thus ensured that when ‘billing time’ came a face could be put to the name, and George, Millie, Robin and Alice were somehow prised into a matching set of what looked like extremely expensive chairs next to my bed. I presumed that George was here because he was footing the bill (I hoped) and that my children were here for moral support, or was it morbid curiosity. As previously explained to me (but not really taken in, in my drug befuddled state) multiple operations within a few days, no matter how urgently they may be needed, were definitely not a good idea, so my next round of operations would have to wait at least three months. Then they started on the good news. My colon and intestines were, given time, treatable here, but a transplant was the only solution for my liver. With some very fancy surgery my kidneys might just be saved, but both these operations unfortunately could not be performed ‘in house’ because of my back. To give me any chance of a normal life (without my Sheila?) I would have to be flown, in a rather larger Air Ambulance than the previous one, to America, where the multiple operations could be carried out in a more controlled environment.
‘Great’ I muttered to myself, not at the expectation of getting more air-miles, or meeting some lovely ‘have a nice day’ Americans, more along the lines of ‘I really do hope that George means what he says’, and the answer to that question came in the form of a very formally, if not slightly eccentrically dressed Caribbean type gentleman three days later.
Mr Agrampara came with a very stout box chained firmly to his wrist, and accompanied by my Bank Manager, a very attractive young lady, who turned out to be an ‘Independent Financial Adviser’, and my Solicitor.
On seeing Vicente I quickly, considering my physical state, grabbed his hand, and pulled him to me. My eyes welled up, how could I ever thank this man enough? As we ‘man hugged’ words for perhaps the first time in my life truly failed me, and it slowly dawned on me that I was not alone, I was surrounded by people who genuinely wanted to help me. As I slowly released him, and giving him the largest lopsided ‘thank you’ grin I could muster, I knew that I had finally ‘turned the corner’, life would move on, even without my Sheila by my side.
Senor Gonzales Joven, my Bank Manager, was however another kettle of fish altogether. When we had first arrived in Spain he had kept Sheila and I waiting for over half an hour, just so that he could ‘formally welcome us to his Bank’ - totally in Spanish of course. He ‘unfortunately’ couldn’t speak a word of English, but ‘fortunately’ he provided an Interpreter – at a price. Now he suddenly seemed to be almost fluent in my native tongue (as it seemed that everyone else around here was), and all over me like a rash.
After initial introductions Mr Agrampara quickly explained, in his equally formal and quaint style, why each of them was here. He ‘managed’ Mr Albright’s affairs on the ‘Islands’. Vicente our, sorry my Solicitor, whom Sheila and I had implicitly entrusted our millions with (it was pesetas’ in those days, not Euros) when we had decided to start our new life on the Costa Blanca was here to validate the identity of himself, and to reassure me that ‘he’ was indeed genuine. Senor Gonzales Joven was here because he had seen multitudinous Euro signs flashing in his mind’s eye, not an exactly verbatim explanation but close enough, and finally Senorita Juli Sanches Perez, who was apparently a high flyer with a very highly respected firm of international financiers (and 2nd cousin to Senor Gonzales), and the current owner of at least one very, very short business suit. She was here to offer me any ‘independent’ advice that I might require after the current proceedings had been concluded, she obviously hadn’t met Millie!
Vicente handed me a very official looking report, conveniently certified in both English and Spanish, and explained that he had personally carried out his investigations ‘to the best of his ability’, and he was ‘absolutely positive’ that these persons were ‘whom they claimed to be’ (praise the lord). Apparently my son had given George, Vicente’s details (he knew that I trusted him implicitly), as he thought that I might be slightly dubious of the claims about to be made to me by a total stranger. I think that it can be safely said that that was the greatest understatement ever uttered in the whole wide world, and then Robin and Alice, along with Millie, were asked to leave the room, not only the room but the whole suite, no eavesdropping however inadvertently, heavy stuff. George was in effect his boss, and also the current owner of all the monies so he was allowed to stay. Once secure in the fact that he wasn’t going to be mugged by a violin wielding veterinarian embroiderer he opened the box, hereafter known as ‘the Tardis’, that was shackled to his wrist (a major feat in its own right), and started removing the tools of his trade, and after, with the help of Vicente and Senor Gonzales Joven, confirming that I was in fact me, and that I was of sound mind (if not body), and I was willing to accept the gift as agreed (sic), he started. My fingers were printed and hands scanned, my retinas were scanned, a sample of my hair (?) and hand writing was taken, a comprehensive recording of my voice was taken and finally my photograph and physical measurements were taken, after of course Vicente had confirmed that ‘these’ were indeed my latest dental records. Is nothing sacred anymore? - in the world of high finance apparently not. After dismissing Vicente, Juli, and my Bank Manager, but keeping George, I settled down to a crash course in ‘money’. Even the dialysis machine, oxygen pump and assorted modern medical miracles flashing away around me seemed to pause in awe as he quietly spoke in fluent Bankereese, swiftly followed by my heart when the numbers finally started being crunched. Accounts were signed, telephone numbers were exchanged, not only his number but ALL my new Banks as well. Passwords were constructed, code words in
vented, challenges and responses were concocted - and all dutifully recorded in my new ‘little black book’. It was really a password and fingerprint protected laptop, which had fortunately already come preloaded in the ‘Tardis’ with most of the details. It would eventually be securely locked away in my suite’s new ‘upgraded’ safe, along with the rest of the bumf that goes along with turning me into the world’s ‘joint twelfth’ richest man. When events finally came to their natural, and physically exhausting conclusion, Mr Agrampara, whom I had by this time asked (and he had kindly accepted) to be my ‘Manager on the Islands’ as well, wished me the fondest of farewells (after all I was now his boss as well), and departed.
Not giving the door time to close behind Mr Agrampara, Senor Bank Manager burst in. I assured him that his Bank would of course be my ‘Bank of choice’ in Spain (nothing in writing of course) and then politely asked him to leave. He reluctantly left, being replaced by Juli.
‘PLEASE call me Juli, ALL my friends do’, but after convincing her that my headache was indeed genuine she quickly made sure that her ‘home and office direct numbers’ were both on my speed dial and sulkily left.
After her exit Vicente entered, and after again offering me his ‘deepest sympathies on my tragic loss’ and with an almost apologetic ‘if I can ever be of any assistance to you in the future’, he quietly departed. Well I knew that I was going to be seeing at least one of them again, and as it turned out, in the very near future.
As Millie and the children made their way back into my room they found me in a state of shock, which on this occasion had certainly got nothing to do with the accident. After giving, with George’s help, Alice and Robin a quick résumé of what had taken place, the Albright’s thankfully left us to try and come to terms with what had just happened. At first we were reluctant to talk about the situation, then after about ten seconds the questions started to flow, then suddenly ‘we are rich’, ‘never have to work again’, ‘get a new car, a new house, a new mansion, a new aeroplane – or two’. Finally we started to calm down; trying to think sensibly, after all Sheila was watching over us from her urn, we shouldn’t be too happy. ‘Robin, in the short term do you want to continue working?’ I asked.
‘Yes definitely’ he quickly replied. So it was decided that in the said short term he would return to his practice to get things sorted out. Alice on the other hand thankfully decided to stay, for a ‘little while’ at least, and look after planet Andrew. She gave half a thought about possibly losing not only her new ‘fella’, but also her place in the Orchestra, but I quickly pointed out that if she did, then I would jolly well buy her a new one – Orchestra that is. Mr Agrampara had informed me in a slightly more light hearted moment, just before he had departed, that ‘it would be virtually impossible for me to dent my capital, as no matter how hard I tried, the interest that would be accruing from my ‘investments’ would be climbing even faster’, and then he went on to say that when I recovered from my injuries ‘I should go and live what most other people only fantasize about’.
Finally, just before a stern looking Nurse, in her designer uniform, ordered them out Alice and Robin left me to get some rest; after all they were only in the adjacent suite, and as I lay there in the failing light my mind was in turmoil, so much to think about, so many decisions to make:-
The children - 25 million each (£, $ or €’s?)
My parents - 10 million each
Sheila’s parents – the same
My sister - 10 million
Sheila’s 2 brothers - the same
Their offspring - 5 million each
Doris and her husband - 1 million
Etc, etc, etc.
Who should be on the list? Should I double it, treble it, or was it too much, and how do I get it to them without receiving a very nice thank you letter from the Chancellor of the Exchequer? Decisions, decisions, decisions, and then I remembered Millie’s parting comment; she had seen the look of absolute panic on my face and gently patting me on the arm, had uttered those immortal words.
‘Don’t worry; you have now entered the world of the consultant’.
Apparently there were ‘consultants’ to advise me on virtually anything’. I was to even find out later that there were ‘consultants’ that could advise me on which ‘consultants’ to use, but Hey Ho that was for another day, for now let me concentrate on my headache, and it was a blinder.
The next day I awoke extremely confused and upset. In that brief moment between sound asleep and wide awake I had been thinking of ‘the money’, it had only been a month since I had lost my reason for living. The first thing that I had always thought of on waking since the accident was Sheila, and the last thing at night, before I drifted off into a drug induced sleep was the same, until last night. When I had finally dosed off, with the aid of the usual ‘little something to make me sleep’ injected into my cannula I was thinking of the money, and this morning, when I awoke I had been thinking of the same, how could I. It then dawned on me that despite my terrible loss the world HAD continued to revolve, and no matter how wretched I personally felt, things were happening in both mine and my children’s lives that needed my immediate attention. Life would somehow continue, even without my Sheila, and after my liquid breakfast and some light physiotherapy I was allowed my first visitors of the day; Alice of course didn’t count as she was family.
George, despite my first impression, was turning out to be a very nice person, but Millie; well she was in a league of her own, she was an absolute treasure. Gently, using her ‘financial expertise’, she started introducing me, slowly at first, to the intricacies of handling so much money. Like it or not I was now a Mega Millionaire, or should that be Mega Billionaire? One false move and I could bankrupt a small (and apparently not so small) Country, so the first thing to do was to learn how to safely move ‘it’ about.
Alice retrieved my ‘little black book’ from the safe, plugged it in, and with the aid of my finger (print) sorted out the wireless connection that all good 5 star hotels/hospitals ‘must have’. Whatever happened to ‘don’t switch on your mobile, it will kill someone.’ Obviously we were all very well protected by our wallets. First pick a bank and then ring their number; surely they must all be asleep in the Caribbean at this time? Explain who I was, to at least 3 different people, and then if by any chance they had received any of my details, give them my new account number, explain how much I wanted to transfer, give them my own Bank account details and wait until tomorrow to see if Senor Gonzales Joven had turned into a happy man. Wrong, with the help of what I would imagine was a very securely encrypted internet connection all my details seemed to be ‘up and running’. ‘Good morning, or is it afternoon there? I am Mister Andrew Michaels and hopefully I have some sort of an account with your bank’.
‘Indeed you do Sir’ came the crisp reply, ‘but first may I, on behalf of the bank and all its employees offer you our heartfelt condolences on your recent loss’.
Through the shock I muttered ‘thank you’; this definitely wasn’t going to plan.
‘And also may I take this opportunity to welcome you to our establishment’. Formalities out of the way he then cheerfully informed me that it was in fact three o’clock in the morning where he was, ‘but don’t let that worry you Sir, this is what we are here for, now please how can I be of assistance?’
Taking a deep breath I tentatively whispered ‘can you transfer five million Euros into my Spanish bank account please,’ (that should keep me going for a little while).
‘Your ‘Banco de Sol’ account Sir - ending in 664?’
‘Err yes’ I replied, and a moment later ‘all done Sir, it is now in your Spanish account, can I be of any further assistance?’ Obviously all those passwords, challenges and responses and other security precautions, including no doubt my inside leg measurement were only needed if the voice recognition technology malfunctioned. I think the younger generation use the term ‘gob smacked’, it is a very apt expression. It see
ms that I had now entered a financial world that I never even knew existed. Money indeed talks, and finding that the ‘Banco de Sol’ icon already existed on the ‘desktop’ screen of my ‘little black book’ (I told the truth about the colour, it is indeed black, it just doesn’t have any paper pages) I clicked the relevant ‘on line banking’ prompts and waited with baited breath to find out if I was in fact really awake, or just having a very vivid dream. ‘Bingo’, Senor Gonzales Joven was, as I lay there absolutely stunned, finding out that he was indeed a VERY happy man.
My first major decision concerned our villa, and it came quite easily really. Realising that I was going to be hospitalised for at least another 9 months, maybe even a year, and having no real wish to revisit a place which held so many happy memories for me I gave it to Doris, along with a small sum (well ‘small sum’ to me) to help her with the upkeep. It would be in her name only of course, just in case Pedro wasn’t her everlasting love (after all he was number three). She had always been so keen and cheerful when helping Sheila around the villa, no job was too small (or too dirty), especially when Bonnie had her ‘tummy problems’. She looked after our home as if it were her own, well now it was. One phone call to Vicente, plus a brief fax giving him the authority to act on my behalf in this matter and it happened. Doris sorted out what she thought were my personal affects, or items that might have especially fond memories for me and set them to one side to await Alice’s visit, which Alice arranged for a week later. She spent a day sadly going through it all, aided by Doris, Vicente, and a team of storage people (whom he had thoughtfully arranged to be there) – then I became ‘of no fixed abode’ as all the papers, computers, DVD’s, photos, and myriad bits and pieces of memorabilia that contributed to the memories of 32 years of happy marriage, went into secure storage. Not even our ‘relocating’ to Spain five years earlier had helped reduce the pile significantly. Doris had even found the original boxes, stored away at the back of the basement, for Sheila’s cherished ‘Lladro’ collection. If the memories that came with those beautiful figurines turned out to be too much for me, then Alice I’m sure would always have a suitable home for them. Most of our clothes went to the ‘clothes bank’, even mine, there was no guarantee that once I had recovered they would even fit me again, and Alice had a shrewd suspicion that I may now be able to afford new ones (hopefully with a bit more style), and after asking Vicente to deal with the villa, I quickly realised that I was definitely going to need serious help, permanently. I had Alice on hand for the time being, but I realised that she would, sooner or later, have to depart to sort out her own life. She had even recently started practicing again with her beloved violin, after a totally besotted hospital Administrator found her a suitable ‘rehearsal’ room (out of ear shot of the paying guests of course) in an attempt to gain favour (nice try José). I knew from our ‘little chats’ in the past that Vicente was not only an up and coming local ‘Abagado’, with 2 small offices, a Partner, and a couple of secretary/researcher/typists, but he was also very active in ‘Human’ and ‘Civil Rights’ issues. He had been to Brussels and Madrid many times representing various clients, and not always being financially rewarded for his efforts. ‘Pro bono’ work it seemed was a cross that he had to bare, but as long as he could put food on the family table his wife was happy, so a week or so after Alice had sadly sorted out the villa I asked Vicente over for a ‘little’ chat. I had done some thinking and had come to the conclusion that Vicente fitted the bill perfectly. He was honest, reliable, thoughtful, had an outstanding sense of responsibility, and also I trusted him implicitly. After what seemed like hours of negotiating, (but Alice thought it was ‘quite quick really’) we agreed that I would retain him on a very attractive annual fee (plus expenses of course) to be my ‘Man Friday’ in the legal field. I wasn’t ‘unreasonable’, all I expected in return was for him to be available 24/7. Eventually I relented slightly and agreed not only to allow him a little time to sleep but also to let him continue representing a few of his ‘Human’ and ‘Civil Rights’ clients in his spare time (and also to fund them when necessary), not a lot, but a few, just enough to ensure that his ‘feel good factor’ was filled. The only condition that I insisted on was that if he was not available then someone of a similar ilk to him was, and I even agreed, in a moment of weakness, to include the chartering of aircraft instead of rail fares in his expenses. I could not, for the life of me see why he should spend all his time lounging around in uncomfortable railway carriages when he could be doing something constructive for me, and this, as it turned out was the beginning of not only a very profitable arrangement for him (no more worries for his wife about where the money for her families next meal was coming from), but also the beginning of a very successful business arrangement for me. From now on any problems of even a slightly legalistic nature and he was my man. Welcome to the first of many into my fold.
~~~~