Rathbone silently opened the French doors and walked out to the exact center of his lawn, where he turned a slow, deliberate circle, checking once more for the observers. Satisfied that he was temporarily alone, he faced his house and knelt down on the grass. Then, Charles Rathbone, decorated war hero took a deep breath, put the shotgun barrel into his mouth and, without hesitation, pulled both triggers.
TWO
It was not until the next morning that Stone heard that Charles Rathbone had committed suicide. Fresh from the shower, he was in his kitchen cooking some eggs for breakfast when the local radio broke the story.
“Local war hero and political activist Charles Rathbone has been found dead at his house near Sible Hedingham, in Essex. Police were called to the house yesterday evening after a woman walking her dog reported hearing a single gunshot. Mister Rathbone was discovered lying slumped on his lawn. He was pronounced dead at the scene by a local doctor. A source within the Essex police has confirmed that Mr. Rathbone died from a shotgun blast to the head. Foul play is not suspected. A suicide note was found in his jacket pocket stating that he had recently been diagnosed with an inoperable brain cancer while secretly attending a clinic in America, and that he had chosen to end his life at this time to maintain his dignity. The letter went on to say that Charles Rathbone’s dying wish is that the nation’s desire for ‘True Democracy’ in politics would not die, just because its strongest voice had passed away; to this end he nominated his staunch supporter Sally Field to replace him at the next election.
The son of a farmer and a graduate of the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, Charles Rathbone had a distinguished career in the British Army. In 2008, while serving with the Royal Engineers in Afghanistan, his squad came under a sustained enemy attack culminating with a large IED explosion. Although badly wounded himself, Charles Rathbone twice entered a known minefield to rescue injured colleagues. For this act of conspicuous courage in circumstances of extreme danger, he was awarded the George Cross. After his rehabilitation, Charles Rathbone retired from the Army and returned to his native Essex to manage the family farm. More recently, he had become a central figure in the growing campaign to change the face of British politics. He was standing as an independent candidate in the general election, under the banner of ‘True Democracy’; he was widely expected to win.
Charles Rathbone was aged sixty-two; he was unmarried and had no immediate family.”
After saying just two words, ‘Good God!’ for the first time since the death of his mother, Eric Stone sat and cried.
His friendship with Charles Rathbone was as deep as siblings, or closer, if that was possible. They had first met at Stone’s dojo in Colchester in the spring of 2009. Eric had just finished teaching a Sunday morning kids class and was in the process of clearing away the equipment, when he noticed a tall man standing quietly, just inside the dojo door. He was wearing a long black raincoat over a sports jacket and waistcoat. Visible below the raincoat, perfectly pressed black pants sat above a pair of highly polished black leather brogues. In his right hand, the man held a rolled umbrella with a curved wooden handle, which doubled as a walking stick and seemed to be helping him keep much of his weight off his right foot.
Stone surreptitiously studied the stranger as he continued collecting the equipment, wondering if he was perhaps a parent or Council official of some description. He had initially thought that the man was angry, as his face was full of dark tension, but on closer inspection, Stone decided that he was suffering some deep pain. Although the day was cool, there was a gleam of sweat on his brow, deep lines under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow, as if he were a recovering drug addict or a cancer survivor. If he was an angry parent, or someone with an axe to grind, Stone felt that the man would have come forwards by now, but he had just remained standing quietly by the door watching as Stone went about his work. After putting the last of the protective headgear and gloves into the storage locker, Stone turned and spoke to the man for the first time.
“May I help you, Sir?”
“I hope you can.” His voice had a full, cultured quality, which spoke of education and confidence.
With some difficulty and barely concealed pain, the stranger brought himself upright and walked twenty careful paces until he was face-to-face with Stone. After hooking the handle of his umbrella over his left arm, he offered his right hand to shake and gave a warm smile.
“Mr. Stone, my name is Charles Rathbone and I would like to engage your services. Recently I lost part of my right leg in Afghanistan. The Army medical people have done all they can but they tell me I will never walk normally again — I want you to help me to prove them wrong.”
“OK, you have my attention,” Stone said politely, “But I’m just a humble karate teacher, how do you think I can help?”
Rathbone smiled and his steely blue eyes glinted with wry humor.
“Why Mr. Stone, you are too modest by far. I have done my research very carefully and you have been recommended to me by the highest authority. I know that you are highly skilled in a range of martial arts. I know that you are a talented and passionate instructor. I know that your experience and training has given you a unique knowledge of biomechanics, and I know that you are a man who loves to be tested.”
Rathbone thrust his chin forwards daringly and his eyes narrowed as he delivered the challenge.
“So Mr. Stone, they said that I will always limp along with the aid of a stick. I intend to prove them wrong. Will you help this cripple to walk like a man again?”
Stone looked at the man before him with fresh interest. The physical pain that he was suffering was etched deeply into his face. He noticed that despite the firmness of his handshake, Rathbone was visibly shaking in an effort to remain standing. Eric imagined how hard it must have been for this unassuming man to ask for help from a complete stranger. For a full minute Stone looked into Rathbone’s unblinking eyes, while he considered how he would approach such a difficult task. Then, with his mind made up, he gave one sharp, decisive nod.
“OK, let’s do it!”
Over the next six months, through the grueling hours of intense physical training and balance exercises, Charles gradually learned to walk without a stick. At the same time, even though they were very different people, a deep friendship developed between the two men. Though he had done his research before their first meeting, Rathbone was impressed with Eric’s analytical intelligence and quiet determination. He found Stone to be a thoroughly likeable and totally trustworthy person.
Stone, a naturally modest and introspective man, was happy to sit for hours listening to Charles Rathbone’s animated stories of Army life, or his passionate opinions of how the British political system could be reformed. Usually, these discussions took place in the local bar, over a delicious meal and a few pints of best bitter. The two men also discovered that they had some shared interests — vintage cars, target shooting, and beautiful women.
Both men were single and unattached. Although Stone enjoyed the company of beautiful and intelligent women, he was rather shy and had yet to find one that interested both his heart and mind. Conversely, the always-effervescent Rathbone, a widower of fifteen-years, seemed to have a bewildering stable of stunningly beautiful female acquaintances that seemed happy to share his company and his bed, without demanding any further commitment. Whenever Charles invited Eric to a party or a barbecue at the farm, one of these delightful young ladies would bring along an equally attractive friend to act as Stone’s companion. Although these dates were always intellectually interesting and sometimes physically satisfying, few led to anything more than an exchange of phone numbers and a shared lie to keep in touch. For the most part the girls were interested and willing, Stone was after all a handsome man, but he found it difficult to engage in a relationship where that rare but indescribable spark was missing.