Dory's Avengers

DORY'S AVENGERS

DORY'S AVENGERS

Alison Jack

Book Guild Publishing

Sussex, England

First published in Great Britain in 2013 by

The Book Guild Ltd

Pavilion View

19 New Road

Brighton, BN1 1UF

Copyright © Alison Jack 2013

The right of Alison Jack to be identified as the author of

this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the

Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real people, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

Typesetting in Baskerville by

YHT Ltd, London

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

A catalogue record for this book is available from

The British Library.

ePub ISBN: 9781909716315
Mobi ISBN: 9781909716322

Contents

Author's Notes

Prologue: The Beginning of the Sponsorship Scheme

Part One Applethwaite Awakens

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Part Two Dory

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Part Three An Unsponsored Wedding

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Part Four Unsponsored Revolution

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

My family and friends have given me tremendous encouragement from the moment I first decided to write
Dory's Avengers
, and I thank each and every one of them for this encouragement.

Special thanks go to:

My partner Andy for his endless patience, his unwavering support, and for walking mile after mile of south London's streets in search of the Unsponsored.

My friend Wanda for being my number one critic, naming the book and helping to keep my feet on the ground.

My enthusiastic ‘communications manager' Bruce for spreading the word, taking the author photo and supplying my much needed IT training.

Author's Notes

Although set in some very real places,
Dory's Avengers
is entirely a work of fiction. As such, the ‘boring opening ceremony' that heralds the Olympic Games in my story bears absolutely no resemblance to the spectacular show which opened the real London 2012 Olympic Games. Similarly, the ‘poor, stifled, sponsored gymnasts' mentioned in
Dory's Avengers
are nothing like the magnificent Team GB gymnasts who made the UK proud during those Games.

Applethwaite as portrayed in
Dory's Avengers
is purely fictitious and is not based on the village of the same name located in the foothills of Skiddaw.

Prologue: The Beginning of the Sponsorship Scheme

Success came naturally to William St Benedict. Having been born into a life of wealth and privilege, he had grown up with an unshakable sense of his own infallibility. At the tender age of twenty-three, William had taken over the running of the St Benedict family business following the death of his father, and his ruthless determination had transformed the already successful company into the country's dominant building firm. This would have been achievement enough for many people, but not for William. Having tasted power and found that he liked it, William wanted more. In short, he wanted to be the most powerful man that the United Kingdom, and perhaps even the world, had ever known. It was this ambition that led to William creating the Sponsorship Scheme.

Doubt wasn't an emotion with which William was familiar, but even he was surprised by the phenomenal success of the Sponsorship Scheme. Within a year, Sponsor endorsement became synonymous with success, and the various Sponsor groups were inundated with applications for Sponsorship from all over the country. Conversely, being Unsponsored began to carry a stigma too horrible to contemplate, and the Sponsored became increasingly terrified of losing their status.

Eleven years before the end of the millennium, when the
Sponsorship Scheme was in its fourth year, William St Benedict was driving home through the dirty remains of the winter's first snowfall. The weather in London was bleak and cold, and it was already getting dark despite only being three o'clock in the afternoon. This didn't dampen William's spirits in the slightest; the five years since he had taken over St Benedict Construction had gone very much according to plan, and he was feeling extremely pleased with himself. Switching on his car radio, William was just in time to hear some news that compounded his happiness.

‘This just in, folks!' said the radio DJ, his voice full of enthusiasm. ‘It would seem our very own William St Benedict, founder of the wonderful Sponsorship Scheme, is widely believed to be getting an honour from Her Maj when the New Year's Honours are announced. Sir William would be appropriate, don't you think? Or maybe Lord William; no title befits this fine gentlemen better than a lordship, hey, guys and girls? Am I right or am I right?'

William was still dreaming about receiving an honorary peerage from the Queen when he arrived at his luxurious Kensington home. The founder members of the Sponsorship Scheme were already enjoying hot cups of tea and the warmth of the drawing-room fire as William paused briefly to look in on the family room. William's first child, eighteen-month-old Rosanna, was shrieking happily while her nanny, Marie, hung ornaments on a vast Christmas tree. Rosanna was already a beauty, with golden curls framing her pretty face and light-brown eyes, so like her father's, sparkling as she toddled over to receive his embrace. William's wife, Isabelle, uncurled herself from the easy chair by the fire and crossed the room to greet her husband.

‘Hello, dear,' she said, kissing William lightly on the cheek. ‘Our guests are already assembled in the drawing room. I've asked Mooreland to supply them with refreshments.'

‘Then let us go and join them, darling,' replied William, passing Rosanna back to Marie and taking his wife by the hand.

‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,' said William a few minutes later, entering the drawing room with Isabelle and greeting the people who had helped to pioneer the Sponsorship Scheme. ‘Thank you for making the journey to my humble abode in such inclement weather. Owing to the fact that the festive season is almost upon us we will make this an informal meeting; in fact, I would like to start proceedings with a cause for celebration.'

William paused at this point to hug Isabelle closer to his side, before announcing, ‘Isabelle and I are expecting a second child. He's due at the end of June.'

‘I can't guarantee a boy, Will,' said Isabelle, laughing at her husband's certainty. ‘He so wants a son and heir,' she continued for the benefit of the assembled company, who were rising as one from their seats to offer their congratulations.

‘Wonderful! Wonderful!'

‘Splendid news!'

‘Marvellous! A little brother or sister for the lovely Rosanna.'

Hugs, kisses and more congratulations followed. Brian Mooreland, the head of the St Benedict household staff and beneficiary of the Sponsorship Scheme, appeared with chilled bottles of champagne, and toasts were offered to the parents to be.

After the champagne and the congratulations, William called for a short period of calm in order that business could be discussed. As promised, William kept the proceedings informal, and the meeting was more a mutual back-slapping session as one by one his colleagues reported success after success.

‘We now have all the major banks on board,' Mortimer
O'Reilly, head of Finance Sponsorship, reported proudly. ‘One or two were a little suspicious to begin with, but the obvious benefits of endorsement have persuaded them to join in our venture.'

‘That is indeed great news,' said William. ‘We can't have too many allies in the money world. Fiona, I hear things go from strength to strength in the medical branch of the Professional Sponsor Group.'

‘Absolutely right, William,' replied Dr Fiona Turnbull, placing her glass on the table. ‘The Turnbull Health Centres are spreading far and wide across the country, with new centres due to open shortly in Oxford, York and Glasgow. Pro Spo now sponsor over one and a half million families, with some promising medical students due to graduate in the summer. The Best Friend veterinary surgeries are also highly successful countrywide, and I've been working with Steph to ensure a Feathers and Fur shop opens adjacent to each Best Friend premises.'

The Steph mentioned by Fiona was Stephanie Rogers, head of the Retail Sponsorship Group. William had the greatest respect for both women, admiring their professionalism and dignity. He recalled the day that the Scheme had been born, when Steph had taken on the running of Retail Sponsorship.

‘Jolly good,' he'd said in response to her eager acceptance of the post. ‘I have no doubt you'll excel in the role. After all, you women do love to shop!'

‘Indeed,' Steph had replied smoothly, ‘almost as much as you men love to stereotype.'

For over three years now, Stephanie had never failed to deliver even more than William could have hoped. She was currently busy sifting through the multitude of applicants wishing to open stores in St Benedict Construction's brand-new development: a high-class shopping arcade in the fashionable Docklands area of London.

‘Lysander,' said William, addressing the memorably named Lysander Trevelyan, ‘Leisure and Fitness?'

‘What about it?' replied Lysander, blue eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Oh, do you want a report? I was enjoying a rather pleasant little snooze here by the fire.'

‘Of course he wants a report, you imbecile,' snapped Mortimer, astounded that anyone would have the nerve to give any backchat to William St Benedict.

‘Relax, Morti old chum. William knows I like a little joke, don't you, WSB?'

William regarded Lysander and Mortimer with some amusement. The two men couldn't have been more different. Mortimer: red-faced, anxious, slightly plump; undoubtedly a genius with figures but lacking somewhat in social skills. Lysander: confident, athletic and handsome; his blond hair attractively tousled, clothes always well-fitting and immaculately stylish. That the pair despised each other was plain for all to see; they never missed an opportunity to score points off each other, the quick-witted Lysander usually emerging the winner.

‘I hate being called Morti…' whined the money man, but he was interrupted smoothly by Lysander.

‘Leisure and Fitness, though I say so myself, is fantastically successful. People these days work hard, and we encourage them to play equally hard. The people we sponsor have grasped the concept with enthusiasm; forgive me for not having exact figures for you, but as of November we were sponsoring well over three million. It is a figure that is swelling all the time, with youngsters all over the country keen to train as fitness coaches, beauty therapists and hair stylists. There are waiting lists to join all our gyms and sports centres, and the health farms are fully booked at least until the end of February. We at Leisure and Fitness are working in conjunction with David and Julia of the Sport Sponsorship Group to meet the ever-increasing demand for top-quality
sport and fitness facilities. We will, of course, keep you posted every step of the way.'

‘Lysander; I don't doubt it, nor do I doubt for a moment your ability to meet the demand levelled at you. David and Julia, your success with the sportsmen and women is already reaping its rewards with that nice trophy the country celebrated so wildly in the summer.'

‘Yes, that was fabulous, wasn't it?' replied David Foster. ‘But I'm afraid to say the little problem of which we spoke a few weeks ago is far from resolved.'

‘Ah yes, the stubborn young footballer. You may speak freely in front of my wife; she is aware of the situation.'

A roomful of curious eyes turned upon Isabelle St Benedict, who kept her expression neutral despite the sense of foreboding she suddenly felt.

‘My gobby little brother?' she said lightly. ‘I'm sure he'll grow up soon and learn to keep his silly ideas to himself.'