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The Bunbury Corporation
'A Trivial Company for Serious People
1.
Do you know about the gorilla and the basketball? Its a famous perception test.
People are shown a video of a basketball match for a few minutes and are asked to
count the number of times the ball is passed around. The funny thing about the
video is that, somewhere halfway through the footage, a guy in a gorilla suit walks
by, acting silly. Apparently, about half the people who take the test fail to notice
the gorilla. Better still, when shown the video again, they insist that the gorilla was
never even there to begin with. This process is called intentional blindness: our
brains only see what were looking for. We focus on one thing, and blur out the
rest. Kind of like in a photograph. After all, what happens in the background isnt
important, right? Thats why its in the background. Wrong. What happens in thefront is just a faade. What happens in the background is whats actuallygoing on.
So know that, at any given time in your life, there could be a gorilla lurking in the
background. And if there is, hes almost always out to get you, and get you, he
will. This is what I learned in the past year, and I learned it the hard way.
I remember now that, when I first heard Al mention the name, it didnt at all strike
me as remarkable, or even notable. It had that typical reassuring quality that onlythe really big ones manage to reserve for themselves. You know, the household
names. Those that have been around for as long as anyone can remember,
surreptitiously etching themselves into the fabric of society itself. Well, this
sounded exactly like one of those. I had a vague sense that Id heard it before.
Maybe I had. It was possible, I suppose, theoretically. Who knows just who
widespread it really is? Theres no way of telling
But anyway
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Hi!, Al said.
Ah Hello boys., Bracknell replied from behind a disorderly disarray of papers. A
glass stood sizzling on the desk before him, dying with excitement to alleviate
another of his famous headaches. The man drank the stuff like common mortals
drank soft drinks.
Working late, hm?, he asked us, knitting his brow.
Bracknell looked awful. He probably hadnt slept in days. Well, not in a bed
anyway
Same as yourself, boss., I said. We finished the Prism presentation, by the
way
Great, thats a relief, Bracknell sighed. Thanks guys. Nice to know I still got
some people I can depend on"
Hey, no problem, chief!, Al replied as light-heartedly as he could muster after a
15-hour workday. Want us to give you a hand with those accounts?
No thanks, Bracknell said. You just stick to what youre good at, Moncrieff, and
Ill do the same.
Talking of which, were going clubbing! Wanna come with?, Al asked.
I wasnt entirely sure he was kidding, because you never really were with Al. Thank
God Bracknell chose to take it as a joke
Haha, thanks for the offer, but Im just gonna finish this and head home I think,
he said.
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Then, seemingly as an afterthought, he added: You guys coming tomorrow, I
trust?.
This was a rhetorical question. Tomorrow was, of course, the big annual company
bash. You werent obliged to attend, but it was strongly advised which meant
well that you were obliged to attend.
Wouldnt wanna miss it for the world!, I lied between my teeth.
Im gonna have to take a rain check, Im afraid, Al said.
He might as well have said: Im just gonna go and head butt that lion over
there., because Bracknells tired little eyes suddenly increased threefold in size.
You wont!?, the boss exclaimed.
Afraid so. Got this, erm fund raising thing that I really cant afford to miss.
Bracknells eyebrows spelled incredulity. (if anyone could fit such a big word up
there, it was Oscar The Man With Three Moustaches Bracknell). Clearly, the chief
didnt quite know how to react. In the end, he decided not to, and simply
continued staring at Al, who, bizarrely, didnt seem in the least intimidated by
this.
Would have loved to be there of course, but you just dont say no to the Bunbury
Corporation, do you?, Al explained.
To my surprise, Bracknell didnt insist any further after that. Probably because he
was just too knackered. Or because he knew that this unfortunate decision would
go on to haunt Al for the rest of his career. Which might now turn out to be a lot
shorter than he expected.
Well, cant be helped then, Bracknell muttered.
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Dont worry, this guy here..., Al said, pointing his thumb in my direction,
...will tell me all about it afterwards, Im sure!
See that he does, Moncrieff, see that he does!, the chief replied, in a failed
attempt at cheerfulness.
Well, were off clubbing then! Good night, chief!, Al said.
Good night., Oscar Bracknell mumbled.
We walked the dark corridors in silence. In the elevator, I asked Al:
Are you mad or just plain stupid?
A little bit from column A and a little bit from column B!, he said.
There is no such thing as a Bunbury Corporation, is there?, I asked.
Aaaaah! Thats an interesting question. Quite a philosophical one, in fact.
You do realize youre going to get the sack for this?
Well see, well see..., Al said, grinning mysteriously. Sowhaddayathink?
Saloms or the Ravenna Club?
Im not going clubbing with you., I said.
Spoilsport..., Al pouted.
The elevator went bing, we got out into the parking lot, and strolled towards our
respective transporting vehicles, his a 1986 Porsche 911 Carrera, mine a third-hand
bike of unspecified origin. They were ironically parked side to side.
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Well, in case I dont see you tomorrow: have fun at the party!, Al said
sardonically.
I wont, but at least I 'll still have a job afterwards, I replied.
Al smiled defiantly, gracefully slid into the drivers seat of his Boast Mobile and
arrogantly speeded off through the empty garage, into the dead of night.
Al and I, we go back a long way, all the way to primary school. Nothing much had
changed since then. He had always been the cocky one, I had the brains to match.
Even at such a tender age, we realized that, individually, we formed the very
epitomes of uselessness, yet, combined, we were a force to be reckoned with. And
so, ever since the highly successful Sponge of Doom vs. Math Teacher - venture in
third-grade, we had consistently and exclusively operated in unison.
I always wanted to be an artist. Al, on the other hand, wanted to be successful.
Having no real talents of his own, apart from his uncanny ability to borrow other
peoples talents and disguise them as his own, advertising seemed the way to go
for him. Bracknell and Partners being the most prestigious name in the business
(the only one Al had ever heard of actually), he decided to apply there, for the
position of junior marketeer. He bluffed his way through the interview, got the
job, and, as soon as he realized he was actually going to have to do something
now, sent for me. That is, when his supervisor mentioned Bracknell and Partners
could really do with another junior assistant marketeer, Al assured him that he
knew just the guy.
Apparently, wed be working in team, developing marketing strategies for a wide
range of companies that produced things and offered services that no one could
ever possibly find a use for. Evidently, neither of us had any clue what we were
supposed to be doing. That was when Als star really shone. We thought up slogans
(well, I did), designed logos (well, I did) and presented our feeble plans to the
clients with unequalled passion and conviction (well, Al did). And we got away with
it. Every. Bloody. Time. In less than a year time, we had become Bracknells
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most productive senior marketeers, inspiring considerable amounts of awe among
our equally clueless yet strangely less successful fellow employees. It was these
poor lost souls that I was expected to have a good time with during the much-
dreaded annual company bash.
Every year was the same. The general idea was, of course, that a fairly luxurious
party paid for by the company would make the employees feel appreciated, as well
as improve interpersonal relations among Bracknells many, many different
divisions. This never happened. What happened was that a lot of people who didnt
know each other gathered in a large conference hall to stand around looking
awkward, trying to pass the time by munching exquisite(-looking) hors doeuvres
and boozing up on cheap bubbly. In other words, people got drunk quickly and, as a
result, tended to become dangerously vocal on the subject of their frustrations
about colleagues, supervisors and various other aspects of Bracknell and Partners.
As a result, a company bash wasnt a proper company bash if it didnt have at least
one fistfight and at least three wildly inappropriate Oscar Bracknell-impressions.
And a day after a company bash wasnt a proper day after a company bash if it
didnt have at least several dozen painful water cooler conversations and at least
two dishonourable discharges. I myself had lingered inconspicuously through most
of the evening, trying out how many people I could despise in under one minute. I
think I also made a feeble pass at one of the admin girls and failed graciously. So
nothing too embarrassing. Still, the next morning at work, the general atmosphere
of guilt and terror got to me as well. I was having a fairly rotten day. Right up until
the moment I saw Al walk in, sporting a particularly broad smile, even for him.
Suddenly, I was having a bloody rotten day.
And? How was it?, Al asked, wielding his grin like a sword.
Worst one yet. Four casualties. And counting., I said.
Phieeew!, Al whistled between his teeth. Anyone we know?
Naah, just foot soldiers for the moment.
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At this point, an office door opened, from which Bracknells head stuck out.
Moncrieff! A word!, he snarled.
I felt a pang and looked at Al. He looked unaffected. But then again, he always did.
I warned you, damned!, I hissed into his ear.
Al gave me an amused look and disappeared into the office with Bracknell. He
emerged some five minutes later, looking exactly as he had done five minutes
earlier.
And?, I barely dared ask.
Guess who just got promoted, bitch!, Al said with childish glee.
Errrm You sure you dont mean de-moted'?
Hm, Im not sure., Al said pensively. Whats the one where extra zeroes
suddenly start appearing on your pay checks?"
No way!, I cried. Thatjust doesnt make any sense! You should ve been
Yet I wasnt!, Al interrupted. So lets celebrate! Spontaneous lunch break!
Come on, Im buying!
In the cafeteria, I sat staring at Al like a caveman at a jet fighter. He was utterly
amused.
Could you, I started off, if you please, explain to me, in the simplest
wording possible, what the fuck just happened!?
Ah well, you see, the thing isno, I cant., Al smiled.
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So what did Bracknell say to you exactly?
Well,, Al began, he said that I was an invaluable asset to the company,
whose by no means inconsiderable achievements had too long gone unnoticed, and
that it was about time I was rewarded for my valiant efforts accordingly with lots
and lots of moolah He didnt actually say that last one.
I dont get it.
Were not jealous, are we?, Al winked.
No., I replied, truthfully. Justconfused.
Hm., Al hummed. Clearly, he knew something, which, for some reason, he
wasnt supposed to share with me. Luckily, Al was very bad at keeping secrets. He
leaned forward and, in a conspiratory sort of voice, said:
Okay, okay. Ill tell you whats going on. But not here. Come to my place after
work and Ill explain everything Well, not everything. But Ill tell you what I
know. Deal?
Deal, I said.
Als luxurious bachelor pad was located on the top floor of the highest apartment
building in the City. He found it suited his inflated sense of self-worth perfectly. Al
received me with his usual theatrical cordiality and offerings of brightly coloured
alcoholic beverages. I sat myself down in his hideous green sofa, and waited for
him to start talking.
There really isnt much to tell, Al said.
I rather think there is, I replied.
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Al straightened his back and said:
Okay, so basically Im an employee,well,a member of a company,or ratheran
organisation
The Bunbury Corporation.
an organisation, Al continued, that provides people with
certainfacilitatingservices.
Could you possibly be any vaguer?
Im sorry, okay?!, Al said, seemingly at a loss. Its notI cantthere s nothing
to compare it with, you see?
I dont., I said. So what does this Bunbury Corporation do exactly?
I dont know, Al replied.
Yet you work for them.
Yeahwellyou might as well say they work for me...
Its, like, insurances then or something?, I suggested.
Ermsort ofI suppose. In a way.
Okay, youre getting on my nerves now, mate., I told Al. If you dont want to
share your little secret with me, fine. But frankly Ive got better things to do than
sit here and listen to your enigmatic drivel!
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I didnt actually. Al knew that. I was expecting a snazzy remark, but it didnt
come. Instead, he said:
Tell you what: if you really, really want to know, youre gonna have to become a
member yourself.
I pondered this over for a second. Then I said:
Sure, what the hell. What do I have to do?
Nothing. Ill propose you and then theyll contact you. Thats how it goes.
How Masonic of them., I remarked. Okay, you go on and propose me then. Hey,
maybe, one day, we could go Bunburying together sometime! Who knows?
Who knows?, Al echoed. Another drink?
Gladly, I said.
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2.
I spent the next day at work on the phone to the Prism people, answering questions
that I didnt know the answer to. Apparently, they were having second thoughts. I
didnt even know theyd had first thoughts. Lunchtime came slowly, and when it
finally did, I was washed up already. Halfway through a delicious cardboard and
plastic sandwich, my phone rang.
Hello?, I asked.
Good afternoon. This is Cecily from the Bunbury Corporation. Am I speaking to
Jack?, a pleasant womans voice wanted to know.
You are.
Excellent. You expressed an interest in becoming a member of the Bunbury
Corporation, I believe?, the woman agreeably asked.
I did, yeah.
And you are, at this point, still interested in joining our organisation?, the
velvety voice continued.
I think so, yes.
Good. In that case, would it convene you to drop by our offices tonight around,
say 8-ish?
Erm, yeah, sure. That wont be a problem, I said. Whats the address?
She told me.
Okay, Ill be there.
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Perfect. Well be expecting you. Thanks for choosing 'Bunbury', Jack. Have a
wonderful afternoon!, the voice cheerfully spoke.
Thanks, ermCecily.
I had a wonderful afternoon reworking the Prism presentation while cursing Als
hide. I got off at 6, grabbed a bite at the Paki round the corner and called a cab at
around 7.30.
Whereabouts are we going, sir?, a particularly sour-looking driver was forced to
ask.
1895 Woolton Road.
Right., the man said, and off we went.
The driver remained silent throughout the journey, which was a relief. Skilfully, he
steered the car through a maze of increasingly unfamiliar lanes and streets, deep
into the uncharted backwaters of the city. It was not long before I had lost every
sense of direction. After some twenty minutes of seemingly aimless meandering,
the car came to a halt.
Here we are, sir. Thatll be 7.80.
This cant be right..., I said.
We had stopped in a very narrow alleyway that didnt look as if it was inhabited by
anything other than stray dogs and desolation. The house that bore the number
1895 was a pile of bricks that might have known better days somewhere around the
Crimean War. Its windows had been darkened, as if it were too embarrassed to
show its interior to anyone.
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Very well then, young man!, Dorian suddenly went, in a pompous voice. Can
you tell me which 17th century British poet famously claimed it is better to reign
in hell than to serve in heaven?
Erm, can I call a friend?
Dorian laughed ever so briefly and then returned to his regular voice.
I believe Al Moncrieff proposed you to us?, he asked.
Yeah, he did.
Bit of a maverick, isnt he, our Al?
I bet hed take that as a compliment, I said.
I bet he would. Still, we need people like him. But we also need people like you,
Jack., Dorian said, fixing his stare on me.
And what for, if I may ask?
Ah, Ill answer that with another question, if I may. Do you consider yourself to
be what is generally known as an honest man, Jack?, Dorian asked.
Erm, I suppose so, yes.
And, Jack,, he continued, am I also correct in assuming that, despite this
truly admirable conviction of yours, you have at some point, or indeed points, in
your life, lied?
Wellhasnt everyone, at least once?
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Seems a bitfar-fetched to me. Hiring a company to get out of going to parties,
I remarked.
Oh, but thats just one of the least interesting examples of what 'Bunbury' can do
for you, Jack. There is literarily no limit to the services we provide. As a
'Bunbury'-member, your back is always covered. Wherever you are, youre in the
clear and off the hook, we see to that. See it as life-insurance, with real time
benefits.
Hm, well, I cant say Im not a little intrigued. Im still looking for the catch,
though.
There is a catch., Dorian admitted. It's called guilt. If you can live with that,
you have nothing to fear.
Well, my mother was a Catholic so I think Ill manage., I said.
Dorian smiled.
I take it youre in then?, he asked.
Depends., I replied. What is this gonna cost me?
Ah, theres the beauty! Nothing, Jack, thats what its gonna cost you!
Thats nice. But how do you people make money then?
We have various sources of income., Dorian said. Most of our funds come from
donations, though. We find that the vast majority of our members, in time, feel
the need to express their gratitude to 'Bunbury' financially, I am glad to say.
Okay, I said. Sign me up then.
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You wont regret this., Dorian said, handing me the piece of paper hed been
holding when I came in. Sign on the dotted lines, if you please.
I did.
Glad to have you on board, Jack!, Dorian said.
He got up and shook my hand. Firmly.
Sowhat happens now?, I asked him, while my hand was nigh being crushed.
Dorian released his grip and proceeded to take a small card from the inside pocket
of his vest.
Well, Jack, whenever you need us, give us a call and well take care of
everything, he said while, quite impertinently, stuffing his business card down the
breast pocket of my shirt.
It was Milton, by the way., I blurted out.
Pardon?
Better to reign in hell than to serve in heaven? That was Milton. 'Paradise Lost'.
Was it? I must remember that., Dorian said. Ill see you around, Jack!
Great. ThanksDorian.
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3.
They say Curiosity killed the cat. Thats not true. Curiosity was entirely innocent.
He was framed by those treacherous thugs Audacity and Recklessness. People
always get that wrong.
Though I am in essence a careful and sensible person, I have been known to take
risks from time to time. But never without a sound exit strategy. I had decreed
that, at any given point in my life, I should be able to walk away from everything
unhindered, unharmed, unaffected. Ive never had any attachments, professional,
emotional or otherwise, that I couldnt give up in a split second. So, naturally, I
hadnt given this Bunbury-thing much thought. It was new and interesting, so
definitely worth checking out. As soon as Id grow bored or disappointed with it
(which would probably be fairly soon) I d get rid of it, like I did with everything
else in life. Or so I assumed.
The following couple of weeks, business went on as usual. I got the Prism people of
our backs, we brought in some clients, made some deals, screwed up some, got
away with it. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then, one morning, I arrived at the
office not to find Al there. Word had it hed taken the week off. Which was a bit of
a nuisance, because we had about 12 billion things to take care of that particular
week. I went up to Bracknell to ask what gives.
You mean he didnt tell you?, Bracknell asked me in turn.
I guess he didnt..., I said.
Well,, the chief said, in that tone of voice of his that meant something
unpleasant was coming your way. Moncrieffs brother passed away yesterday.
Apparently, it was all very sudden and unexpected. The guy was a bit in shreds
about it, of course. Asked if he could have the week off, to sort things out for the
funeral and such. I mean, what was I gonna say? So Im afraid youre on your own
this week, Worthing.
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I see. Poor guy. Okay, dont worry, Ill manage., I said, even though I knew
wouldnt.
Theres a lad! You gotta stand by your pals in difficult times such as these,
Worthing., Bracknell found.
Aint that the truth!, I replied, I said and went my way, grumbling.
What you need to know here, is that Al was an only child. The guy was having
everyone on, and I was about to suffer the consequences. I got through the worst
week in my working career solely motivated by anger. Finally, on Monday, Al
turned up again, sporting a suspiciously healthy tan and an infuriatingly laid-back
attitude. I came very near to punching him right on the sun-burnt nose, but instead
opted to corner the scumbag by the coffee machine and verbally confront him
there.
What the hell do you think youre playing at!?, I gently screamed at his face.
Hey, gimme a break, my brother just died., Al said.
You dont have a brother!
Not anymore., he said. Check out these cool obituary cards I got!
Al handed me a small black-edged card. It read: For we to death with pipe and
dancing go. In loving memory of Alfred Douglas Moncrieff, brother and
confabulologist.
Thats justyou bastard!Wait until you see his death certificate!I hate you
so much right now., I hissed.
I just needed a break, okay?You left me to dry!, I said. Last week was a
royal fuck-up, all thanks to you!
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Now youre just flattering me!Its not funny, okay? There is such a thing as
responsibility, you know?
Not in my life., Al said. All my responsibilities are professionally shirked by a
specialized company. But hey, I hear you signed up too? So why didnt you pull a
'Bunbury' yourself? Leave Bracknell to clean up the pieces?
Because I actually have a sense of morality?, I replied.
Its true, you do, Al said, compassionately. Id recommend a great deal of
'Bunburying' then. I personally find it gets rid of a lot of moral conundrums.
Perhaps Ill do that then. Just to screw you over.
Thats the spirit!, Al laughed. Anyway, I best go do some work now or
something.
You sure about that?, I said, sarcastically.
Al grabbed his coffee and walked off. Halfway through the corridor, he stopped and
turned around.
But seriously, he said, shifting into false earnesty-mode. 'Bunbury'give it a
shot, okay? You wont live to regret it, I promise!
Ill think about it., I said.
And I never did. Think about it, I mean. A few weeks later though, I got a call from
Gwen, my ex-wife. She was getting married again. And, just to show there were no
hard feelings, I was invited to the wedding, where we were supposed to catch up
on things, relive some of our fondest memories together and generally be very okay
and mature about everything, in a decidedly non-embittered and by no means
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childishly resentful way. So, was I coming? My mind screamed No!, my mouth
said Yeah, sure. I hate it when that happens.
And so, that weekend, I went to that place where Al usually gets his fancy attire
from, to buy myself a proper suit. I tried on several, but failed to look presentable
in any of them. I finally settled on a characterless three-piece black ensemble that
I found wasnt too bad of a fit. In the cubicle, I folded up my new costume,
wriggled myself back into my black jeans and snatched my shirt off the coat
hanger. A card fell out. I picked it up and saw the words 'Bunbury Corporation: A
Trivial Company for Serious People' seductively staring back at me.
Hm.
I called the number as soon as I got home.
Bunbury Corporation. How may I help you?, Cecily answered, even before the
second ring.
Err Jack Worthing here?
Hello Jack! How can I help you?, Cecily cheered.
Yeah, well, erm, Cecily, Im having a bit of a problem and I was wondering if
Bunbury could perhaps help me out?
Absolutely, thats what were here for. Cecily said. How about I make you an
appointment for tomorrow. Let me see eleven-ish, would that be convenient for
you?
Err yeah, sure., I said.
Wonderful! Ill see you tomorrow then. Goodbye, Jack!
Goodbye.
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You never know when those ll come in handy. We here at Bunbury like to keep
all eventualities covered. Just in case.
Sure.
Cecily took a tight hold of my right hand, and gently pressed the tips of my fingers
against the inkpad. I couldnt help but feel a little aroused.
Right, thats you all set up then!, she smiled. If you have any further questions
or queries, dont hesitate to contact us.
I will. Thanks a lot.
Youre welcome., Cecily said. And thank you for choosing Bunbury! Youll find
your own way out?
I will. Goodbye.
On the day, everything went according to plan. As expected, Gwen called me the
day after to ask how I was. Shed been over to the hospital, but Id already
checked out. She had been terribly worried. I assured Gwen it had been a very mild
heart attack indeed. Too much stress at work, chest pain, blocked artery, much
ado about very little, really. I congratulated her on her marriage and expressed my
sincerest regrets at not being able to attend. She told me to take care and
suggested that, after her prolonged honeymoon to some expensively exotic
country, we go out for coffee sometime. I non-committedly agreed.
I must admit that, when I got off the phone with Gwen, I felt a pang of guilt. But
much less so than expected. Paradoxically, the elaborateness of the operation
seemed to make things easier somehow. The more lies you pile up, the easier it
becomes to forget what the truth was anyway. I think this is a very big part of how
religion works, actually.
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But anyway, Id gotten the hang of it now, and in the next few weeks, I pulled
several more Bunburys, each time feeling a little less guilty about them. I shunned
jury duty, got out of a high school reunion and took a week off work. I understood
now why Bunbury would appeal to someone like Al. Its an immensely liberating
feeling, to be responsible for nothing. But, on the other hand, Bunburying made
you frighteningly dependant. After all, when it came down to it, we were putting
our fates in the hands of complete strangers. Al didnt mind too much about that,
though. Trust is the keyword here., Al had said to me one day. If you trust
them, completely and without question, theyll cover for you. Thats the deal.
True, we dont know who these people are or what theyre after, but that doesnt
matter. The trick is to convince yourself you trust them. Dont think too much,
take a blind leap. Dont worry: theyll catch you.
Thing is, though, I dont trust people. Never have. I didnt have a problem with the
guilt, that passed, but the trust-thing bugged me. Still, I went ahead with it,
because why the hell not? I had nothing much to lose.
Instigated by Als persistent nudging as much as by my own sense of curiosity, I set
out to explore the exact limits of what Bunbury could do for me. These were
practically boundless, it turned out. Bunbury didnt just get you out off things,
they got you into stuff as well. Permit me to clarify.
When I started out at Bracknell, I got myself a pretty fab apartment, befit to my
newfound status as overpaid young urban professional. Rent was, much like the
glorious rooftop terrace, sky-high, though I didnt mind too much. The apartment
was intended as a temporary solution, a short but welcome interval between long
periods of unemployment and crashing on other peoples sofas. Enjoy it while it
lasts, I had told myself, while counting the zeroes on the down-payment. It
lasted, and kept on lasting, in so much that, three years on, I still found myself
prancing around in this preposterously luxurious bachelor pad of mine. Recently,
however, the owner had decided to put the place on the market. As his exemplary
long-term tenant, I was of course, he told me, entitled to first bidding rights. Now,
I did have some cash stashed away, but not nearly enough to buy the apartment.
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But I figured that, having made it this far already, I wasnt likely to get the sack
any time soon, so I told the guy Id take it, providing I could get a big enough loan.
I mentioned this to Al at work one day, which elicited the classic response: a smug
and condescending smile.
What?, I asked.
A loan isnt a problem., he replied.
Erm, it kinda is, though, for that amount of money.
I can get you the money tomorrow, at an interest rate so low youd hardly notice
youre paying it., Al claimed.
I see, and does that involve any breaking of knees?
None, whatsoever. Thats not Bunburys style.
Ah, so theyre a bank now?
Better still. Theyre a fuckin charity. Give m a call. Youll be amazed., Al said.
I was. The interest rate was criminal. I signed immediately and bought the
apartment the next day. And with this, any doubts I still had about Bunbury
disappeared. They really could get things done. I got VIP-invitations to high society
parties, special discounts in designer shops, all-inclusive trans-atlantic flights to
wherever I pleased, and a very high opinion of myself. I was moving up in the
world, without actually doing anything. I think this is what people call being
successful.
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4.
One Monday, feeling a bit under the weather due to excessive boozing in the
weekend, I arrived at Bracknell to find my fellow workers in a state of someagitation. There was much subdued whispering and walking about nervously. It
almost looked like a proper office floor. Most of the turmoil seemed to be
centralized around Bracknells office, in front of which had gathered a crowd of
some twenty people in order to murmur. As I approached the murmurers, their
heads turned to me in unison. They werent looking at me though, but at Al, who
had just emerged from the corridor behind me, apparently holding all the answers.
The crowd flocked around him, like fan boys begging a rock star for an autograph.Al warded off his admirers with decisive hand gestures and positioned himself right
in front of Bracknells office door.
Alright, everybody shut up for a second, okay?, he bellowed.
Obediently, everybody did.
Okay, so I suppose youve all been informed already
I hadnt.
I just wanna make clear that, at this point, I dont know anything more than you
do, but what I do know
The turmoil briefly returned.
but what I do know, Al continued, raising his voice, is that we have to
keep this business running somehow Its what he would have wanted.
Huh?
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next Monday, I received one such mail marked High priority. It informed me and
my fellow workers of the fact that, following a unanimous board vote, Mr. Al
Moncrieff had been instated as the new CEO of Bracknell and Partners. I rushed to
what was now officially Als office but found a bunch of suck-ups already queuing
up. After a, frankly, humiliating half-hour wait, I was finally granted an audience
with my best friend.
He looked different. When last Id seen him, hed been boyish Al, naughtily
spinning in Bracknells chair, giggling like a kid in a toy store. He wasnt that Al
anymore. He seemedlarger. Much more poised. Much like the CEO of the worlds
biggest advertising company, in fact. My new boss smiled and offered me a seat.
Was it me or did his smile seem just a bit too affected?
WellIm baffled., I said.
Makes two of us., Al replied.
I suppose congratulations are in order.
Thanks. Couldnt have done this without you, of course.
I didnt do anything.
You did more than you think, Jack., Al said, fixing his most scrutinizing stare on
me. You know, things are gonna change around here from now on. Drastically.
And you could be a big part of that.
Yeah, wellIm not sure if I want to, I said.
You dont have a choice, pal! Im in charge here!, Al jested. But seriously, Im
gonna need your help. I cant do this thing on my own.
Bracknell did it on his own.
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Yeah. Badly. Theres an enormous potential to this company, but Bracknell just
couldnt see that, from behind those thick, bushy eyebrows of his. But I can. And
so can you, Jack. Am I right?
Probably., I said.
We could make something special out of Bracknell and Partners, you and I.
Yeaaah
Al smiled, much as one would whilst explaining something really simple to a
retarded child.
Say what, why dont you come round my place tonight?, he said. Discuss my
proposition in a more informal and inebriated environment. See how you feel
then.
Yeah, okay. Well do that.
Great. Send in the next supplicant on your way out, will you?, Al said, smiling
again.
Well, this was always going to happen, wasnt it?, I told myself on the way
home. Whatever Al wants, Al gets. That goes for girls, money and senior
management positions. It had always been really just a matter of time before he d
push Bracknell aside and take over. Only, this wasnt how it was supposed to
happen. This was too sudden, too easy. I had this strange gut feeling that
something wasnt quite right. Not that I wasnt happy for Al, I was. It might be
hard to believe, but I actually liked the guy. He was a lot of fun. Sure, he could be
pretty ruthless at times, but never on purpose. Al breathed ambition, he just
couldnt help himself. If you stood in the way between him and success, well, then
you were going down. I personally never stood in his way, simply because I never
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The old bat from apartment 3 had probably gone and complained about the
imaginary night-time noise again. She was deaf as a post anyway, so I dont know
why she even bothered. I just think she really liked complaining. Sporting my most
irritated expression, I took the escalator downstairs, where I faced two surly
policemen. The surliest of them said:
Mr. Jack Worthing, Im arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Oscar
Bracknell. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you
do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court.
Anything you do say may be given in evidence.
I didnt say anything.
The tallest of the two policemen nodded at his smaller and more rotund colleague,
who apprehensively grabbed my right arm and started nudging me towards the
police car, which, in a true display of law-enforcing bad-assery, was parked
diagonally over the sidewalk, its waving flashlights greeting me in cheerful disdain.
Cue the old bat from apartment 3 walking by with her groceries. She eyed me
triumphantly, shrivelling her face into a malicious smile. I briefly considered
spitting at her but decided against it, as it would only serve to confirm her
prejudices about me. Instead, I looked stark ahead and got into the back seat of
the car with all the dignity I could muster. It wasnt much.
The gravity of the situation didnt really register at first. On the way to the police
station, I couldnt stop wondering whether Id left the lights on in my apartment.
Only when seated in an interrogating room opposite two detectives on suspicion of
murdering my boss did it occur to me that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
The tall detective was studying me. He looked in his forties, was balding and had
an ironic face, with small, impertinent eyes. A lean, mean interrogation machine.
He popped the question, just like in the movies:
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The risks of severe haemorrhage are significantly increased when used in
combination with so-called antiplatelet drugs. Such as Paracetamol.
He did that waiting thing again.
So, basically, if one would take a glass of water, dissolve a Paracetamol tablet in
it, then add a highly concentrated dose of Warfarin through, say, a hypodermic
syringe, one would wind up with something that looks like a perfectly harmless
cure for a common headache but is in fact a lethal cocktail.
I suppose, I said.
Mr. Worthing, did you, on the night of the 16th of October, poison your former
boss Oscar Bracknell at his home?
No No, I didnt., I managed to utter.
Okay, the detective said, now dramatically leaning into the back of his chair
for a change. Have you recently had any heart problems, Mr. Worthing?
Err, no, I havent.
Are you sure? Because, a while ago, you spent a day in hospital following a mild
heart attack, didnt you?
Oh shit. Id forgotten about that. Well...Id just have to go along with it, wouldnt
I? The Bunbury man had been boasting about their alibis being absolutely fail proof.
What better moment to put their thoroughness to the test?
Yeah, sorry, I forgot about that. It wasnt a big deal anyway, just, you know, a
lot of stress at work, had a small episode. Nothing too dramatic, I rambled.
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I understand., the detective said, mock-compassionately. Only, the doctor that
supposedly treated you has no recollection of seeing anyone called Jack Worthing
that day. Strange, isnt it?
Minus 1 for Bunbury.
Probably some administrative cock-up?, I suggested.
Well, Mr. Worthing, the strange thing is that your name does show up on their
files. As does a prescription for a large dose of Warfarin which was supposedly
administered to you. Only, no one really remembers administrating it to you. Yet,
a significant amount of Warfarin did mysteriously disappear from the hospital that
day, along with one hypodermic syringe Its all a bit of an enigma, isnt it, Mr.
Worthing?, the detective concluded.
Someone took the ground from beneath my feet. Luckily I was sitting down.
But lets not dwell into all that, shall we?, the detective continued, ever-
smiling. So, Mr. Worthing, youre absolutely sure you didnt visit Oscar Bracknell
that Friday night? I want you to think real carefully. Maybe you did go by his house
but had a bit too much to drink, and forgot about it? It happens, you know.
Theres nothing embarrassing about that. Lord knows I had it happen to me in my
younger days! You can tell me. Or perhaps theres another reason why youre not
being straight with me, Mr. Worthing? Jack? Im trying to help you here, Jack. I
want to make things easier on you, honestly
He was good at this, my detective. His assistant, the rotund one, knew it too,
thats why he hadnt spoken a word since hed dragged me into that police car.
The guy just sat at the back, watching, marvelling at my downfall. He knew I would
crack. Get it over with, son., his friendly features seemed to say. That was his
part, and he played it with conviction. They were actors in a ridiculous play, these
detectives, and so was I. I knew what the script said next, but I just couldnt bring
myself to say the lines. Problem was, I hadnt actually killed Oscar Bracknell. But
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how to explain? As I went through the events of the last couple of months in my
head, I realized just how ridiculous it all sounded. Basically, Id been set-up as my
bosss murderer by an international secret organisation.
No, really.
On the plus side, if I actually said that, I could probably get away with pleading
insanity. The best option at this point, however, seemed saying nothing, so I did
just that. To my detective this was as much as confession. He had me cornered and
he knew it. He moved in for the proverbial kill.
So you didnt visit Bracknells house then?
No, I said.
Hm. Then you wouldnt mind if we took your fingerprints and compared them to
the ones we found on the glass?
Okay, I was dead.
No, sure. Go ahead, I said, and I meant it. I just didnt care anymore. All was
lost anyway.
Say what, Ill make you a deal., the detective said. At this point, youre
looking at twenty years at least. I could cut that down to ten, maybe even five. All
I need is a name.
What?
Who ordered the hit, Jack?
The hit?
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Not at all.
Just in case, you might want to contact your lawyer. Because you just never
know, do you? Do you have a lawyer, Mr. Worthing?
Sure. Chap called Chasuble.
Never heard of him. Is he any good?
Hes not bad., I said.
Chasuble was the guy who took care of my financial affairs. Hed also sorted out
my divorce with Gwen, much to my financial benefit. He was a meticulous pen
pusher with an almost physical passion for legal backdoors. He also had a facial
twitch that made him wink at you every other second, like he was constantly up to
something mischievous. Mind you, he usually was.
My valet here..., the detective said, pointing at the constable by the door,
...will escort you to your chambers. I sincerely hope youll find them to your
liking. Pleasant dreams, Mr. Worthing!
Yeah, you too
When I told him on the phone, Chasuble was convinced I was pulling his leg. I
actually had to put the constable on before he believed me. Chasuble predictably
advised me to say nothing until he got there. Audibly, murder cases werent
exactly his cup of tea. I finished the call and followed the valet to my chambers. I
must admit, they were not as uncomfortable as anticipated. Granted, spacious they
were not, yet they offered adequate facilities and were reasonably clean. Id slept
in worse hotel rooms. All things considered, I had a good nights rest.
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Sure enough, Chasuble turned up the next morning. As expected, he was in quite a
state.
I came as soon I could! Are you alright?, he asked.
Ive been worse., I said, which wasnt exactly true.
I mean, what an outrage! Who do they think they are? They cant do this! They
have no right!
Yeah
Chasuble stared at me for a second. I stared back. There was an uncomfortable
silence. I saw Chasubles winking increasing.
Youyou didnt do it, did you?, he asked.
Of course I didnt.
Okay, Chasuble said, resuming his normal winking regime. But they did come
up with a strong case against you, I must say.
I know.
Still, youll be cleared as soon as the fingerprints come through, dont worry.
Uhu.
I was thinking, we could sue them for harassment. Were looking at maybe ten
grand recompense here.
Yeah.
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Look at you now. A jailbird! Talk about bad luck though, hey?, Chasuble winked.
Its just, these coppers, they dont know what theyre doing, really. Thank God I
do, or theyd have you banged up for twenty years!
Imagine that.
Lets not, Worthing, lets not!, Chasuble said. Anyway, I gotta go now. Get
started on your case. You hang in there, Worthing. You wont be in here for much
longer, I promise.
See you around, Chasuble.
The fingerprints came through and they were a match. There was a trial. Chasuble
crashed and burned. He accused the police of fabricating evidence, a claim he
could not back at all. If ever there was a clear conviction, it was mine. In his final
address, the judge condemned my passive attitude throughout the trial, which he
described as symptomatic for the twisted psyche of a cold-blooded, remorseless
murderer. I got twenty years. Chasuble was furious and wanted to appeal, but I
said no. The verdict was harsh but I felt I deserved it. I hadnt actually killed a
man, but I had lied and deceived people for self-gain. And, worse of all, Id been
stupid and naive. The verdict only served me right.
My case got a lot of press, I followed it closely in the papers. They focused mainly
on Bracknells long alleged but now finally confirmed mob connections. There was
much speculation about who had ordered the hit. And I, the killer, was at the heart
of the mystery. I had no traceable connections to any of the main criminal
syndicates. I could have been working for anyone. Out of loyalty for my employer
(the mob, not Bracknell), I chose to keep schtum however, which allowed for the
media to continue making unfounded guesses through several (not really) revealing
investigative reports for months on end. I even saw Al on telly once, actually,
appearing as CEO of the scandal-ridden company. He assured everyone the fumes
of criminal activity had been thoroughly exhumed, and expressed his firm belief
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that the ever-resilient Bracknell and Partners was ready for a clean break, a fresh
start. The guy was wholly believable. Sly bastard.
Prison life, I found, suited me. Its lulling routine and solitary calm helped put my
soul to rest. I took up writing. Short stories mostly. I read a lot too. Basically, I did
all the things I never got round to doing when I was a free man. Honestly: I hadnt
lost anything that I couldnt do without in the affair. I had taken my precautions
after all. Practically, socially and emotionally. Somehow, I had always known Id be
exposed one way or the other, one day or another. The form in which it finally
came was a bitunexpected. But it was a fitting outcome. A sad but just ending
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5.
One day, in spring, it was announced I had a visitor. I assumed itd be Gwen, back
from her honeymoon in Dublin. Or was it Paris? Anyway, I was lead into a large
room filled with rough men talking sweet to their wives, exes, sisters and mothers.
Glass windowpanes separated the inmates from the solemn-faced outsiders, who,
to further illustrate the degree of separation, were forced to addressed their loved
ones through old-fashioned telephones. I was assigned the desk that bore my cell
number, somewhere in the far left corner of the room, and told to wait until my
visitor arrived.
I wasnt sure what to tell Gwen. I briefly considered the truth, but decided that
was just a silly idea. I had chosen to live a lie, and now I had to stick to it. There
was no way back. That was my punishment. So Id make up some inane story about
falling in with the wrong crowd. A sad tale of gambling debts, drug dependency and
blackmail. Id make Gwen see how Id been slowly going to the dogs ever since she
left me. Which was true. The story itself would be complete bullshit, of course, but
my sentiments would be genuine at least.On the other side of the windowpane, a tall bearded man in suit and glasses came
marching in my general direction. He seemed oddly out of place here. Confused, I
looked to my right and saw an emaciated Eastern European-looking man with a scar
on his left cheek. On my left sat a large, bald Brit, twitching and talking to himself
in a hushed voice. Surely, this stylish man hadnt come to see these people? He
hadnt, I realized, as he sat himself down in the chair directly opposite me and
picked up the receiver. I took a good, long look at his bespectacled face and
eventually recognized none other than Mr. Al Moncrieff.
He sure had changed. He looked a much older man than I could ever have
imagined. His formerly raven-black hair was steadily greying, as was his feeble
beard. His once so proud eyes looked small and lifeless behind the thick horn-
rimmed glasses. It struck me: Al was beginning to look like Bracknell.
Hello Jack., Al said lazily.
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I picked up the receiver as slowly as I could and replied:
What do you want from me?
Im not sure. What do you want from me?
Hows the company?, I asked.
Its doing fine, thanks.
He hesitated for a second, then said:
You must really hate me now
Not really. Im just a bit confused.
I know. Im sorry., Al said.
Oh, feeling guilty, are we?, I said. How ironic
Look, I got
Did you kill him?, I hissed under my breath.
Why was I whispering? To protect Al?
Bracknell? Yes. Yes I did.
His sang-froid was shocking.
Oh dont give me that look!, he said. He was a sad and lonely old man whom
nobody liked. Whod miss him? No one, thats who!
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My point being: in doing so, we stopped each other from developing into proper
human beings.
I cant believe Im hearing this
It may not have looked that way, but all this time weve just been holding each
other back.
Thats your excuse?! You wanted to be independent, so you scammed me into
prison? Im sorry, but there must have been easier ways of getting rid of me.
The situation called forthorough measures. A fast, clean break-up., Al said.
I see Youre insane, you know that?
Probably. But at least I can be insane on my own now.
You really dont have any regrets about what youve done to me, have you? Or to
Bracknell, for that matter?, I asked.
No no, I havent. Why should I, Jack? Its only the way of the world. Its Darwin.
Only the strong survive. Charity is weakness. In the end, the sly always beat the
gullible. And I didnt want to be on the gullible side anymore. Thats what you
are, Jack, above all things: gullible. If I hadnt screwed you over, someone else
would have. Or youd have done it yourself. It was only a matter of time.,
Well, thank God it was my best friend then who screwed me over in the end
Friendship doesnt mean anything. Its pointless dependency. It weakens you., Al
said.
Though it does get you through the hard times and such., I suggested.
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True., Al said. But, dont you think that, If youd gotten through all those hard
times on your own, youd have come out a lot stronger?
Yes. And lonelier.
Doesnt matter. In the end, we all wind up sad, old and alone.
Well, you have a cheerful life philosophy., I said.
Yours is even bleaker, Jack. At least, I have a sense of hope now, a vague promise
of progress of some sorts. Youve never had that.
That much was true. Id always seen life as some kind of ever-elongating status
quo. Sure, things changed, sometimes for the better, mostly for the worse but,
whatever happened to me, I always seemed to bounce back to a fairly fixed level
of (dis)content. Id never seen this as a particularly bad thing. But I wondered now:
was I really that unhappy? Was I unhappier than Al?
Are you happy?, I asked him.
Imless unhappy than I was., he said, and I believed him.
We sat in silence for a moment, looking at our respective neighbours chatting
away.
You gave me half a million pounds, for the apartment. Where on earth did you
get that?, I asked.
From the company, obviously., Al said.
And no one noticed five hundred grand gone missing?
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Well, I actually kinda sorta took it from the big guys secret little retirement
fund, so the money was never really there to begin with, you see. Bracknell had
already done all the covering-up for me, God rest his putrid soul., Al smiled.
So, why did you come here?, I asked him. Do you want me to forgive you or
something? Because Im not going to.
I know., he said. I just wanted to explain why I did it. I dont expect you to
forgive me, but Id very much like for you to try and understand it, if you can.
Oh, but I do understand, Al. Your ego is even bigger than I thought. It is so large
that it literally blocks out everything else. You are, in essence, a psychopath, set
out to destroy everyone and everything that is not you.
Well, Al said. At least, I have an ego. There is a me, a very definite and
defined me. But there is no you. There has never been a real you, Jack. Youre a
ghost, you hardly exist. You have no ambitions, no fears. You re apathetic.
Catatonic. I mean, look at you: youre in prison for a crime you didnt commit and
you dont even seem to mind! Honestly, I dont know how you live with yourself
Neither do I., I admitted. But somehow I do, and thats fine by me.
Al didnt say anything after that. He looked defeated. Im sure he had plenty things
to say in his defence still, but he too saw now there was no point. We had literarily
nothing to say to each other anymore.
OkayIll be going now., Al said. Think about what I said, okay?
I wont., I replied.
Alright, have it your way, Jack
Just one more thing, I said, just as Al was putting down the receiver.
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Yes?
Cecily and Dorian. Who were they? Were they in on it?
No, they werent., Al smiled. Thought they were playing some kind of birthday
prank. They were actors, Jack. Professional actors hired to fool you. We saw them
in the West End once, actually. The Importance of Being Earnest?
Really?, I said. I hated that play.
Me too., Al grinned.
We shared a wry smile. Then Al stood up and went his separate way. I leaned back
in my hard wooden chair and looked at my neighbours. They were still chatting
away as if their life depended on it. What in Gods name were they talking about, I
wondered. There is so little to say in this world
PUBLISHERS NOTE
Jack Worthing wrote The Bunbury Corporation over the course of several years while
serving a twenty-year prison term in Wandsworth Prison, London. A first attempt to publish
his notorious nouvelle de clef was thwarted by legal authorities on the grounds that it
contained confidential information concerning a murder case and was therefore unfit for
public consumption.
A second, revised edition of The Bunbury Corporation was written, modifying the most
incriminating passages, while leaving the bulk of the story untouched. Naturally, even the
most ill-informed of readers could make out the contours of what had only been Britains
most recently overmediatised murder case. With its not even thinly veiled references to actors
and events still freshly imprinted in the public consciousness, and cleverly sensational
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premise, The Bunbury Corporation was positively condemned to become a nationwidesuccs
de scandale. Which it, as you know, it went on to do with some conviction.
We at Blackwood Publishing, however, would like to stress that our decision to publish The
Bunbury Corporation was entirely unmotivated by its potentially explosive content. When the
manuscript was first offered to us, we with the benefit of our long and illustrious record in
the art of never judging a book by its cover read it with unprejudiced eyes, and saw a neatly
constructed psychological thriller of undeniable literary merit. We were at the time (and still
are) well-aware of the moral implications of publishing a story that sets out to undermine an
actual legal verdict. However, we feel that The Bunbury Corporation, as a work of fiction, has
every right to make its outrageous claims, just as, you the reader, have every right to dismiss
them.
Ours is not the responsibility to pass judgment over Jack Worthings actions, as described in
the novella or, indeed, the verdict of the jury. Consequently, in this matter, we wish to
distance ourselves from believers and non-believers alike and state that, frankly, my dear
reader, we dont give a damn. Whether Jack Worthing killed his employer or was framed
into murder by his best friend, is none of our business. We deal in literature here, not truth,
which, as you know, should never get in the way of a good story. And The Bunbury
Corporation is a good story. But is it true, you ask? Well, I dont know, but, as the Italians
say: Senon vero, ben trovato
Pleasant reading,
L. Smithers
Blackwood Publishing Ltd.