The Sacred Sword

‘Was it a very serious quarrel? Between him and Simeon?’

‘I suppose it’s just typical family stuff,’ she said. ‘Jude would rebel against his own shadow. Always full of his own ideas about what he wants to do with his life. It’ll all come right in the end, I’m sure. Oh, I think I hear the car.’

Ben had heard it too, and spotted the sleek crimson shape of the Lotus darting along beyond the trees in the distance, returning home.

‘Let’s walk up to the house and meet him,’ Michaela said.

Back at the vicarage, Ben thought that Simeon looked even more grim and strained than the night before, although he was obviously struggling hard not to show it as he sipped his coffee and gave Ben the rundown on that morning’s radio interview on the topic ‘Is there still room for Jesus in the Facebook Age?’

‘My secret admirer popped up again during the phone-in at the end,’ Simeon said to Michaela. ‘As charming as ever. Called me a filthy cockroach and said I’d rot with all the others.’

‘I can’t understand why they allow that kind of thing on air,’ Michaela sniffed. ‘“Filthy cockroach”. That’s disgusting.’

‘Do you get a lot of that?’ Ben asked.

‘Oh, I have many enemies,’ Simeon told him. He was smiling, but Ben thought he could see something behind the smile, an edge of seriousness.

Michaela was obviously keen to change the subject. ‘Ben’s car still isn’t working properly,’ she said, topping up their coffees. ‘Darling, do you think Bertie would have a look at it?’ She turned to Ben and explained, ‘He’s the local mechanic, in Greater Denton, just a few minutes’ drive away.’

‘Marvellous idea,’ Simeon said. ‘Bertie will have the old girl right as rain in no time. Sorted out the carbs on the Lotus. And he’s cheap as chips.’

‘Why don’t you call him now?’ Michaela said. ‘If he’s fixed it by this evening, we can pick it up on the way.’

‘On the way where?’ Simeon asked.

‘I thought we could have dinner at the Old Windmill tonight, as we have a special guest.’

‘There’s no need …’ Ben began.

‘Sounds like a fine plan to me,’ Simeon said. ‘I’ll phone Bertie now.’

Chapter Seven

Simeon led the way in the Lotus and Ben followed in the ailing, badly misfiring Land Rover. Simeon had to keep slowing down to let him catch up as they wound their way along the twisty country lanes towards Greater Denton.

Bertie the mechanic, whose garage was a converted stable block on the edge of the village, was one of those work-hardened little guys who looked as if they’d been twisted and hammered together out of wire and leather. Ben got the impression that the grizzled old mechanic would have done anything for Simeon. No sooner had Ben described Le Crock’s symptoms, than Bertie grabbed a toolbox and plunged his head and shoulders under the scarred green bonnet lid, apparently set on not re-emerging until he’d cured the problem, if it took him all day and night.

Simeon seemed edgy as he drove fast back towards Little Denton. Rocketing up the long, straight hill a mile before the village, the car almost took off over the crest and went plummeting down the straight and hard into the set of S-bends at the bottom before roaring over the little stone humpbacked bridge, barely wide enough for one and a half cars, that arched across the swollen, fast-moving river.

Ben could tell his old friend was building up to saying something but having difficulty framing his words. Simeon wet his lips and spoke hesitantly over the engine noise. ‘Ben, there’s something I wanted to … Oh, never mind.’

‘What?’

Simeon let out a long breath. ‘The fact is, it wasn’t completely coincidental. Our turning up at the concert, I mean. In fact, opera’s not my favourite thing at all.’ He paused. ‘The point is, Ben, I knew you’d be there. I saw your name in the paper and I deliberately came to see you, for a reason that I haven’t discussed with Michaela. She doesn’t know anything about this, and I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘I understand,’ Ben said, and waited for more.

‘I’ve often wondered what you were up to all this time,’ Simeon said. ‘It seemed like you’d vanished without a trace. Now and again Michaela and I tried to look you up, to no avail. Then a few months ago, I found you on the internet and saw what it is you do now. You help people.’

‘What I do is very specific,’ Ben said. ‘Le Val is a tactical training facility.’

‘For bodyguards? That sort of thing?’

‘That sort of thing,’ Ben said. ‘Not exactly.’

‘So, when people have a problem – when they’re under threat, or when they feel they might be in danger, there are ways they can protect themselves. Aren’t there? And that’s the kind of line you’re in? Providing advice, or services of a sort … you can tell I don’t know a lot about this stuff.’

‘Get to the point, Simeon. What are you trying to say?’

They were coming into Little Denton. Simeon sighed. ‘I need help, Ben. At least, I think I do. I’m not sure what’s happening, but I’m frightened. Not so much for myself, but for Michaela and Jude. If anything happened to them—’

‘Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ Ben said.

‘I hardly know where to begin,’ Simeon replied. ‘I’ve been working on something, an important project. Well, actually, it’s more than just important. It’s huge. It’s terrifyingly huge.’ Simeon shook his head, as if bewildered by just how huge it was.

‘To do with your book?’ Ben asked.

Simeon glanced at him in surprise.

‘Michaela told me you were working on a new one,’ Ben said. ‘And that you’ve been keeping a lot to yourself. She’s worried about you.’

Simeon hesitated, then nodded. ‘Yes, it’s very much the subject of the book. I’ve been working on this day and night for … or should I say, we’ve been working on it. It’s not just me that’s involved.’

The vicarage gates were coming up on the right. Simeon turned in and rasped the Lotus over the gravel. He pulled up, killed the engine and turned to Ben. ‘Something awful happened recently,’ he said anxiously. ‘Something absolutely dreadful, and completely baffling. I mean, when you know someone so well, or at least think you know them, and then you hear they’ve done something that’s just so totally, so horrifyingly out of character that you just can’t …’

Ben understood that Simeon was talking about the priest who’d killed himself. ‘Go on.’

Simeon’s jaw tightened. ‘Two weeks ago …’ he started. But Michaela’s voice from the house interrupted him, and they both turned to see her trotting down the front steps and across the gravel with the landline phone in her hand. ‘Yes, in fact he’s just got back this moment. I’ll pass him to you, archdeacon.’

‘Hell and buggery,’ Simeon groaned under his breath, and climbed out of the car to take the phone. To Ben he said, ‘We’ll talk later.’ Then, pressing the phone to his ear, ‘Dr Grant! What a pleasure to hear from you.’

Michaela took Ben’s arm. ‘Come on. He’ll be on the phone for ever with that one. Come inside. I have something for you.’

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

Inside the warmth of the living room, she signalled to him to wait, then trotted upstairs and returned a moment later holding a small gift-wrapped package tied up with a ribbon. ‘Merry Christmas, Ben.’

‘You shouldn’t have,’ he said, taking the package, embarrassed that he hadn’t anything to offer the Arundels in return. ‘Am I allowed to open it?’

‘No!’ Michaela said quickly, reaching out abruptly to stop him tearing open the wrapping – then relaxed and smiled. ‘Not now. You have to promise me that you won’t peek until you’re back in France. Then you can open it and think of us.’

‘I promise,’ Ben said, wondering what it was. Through the Christmas paper it felt like a small hardback book, not much bigger than a diary.

‘Solemnly? You won’t be tempted?’

‘Get me a Bible,’ Ben said. ‘I’ll swear on it. Or maybe it is a Bible?’