by David Blake
ST. BENET’S
David Blake
www.david-blake.com
Edited by Lorraine Swoboda
Proofread by Jay G Arscott
Special thanks to my beta readers, John Kincaid, Anna Burke, Ali Dunn and Kath Middleton
Published by Black Oak Publishing Ltd in Great Britain, 2019
Disclaimer:
These are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © David Blake 2019
The right of David Blake to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998. All rights reserved. This eBook is for your enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contents:
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty Five
Chapter Twenty Six
Chapter Twenty Seven
Chapter Twenty Eight
Chapter Twenty Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty One
Chapter Thirty Two
Chapter Thirty Three
Chapter Thirty Four
Chapter Thirty Five
Chapter Thirty Six
Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Eight
Chapter Thirty Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty One
Chapter Forty Two
Chapter Forty Three
Chapter Forty Four
Chapter Forty Five
Chapter Forty Six
Chapter Forty Seven
Chapter Forty Eight
Chapter Forty Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty One
Chapter Fifty Two
Chapter Fifty Three
Epilogue
In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace.
Ephesians 1:7
PROLOGUE
Thursday, 8th July, 1976
CLAIRE JUDSON’S DELICATE bare feet burned against the black sun-scorched path as she sprinted over towards the half-open church door. Once inside, she crouched low, and took a moment to peer around.
The church was empty; at least she thought it was.
There she remained for a moment, basking in the cool stale air whilst relishing the touch of the cold flagstone floor against the soles of her feet.
She’d abandoned her ugly school shoes and the white socks that came with them when she’d been hiding behind a gravestone outside, waiting for the coast to be clear. As painful as it had been to run on the blistering tarmac, the shoes’ solid block heels made it impossible for her to walk anywhere without being heard, and silence was imperative. Her clandestine lunchtime rendezvous at the top of the bell tower with her much older boyfriend had to remain a secret. The Catholic girls’ boarding school that she attended just down the road was well known for its zero tolerance towards pupils having any sort of relations with the opposite sex. If she was caught, she’d be expelled. There was no question about that.
However, with current circumstances as they were, she didn’t feel she had much of a choice. The stifling heatwave that had gripped the Norfolk Broads for the last two weeks, as it had the rest of the country, left her in a permanent state of sexual arousal. From the moment she awoke, a thin layer of sweat clung to her, making some of the most sensitive parts of her body stick to the coarse material that made up her hideously unfashionable school uniform.
Not wearing a bra probably didn’t help. She’d yet to get used to them. Although they provided her with much needed support, she found them to be insanely uncomfortable, and she was always looking for an excuse not to wear them; the intense summer’s heat proving to be the perfect one.
On that particular day, she wasn’t wearing any pants either. Gary had asked her not to. After their liaison the previous day, he’d mentioned that the idea of her walking around school without them would be a real turn-on for him. She’d yet to have the chance to tell him, but she was fairly sure that doing as he suggested had aroused her far more.
Since starting school that morning she’d found the combination of the oppressive heat, along with the knowledge that she was secretly strutting around her strict boarding school wearing nothing under her uniform, made thinking about anything other than Gary having his way with her virtually impossible.
It had been purely by chance that their covert encounters had coincided with the beginning of the heatwave. That was also when a deep sense of guilt had started to follow her around school, like an annoying unwanted friend. She’d been brought up to believe that sex performed outside of the holy union of marriage was a sin against God. She’d never understood why, especially after she’d had her first orgasm. How could something that felt so good possibly be against God? Quite the opposite! It made her feel empowered, liberated, alive - at least it did when she wasn’t worrying about what would happen to her soul after her mortal existence came to an end. As long as Gary wore a condom, she really couldn’t see the harm. The act itself made her feel far closer to God than anything had done before, certainly more than singing insipidly boring hymns, or being forced to listen to never-ending sermons, the sole purpose of which seemed to be to incite perpetual fear of what lay in wait for mankind beyond the grave for all but the most spiritually minded.
Naturally, the Church took offence at the use of contraception as well. Now that really didn’t make sense! Why ban the one thing that turned sex into nothing more than a harmless act of mutual affection?
But there was one thing that meant what she had been doing with such hedonistic pleasure was most definitely wrong, both in the eyes of God and the law of the land: she was only fifteen. But it was a minor technicality, at least it was in her eyes. She would be sixteen in September, which was close enough.
However, she hadn’t been entirely honest about it with Gary. When they’d first met, she’d told him she was eighteen, and that she was about to sit her ‘A’ levels. In fact she hadn’t even done her mock ‘O’ level exams. In her defence, she felt like she was eighteen, and she most definitely looked it. She could probably pass for nineteen, maybe even twenty, or she could if she was allowed to wear makeup and some half decent clothes.
Once she was sure that no-one was there, she padded over the cool flagstone floor towards the narrow door that marked the entrance to the bell tower. Ducking inside, she closed it gently behind her to begin stepping lightly up the narrow stone steps which circled around the outer edge.
As she neared the
top, the spiralling stairs became progressively steeper, so much so that with no hand rail, she used the steps in front of her like the rungs of a ladder, placing hand over hand on each as she climbed ever higher.
At last she arrived at the level where the giant domed church bells hung from their massive beams, waiting in patient silence for the next time they were needed. From there, a steel ladder took her up to where the final half-dozen or so wooden steps led out onto the roof.
Breathing hard, her legs beginning to tire, she couldn’t help but imagine Gary’s smile as he lifted up her skirt.
Directly ahead now was the ancient wooden door that led out to the roof, a band of sunlight filling the gap between it and the frame, like a saintly halo.
A mischievous smile played over her lips as she imagined the door being the entrance to heaven itself. As far as she was concerned, it wasn’t far off.
She paused to catch her breath, bracing herself for the intense heat that awaited her. It was supposed to be one of the hottest days since records began, and even though she’d be at the top of a tower over a hundred feet high, she knew it would make no difference. The air would be as listless up there as it was at ground level, as it had been since their very first illicit meeting.
Her breathing may have eased, but her heart continued to pound hard in her chest as she climbed the last of the steps. What she’d been doing with Gary at the top of the very place where she attended Sunday Mass every week was by far the most exciting thing she’d ever done in her entire life.
Inching open the door, she squinted in the sun’s glare, and stepped out onto the grey wooden planking.
Gary wasn’t there.
He’d normally be waiting for her just beside the entrance, leaning against the stone ramparts, cigarette in hand.
She checked her watch.
She was a little early, perhaps, but she’d never arrived ahead of him before. He only lived down the road, so he didn’t have far to come. He was a barman at The Bittern in Wroxham, working the evening shift, and didn’t start until three. That was why they were only able to meet during her school lunch break.
From the stairs behind her came the sharp creaking of wood.
Knowing it must be Gary, she decided to strike the exact same pose he always did when she was about to emerge. Without a cigarette, she instead used her free hand to raise up her pleated green skirt, all the way to the top of her legs, exposing her smooth porcelain white thighs along with the perfectly formed curvature of her bum, so giving him proof that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath, just as he’d requested.
When she saw the top of his dark head she called, ‘Hello stranger!’ With amused nonchalance she then turned to gaze out over the village of Horning, shimmering in the breathless heat of the sun, adding, ‘What do you think of the view?’
She pictured his wide square shoulders rising slowly up through the roof, and the way he would stop and stare in awe and desire at the half-naked school girl standing ready for his attention.
Turning to smile at him, she was so expecting it to be Gary that it took her a full second to realise that it wasn’t. The man who was openly ogling her, and who seemed unperturbed by the fact that she had caught him doing so, was wearing the black cassock of a priest.
Dropping her skirt, flushing in hot embarrassment, she spun to face him, adopting the traditional pose of an innocent young Catholic school girl as she did, legs locked together, her hands clasped in front of her skirt, as if the combination of the two created some sort of impenetrable barrier to her long-lost virginity.
As the man stepped out onto the roof, being careful not to trip over the hem of his cassock, his gaze seemed to linger unduly on her full naturally red lips, and her cute up-turned nose. ‘I thought I heard someone creeping around up here,’ he said.
Unable to think of anything to say in response, she stared down at her bare feet, attempting to offer the correct level of reverence due to a man of the cloth.
Placing his hands firmly on his hips, in a voice of stern condemnation he asked, ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, young lady?’
‘I am - I - I mean, I should, yes, sorry,’ she stuttered, ‘but it’s my lunch break, you see, so I, er…’
‘So you thought you’d sneak up here, did you?’
Claire replied with a single nod.
‘To meet someone, I assume?’
She didn’t answer.
‘Was it Gary Mitchell, by any chance?’
Once more her cheeks flushed, but now with embarrassed indignation.
How the hell did he know about Gary?
As if able to read her mind, the man said, ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.’
‘You won’t?’ she asked, lifting her head just enough to send him a questioning look.
‘I won’t,’ he confirmed. Staring deep into her translucent blue eyes, he added, ‘As long as you’re prepared to do something for me.’
Assuming that whatever that was would involve some insanely boring chore, like having to mop the church floor after school for a week, with an insolent glare she demanded, ‘And what’s that?’
‘Oh, nothing much,’ he replied, allowing his eyes to slide down the length of her curvaceous young body. ‘My silence in exchange for, shall we say…a kiss?’
‘A…kiss?’ she repeated, incredulous, and began searching his face for a sign that he wasn’t being serious.
The intense focus of his eyes, and the salacious grin that now curled his lips, did nothing to allay her fear that a kiss was exactly what he wanted.
Panic began to take hold. There was something about this whole situation that was beginning to make her feel increasingly uncomfortable - the way she’d seen him openly ogling her earlier, and how he’d done nothing to avert his gaze, even when she’d caught him in the act. And to ask for a kiss in return for his silence?
The sense of heightened arousal she’d felt climbing the church tower had now been replaced by one of exposed vulnerability. He’d seen just how naked she was underneath her skirt, and Gary had taught her the effect such knowledge could have on a man.
But a priest?
She stole a glance down at his groin.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Underneath his long black cassock, it was blatantly obvious that the man was fully aroused. But as disturbing a sight as that was, what was far worse was the fact that he seemed to be doing nothing to hide it.
Instinctively, she took a half step back from him, wrenching her eyes away to the enclosed square roof, desperately searching for a way to escape. But she was at the top of a tower, over a hundred feet above the ground. The only exit was the door through which she’d come, and to reach that she had to pass the very man she was becoming increasingly desperate to get away from.
The man glanced down at where her hands remained locked in front of her pleated green skirt, before returning to stare at her face.
As if shocked by the fear he saw written there, he frowned down at her and said, ‘My goodness, child, I didn’t mean on the lips!’
As a surge of relief flowed through her body, she looked into his eyes to ask, ‘You didn’t?’
Returning to her what had transformed into a warm, almost benevolent smile, as if appalled by the very suggestion, he exclaimed, ‘Good Lord, no!’ His eyes then stopped to rest briefly on her soft inviting mouth, before continuing down the length of her body. Narrowing them at where her hands were again, with a single step forward, he added, ‘At least, not on those lips.’
CHAPTER ONE
Sunday, 16th June, Present Day
MALTHOUSE BROAD SPARKLED gently in the early morning sun as John Tanner ambled over the car park outside Ranworth’s village shop. Tucked under one arm was the hefty bundle of papers that made up the Sunday Times, while from the other hand hung a litre of milk.
Reaching the edge of the quayside, he indulged himself by gazing out over the Broad, drinking in the cool fresh morning air as he did.
There were definitely more boats than last weekend, he thought, as he focused his attention towards the middle of the Broad. Moored out there were a handful of sailing yachts, their tall bare masts standing like exclamation marks against the treeline beyond.
He glanced upwards, towards the trees nearest to him, the bright green of their new season’s foliage a perfect complement to the azure blue sky. There was movement up there, but not a lot. Certainly not as much as he’d been hoping for.
He continued his short journey, following the path around towards Seascape, the traditional 1930s gaff-rigged Norfolk cruising yacht which he considered to be his home. It used to belong to Commander Matthew Bardsley of the Metropolitan Police, who’d given it to Tanner when he first moved up to Norfolk as somewhere temporary to stay. He’d so enjoyed living on board that he’d put an offer in to buy it just the month before, which had been graciously accepted.
Matthew was a close family friend. He’d joined the Force at the same time as Tanner’s late father, after whose death he had kept a close parental eye over John and his family. When John’s daughter was murdered, it was Matthew who kept him sane, and who, when the time was right, found him his current position, as a Detective Inspector for Wroxham Police. He’d also been the one to provide a formal letter of recommendation, which had gone a long way towards securing the post only a few months before.
As Tanner followed the path around, paying close attention to the many mooring lines that led from the hard standing to the boats alongside, he occasionally smiled and nodded at the various people he saw in the open rear cabins of what looked to be mostly hired boats. Some were enjoying a lazy breakfast, others were preparing to start fishing, and a few looked as if they were getting ready to spend a day out on the Broads.
Rounding a bend in the path he soon saw his own boat moored up. He’d taken the white canvas awning off before he’d left for the shop, allowing him to admire the varnished mahogany which glowed with reflected warmth.