Just over an hour later he led her back down the ornately carved wooden staircase. She was dressed more elegantly than he had ever seen her before. She wore a white linen blouse and her black skirt was breathtakingly short, emphasising her long legs. Her hair was tied up formally, but with a few long strands hanging around her face. She looked immaculate and he wondered at how she had managed it without being able to see her reflection in a mirror. He felt positively scruffy in a pullover and jeans; clean jeans but still jeans.
Downstairs it was immediately evident that his initial suspicion that there might be very few other guests was correct. There were no more than half a dozen people in the spectacular vaulted bar. He led her across to a table by the fireplace. Settling her into a deep leather armchair, he described their surroundings in more detail.
‘All very tasteful. Lighting that highlights the arches and columns all through the room. It’s like being in the crypt of a church or in a Turkish harem. It wouldn’t surprise me if a mysterious veiled lady didn’t materialise to take our order.’ He looked across at her. Feeling herself observed, Amy pulled a few loose strands of hair across her face and asked huskily, ‘Does Effendi like what he sees?’
‘Effendi certainly does.’ At that moment, a matronly Spanish lady appeared to ask what they would like to drink. Without hesitating, Amy ordered a bottle of champagne, explaining to Luke that anything less wouldn’t have matched the surroundings. The waitress disappeared and Luke continued to describe the polished floor, stone walls, bread ovens either side of the fire, the massive oak chairs, and the multitude of plants. Amy sat back happily, a smile firmly on her face. She was listening with only part of her brain. The rest of her was concentrating on committing this place, the smell of leather, the distant notes of the Concierto de Aranjuez coming from the speakers and the sound of his voice to her memory forever.
‘There’s something about this place. And present company, of course.’
The headwaiter himself arrived with the champagne in a regal-looking bucket. He opened the bottle without more than a slight hiss from the top as he drew the cork. After filling two delicate tall flutes with wine he withdrew. He was immediately replaced by the waitress, bearing a tray loaded with food.
Luke waited until she had left and then launched into guide mode. ‘Huge green olives, the biggest crisps I’ve ever seen in my life, two or three different types of nuts in a bowl, two slabs of tortilla, deep-fried squid rings and a couple of huge prawns in batter. If we eat this lot we probably won’t need to eat dinner at all. Here.’ He passed over a frosted glass of champagne and let his glass lightly touch hers. ‘Here’s to you.’
‘And to you, Luke. Thank you for everything.’
Amy sipped the cold wine and tapped along to the classical guitar music with her fingers, clearly enjoying the place immensely. Neither of them spoke for quite a while. Finally, Luke made up his mind. He had something to say and this was the right place and the right time.
‘I need to talk to you.’ She made no reply so he waded on. She could hear his uncertainty and gave him an encouraging smile. ‘I’ve been trying to find the courage for days now.’
She smiled a bit more broadly. ‘Am I that scary?’
‘No, it’s me, not you. The fact is, my confidence has taken a bit of a bashing over the last few years, so I’m sorry if I seem a bit hopeless and pathetic.’
‘Two words I would never associate with you, Luke.’ She was still smiling and he took heart.
‘There’s a lot I’ve got to tell you. I can’t keep putting it off any longer. You’ve got to know the full story.’ He kept his voice studiously level, but there was no mistaking the emotion barely held in check in the background. She reached out, found and gripped his hand. He hardly noticed.
‘For what it’s worth, you’re just about the first person who’s ever heard the full story.’ She squeezed his hand as he steeled himself for what he knew he had to tell her.
‘Apart from Father Tim.’
‘Yes, apart from Tim. He’s a very, very good friend, you know.’
‘And to me. He helped me so very much.’
‘Amy, it’s like this.’ He cleared his throat. ‘When I finished school, I didn’t go to university to study history. I actually studied medicine.’ He paused and she found herself digesting the news.
‘Medicine? So does that make you a double doctor?’ She was trying to keep the tone light.
‘It does indeed. MD and PhD.’ He hesitated, then managed to carry on. ‘I qualified and went straight into one of the big London hospitals. It was hard, tiring work, but I learned a lot and people told me I was good at my job.’
Amy was sitting quietly, wondering why it had taken him so much effort to tell her this. Somehow, she had been expecting something much more dramatic. So he had been a doctor. It was a bit of a surprise, but so what? She waited for him to continue his account, wondering what was still to come.
‘Then, one day, I made a decision that would affect my whole life. Have you heard of Médecins Sans Frontières?’
‘Yes, everybody’s heard of them. Did you join up?’
‘After a few years working in London, I knew I wanted a change and I felt I could be most useful in a third world country. So I applied to MSF and they took me.’ There was a pause. ‘I was sent to Africa.’ His voice tailed away, and he lapsed into a silence that lasted several minutes. Finally, Amy tried a gentle prompt.
‘And something happened over there, in Africa?’
‘Something happened.’ There was another pause before he picked up his story once more. ‘Have you ever heard of Boko Haram?’
‘That’s the Islamist terrorist group, isn’t it?’ Amy began to get a feeling she knew where this was leading.
‘Yes.’ Another pause. ‘Anyway, it happened five years ago now and I’d been in Nigeria for a couple of years. Things were going really well for me. I was working in a hospital in a little town in the north of the country, not far from the border with Niger.’ There was another long pause before he started again, the strain in his voice all too evident. ‘I’d met a girl. Her name was Nicole. I loved her very dearly and we were going to get married.’ He paused again, clearing his throat before resuming. ‘Although the conditions over there were pretty tough and the workload relentless, I was just about as happy as I’ve ever been in my whole life. Until now, at least.’
Amy squeezed his hand again, dreading what was to come next.
‘One day, while I was operating on a woman who needed a Caesarean section, I heard gunfire.’ He stopped to take a deep breath. ‘Gunfire wasn’t that unusual up there and at first, we weren’t too worried. Anyway, I was in the middle of the operation and couldn’t stop, even though the shooting got nearer and nearer. Finally they reached us, the door was kicked open and a hail of gunfire came pouring in. The nurse beside me was cut to pieces before my eyes and I was hit three times. I was thrown back onto the floor, ending up under the operating table, covered in the blood and body parts of the two nurses and the other doctor.’ Another pause and then, when he started speaking again, his voice was totally devoid of any emotion. ‘The other doctor was Nicole.’
‘Oh, Luke.’ Amy was appalled and didn’t know what to say. She could imagine the horrific bloodbath and could only begin to guess at the effect it must have had on Luke. She squeezed his hand again, but felt no response.
‘It must have been the fact that I was hidden under the other three bodies and covered in their blood that saved me from being hacked to death with machetes. I passed out and when I came round, the men had gone, I was alive, and everybody else in there was dead, including the patient on the operating table along with her unborn child… and Nicole.’ For the first time, Amy felt his hand grip hers. ‘I can’t even begin to describe the scene that greeted me when I tried to stand up, although I’ll never forget it.’
She heard him pick up his glass and take a mouthful. ‘Anyway, I was very lucky. Two of the bullets passed right throu
gh the tissue of my upper arm without touching the bone and the third must have hit one of the other victims first, because it entered my chest cavity and stayed there.’ He cleared his throat and explained. ‘AK47 rounds tend to do most damage on the way out. They can literally blow a chunk of body away. The fact that I was hit by a spent round saved my life. Like I say, I was very lucky; at least physically.’
‘How long did it take you to recover?’
‘Physically, not so long. A month, two maybe. They flew me back to Abuja and from there to London and I got the very best care available. The trouble wasn’t with my body so much as with my mind. I’m afraid that, psychologically, I went to pieces.’
‘I can well believe it.’ Amy was appalled at his story, particularly the fact that his fiancée had died in such an unspeakable manner. It didn’t bear thinking about. She squeezed his hand again. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how awful it must have been for you.’ She had a thought. ‘So, did you meet Father Timothy in Africa?’
‘Yes, and then again when I was in the hospital in London. He’d returned to the UK by then and when he heard about what had happened to me, he came to visit me in there and then, later, at the mental hospital.’ Luke took another mouthful of wine. ‘He helped me a lot. You see, ever since that day, I haven’t been able to pick up a scalpel, put on a surgical gown, or even sit down with a patient. It’s as if my whole being has rejected my former life. Even if I wanted to go back to medicine, my brain refuses to let me.’
‘Luke, you can stop talking about it now, if you like. Don’t let the memories stress you out any more.’
‘I’ve almost finished, Amy and, anyway, everybody tells me it’s good to talk about it. The fact is, like I said, you’re just about the first.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Amy, you needed to know.’
‘So when did you decide to go for medieval history?’
‘I’d always been interested in history and you won’t be in the least surprised to hear that it was Tim who pushed me into doing something about it.’
‘Just like he did with me.’
‘I owe Tim a lot. When he saw the way things were going, he told me to get myself back to university. He got me to face the fact that I needed to make a change from medicine. So that’s when I chose medieval history.’
‘And after the PhD, what happened?’
‘You happened, Amy.’ She heard him pause again. This time it was a long pause. ‘Tim took me to one side and told me he thought I needed a break; time to decide on my future. He told me about this brave girl who’d been dealt a pretty poor hand.’ She felt his fingers tighten against hers. ‘And he put the two of us together. He’s a lovely man, but he’s a conniving, scheming plotter, you know.’
‘You said it. Without his insistence, I’d never have gone ahead with this trip and I’d never have met you.’
‘I think we both owe him a lot.’
‘Amen to that.’
‘Thank you for listening. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to summon up the courage to tell you my story.’
‘Nobody could accuse you of lacking courage, Luke. Thank you for telling me and remember the old saying, a problem shared is a problem halved. I’m here for you any time, you know that, don’t you?’
Amy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that a watershed had now been reached. Getting him to open up about his past was a massive step forward for him. The next step, she fervently hoped, would be for him to begin to process whatever feelings he might be harbouring towards her. It wouldn’t be long before they reached the end of their journey and the spectre of losing him from her life was haunting her more and more as the days went by.
Chapter 25
Pilgrims’ Way, Northern Spain, May 1314
It was the hottest part of the day. Looking down from the hillside, they could just make out the roofs and towers of Santo Domingo de la Calzada before them. In less than an hour they would be there and the group was strung out over several hundred paces. The friar was up at the front, while Luc and Aimée were joined at the rear by the stonemason.
‘You didn’t waste much time, did you?’ The mason’s voice was slurred, his breath toxic.
Luc ignored him, hoping he would lapse into drunken silence. But the stonemason’s brain, unusually at this time of day, was still functioning.
‘You didn’t wait long to get the little lady into bed with you, did you?’
Luc bit his tongue and feigned deafness.
‘Good in bed, is she? Even if she’s blind, she’s got all the right bits, I’ll be bound.’
This was too much. Drunk or not, the man had overstepped the mark. Luc stopped in his tracks. The mason stumbled past him. Luc pushed out his foot. The man tripped, falling headlong onto the dusty track. He roared in anger, flailed about, and pulled himself to his knees. Heads turned in the group ahead. Luc stepped forward as the man struggled to get to his feet and caught him by the scruff of the neck, holding him down on his knees. He spoke quietly and firmly, the menace clear in his voice.
‘Mason, you really should watch what you say. One of these days you’re going to say something rude to somebody less forgiving than me and you’ll get into trouble, serious trouble. You’ll remember that now, won’t you?’
He released his hold and turned dismissively away. He caught Aimée’s arm again and set off towards the others once more. He had only taken a few steps when he heard a familiar noise. It was the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from a sheath. He whirled round, protecting Aimée with his body. He found himself confronted by the mason holding a vicious-looking knife, the point aimed at Luc’s chest. The man’s face was covered in dust from the path, his knuckles bloodied, scuffed from his contact with the ground.
‘Nobody does that to me. I’m going to slit you from ear to ear.’ The man’s voice was heavy with rage as well as drink.
‘Aimée, take a couple of steps backwards. You’ll be fine.’ Luc pushed her gently backwards and she did as she was bidden, fear etched on her face.
‘Luc, be careful.’ He could hear the anxiety in her voice.
Luc never took his eyes off the stonemason. He heard running feet behind him as the others came back to see what was happening. The mason, seeing that he had an audience, and seeing no weapon in Luc’s hand, took a pace forward.
‘You’re drunk, mason. Don’t do anything foolish.’ Luc’s right hand was on the hilt of the hidden dagger. For the moment, it remained concealed in his sleeve. ‘Put the knife away, apologise to the lady, and we’ll forget the whole thing.’
‘From ear to ear, you Templar bastard.’ He must have seen the shock on Luc’s face. He raised his voice. ‘You heard me. I know what you are. You’re a cowardly Templar, escaping from justice. You’ve probably got a sack of gold in your pack. It’ll be a pleasure to do the executioner’s job for him.’
Luc heard intakes of breath from behind. He kept his eyes on the point of the knife, his mind racing. Just then he heard the sound of movement and Friar Laurent pushed past, deliberately stepping in between them.
‘Get out of the way, monk. This is between me and him.’ The mason’s voice was a snarl.
‘You’re drunk, man. You could be arrested for pulling a knife on a fellow pilgrim. Wound him, and they’ll string you up. Listen to me, will you?’
‘String me up? I’ll probably get a medal for killing a Templar.’ The man was sounding less drunk now. His eyes were unnaturally bright, but he was in control of his faculties. Luc caught the friar by the arm.
‘Be careful, Laurent. The man’s off his head.’
The baker and the new man, Thomas, appeared alongside the friar. The stonemason, relishing the audience, stepped forward once more. Luc knew he was still out of range of any but the most desperate lunge, so he kept his knife hidden. The best way of convincing the other members of the group that he was not a Templar was to appear helpless. He took a step back. The stonemason crowed.
‘That’s right, you cow
ard. Back away. But it won’t do you any good. This blade’s got your name on it. Right now!’ He leapt towards Luc, his teeth bared in a wicked grin. But as he started moving, just as Luc was about to pull out his knife, the new man, Thomas, reacted. With lightning speed, he reversed his heavy staff and lashed out. There was a sickening thud as the solid end of the wooden staff crashed into the base of the stonemason’s skull. He went down like a stone, headfirst into the dust.
There was stunned silence. Luc looked down at the stonemason, but the violence of the blow, and the precision with which it had landed, told him the man was dead. The friar dropped to his knees beside the body and laid his hand on the mason’s throat. After a few moments he looked up.
‘He’s dead.’
Aimée gave a little cry and ran forward, tripping as she did so. Luc reached out and swept her into his arms before she could fall. ‘It’s all right, Aimée.’
She gripped him tightly, an expression of overwhelming relief on her face. ‘Thank the Lord. I didn’t know, I didn’t know.’ The thought of losing him from her life was too terrible to contemplate. She burst into tears and Luc cradled her against his chest.
‘Well, there’s nothing more we can do for him now.’ Friar Laurent made the sign of the cross over the dead man and looked up at Thomas. The other pilgrims had all backed away, unsettled by the savagery of his attack. ‘Thomas, you were acting to protect an unarmed man. The authorities won’t worry you, once we tell them the circumstances.’ He pulled himself to his feet. ‘Luc, I believe you owe your life to Thomas.’
As his blood began to cool, Luc was rejoicing. This intervention by the new man was a godsend as it allowed Luc to remain anonymous. He held out his hand. ‘I thank you with all my heart, Thomas.’ He kept his voice suitably humble. ‘It’s ironic he accused me of being a Templar. I have a horror of weapons and all forms of violence. You saved my life, and I’m in your debt.’
‘You’re very welcome, Luc. I’m just sorry I seem to have hit him too hard.’ Thomas neither looked, nor sounded, contrite. Luc studied him carefully. As a soldier himself, he knew full well how carefully executed the murder had been. And he had little doubt that it had been murder. For some reason, as yet unfathomable, Thomas had deliberately killed the stonemason.
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