‘Good heavens! No, I haven’t.’
‘That’s the colloquial name, I’m told.’
‘Less of a mouthful, certainly. Whoever are they?’
‘One of these new religious movements. An American import, but expanding rapidly over here.’
Hannah sipped her gin and tonic. ‘And what’s your interest in them?’
‘My WDI came to see me this morning. She went to one of their meetings to suss them out and wasn’t very happy with her findings.’
‘In what way?’
‘She suspects the pre-meeting coffee was spiked — though as she didn’t have any that’s pure speculation. And she’s pretty sure the film they were shown was subliminally doctored.’
‘How very sinister.’
Webb filled a large pan with water, salted it, and set it to boil. ‘Yes, not a pleasant thought.’
‘What actually happened?’
‘It was just a warm-up session, whetting the appetite and hinting at marvels to come. They wouldn’t want to lay their goods on the line till they’re sure they’ve hooked their audience.’
‘But you think they could be dangerous?’
‘All cults are dangerous, Hannah. Some are benevolent and some not, but they’re all out to get you. For your own good, of course, as they go to some lengths to explain. Trouble is, it’s often the weak and vulnerable who are attracted to them, and fall straight into their clutches without realizing it.’
The water rose up the pan and he tipped a measured quantity of spaghetti into it. Hannah slid to the floor and prepared to lay the table.
‘Did I tell you I saw Dilys last week?’ she asked, opening the cutlery drawer.
‘No, how is she?’
‘Up to ninety, poor love. She’s being invaded by her god-daughter’s baby, plus nanny. They’ll be there for three weeks, and she’s dreading every minute of it.’
‘Can’t say I blame her. How’s the writer’s block?’
‘Still with her, and this is hardly the remedy.’
Webb made sympathetic noises. He’d never met Dilys, but since Hannah often spoke of her, felt he knew her quite well. Like Hannah’s other friends, she was unaware of his existence; deputy headmistresses, especially those of prestigious private schools, could ill afford gossip, and Hannah had decided right at the beginning that it was wiser to keep her own counsel where affairs of the heart were concerned.
Picking up the bottle of Chianti, he followed her through to the living-room. It looked its best at this time of day, he thought contentedly, the lamps lit and — since he’d not yet turned on the heating — the glow of the gas fire to dispel the evening chill.
When he first came here, soon after his divorce, the flat had been simply somewhere to sleep and keep his belongings. But gradually he’d stamped his personality on the place and it had evolved from an impersonal set of rooms into a home.
He stood in the doorway, taking unaccustomed stock and approving what he saw: white paintwork and pale cinnamon walls on which were displayed the carefully chosen paintings which accounted for most of his spare cash; the oak dining-table he’d picked up for a song before antiques became big business; deep, welcoming armchairs, each with its small table alongside to accommodate glass or papers; a glass-fronted bookcase; his desk, and, in the corner, his easel and the pile of canvases stacked against the wall.
Conscious of how much he learned about people from their surroundings, he wondered for the first time what his own home said about him.
Hannah’s voice recalled him from his musings. ‘Any chance of opening that bottle, or are you going to stand there holding it all evening?’
He grinned apologetically, moved into the room and set it on the table.
She bent to read the label. ‘Which glasses shall we use?’
‘Oh, just the everyday ones. I’ll —’
‘It’s all right, I know where they are.’
Still retrospective, he walked to the window and stood, as he did most evenings, staring down the hill towards the lights of Shillingham.
Though his flat wasn’t as spacious as Hannah’s on the floor below, there were definite advantages to being at the top of the building. It was like a watchtower, with the town spread out below for his inspection. And somewhere among those lights, he thought suddenly, as today’s concerns reasserted themselves, it was possible that a new menace was moving.
Hannah, returning with the glasses, glanced across at him. ‘You are pensive this evening,’ she remarked. ‘Still brooding about the Revvies?’
‘I don’t like manipulation,’ he said shortly, ‘which is what it all boils down to.’
‘But who are these people? What’s their message?’
He felt in his pocket and extracted the crumpled publicity sheet Nina had given him. ‘Does this logo suggest anything to you?’
She moved to take it from him, studying the triangle with the curved line above it. ‘Not really.’
‘Suppose that arc was coloured.’ He paused. ‘Multi-coloured.’
‘A rainbow?’
‘Right. And the other shape?’
‘A triangle?’ He shook his head. She studied it further. ‘I suppose it could be a simplified drawing of a mountain.’
‘Ten out of ten! A mountain and a rainbow. Now — any bright ideas?’
‘Noah?’ she hazarded facetiously.
‘Noah indeed!’
Her eyes widened. ‘You’re not serious?’
‘Oh, but I am. Their theory is that another Flood’s on the way, and they’ll be the only ones to survive it.’
‘They’re not building an ark?’ Hannah’s voice was incredulous.
‘Not exactly.’ A smile lifted his mouth. ‘Incidentally, their founder’s name is Bellringer. Would you believe Noah Bellringer?’
Hannah gazed at him. ‘Now you really are joking.’
‘Without a word of a lie. Born and raised, as they say, in the Bible Belt of America.’
‘But — the Flood? Noah and the Flood? He changed his name to fit the theory?’
‘No, it’s been verified on his birth certificate. Mind you, the association of ideas must have played its part.’
‘But if they’re not building an ark, what do they intend to do?’
Webb moved to the table and poured Chianti into the glasses. ‘I’m told they’re investing heavily in high ground, the more mountainous the better. They already have settlements in Scotland, Wales and the Lake District.’
‘They’re taking it pretty seriously, then. When is this Flood due? Should I be keeping an eye on the weather forecast?’
‘Don’t hold your breath. It’s one of the many joys promised for the millennium. Right —’ he took the paper back and stuffed it into his pocket — ‘enough of all this nonsense. The spaghetti should be ready, so let’s eat.’
*
Daniel Stacey eased the car through the gateway of No. 5, Victoria Drive and parked on the concrete base which had replaced the front garden. He was bone-tired, but it would be hours yet before he was free to go to bed. Adam’s space was still empty, though Lucy’s ancient Morris stood in its accustomed corner. It was Lucy’s week as cook, he remembered, and hoped she’d kept something hot for him.
He eased himself out of the car, locked it, and stretched, rubbing his aching back. Then he walked briskly up the steps and let himself into the house. Immediately he was conscious of warmth and comfort and his tiredness began to drop away. In thirty-five years, this was the only place he’d felt at home.
At the end of the passage the kitchen door opened and Lucy peered out at him. ‘Ah, there you are! I was beginning to think you’d got lost.’
He went towards her, relishing the savoury smell which came to meet him. ‘It’s my week to oversee prep, I forgot to tell you. Have the others eaten?’
‘All except Adam, he’s not back yet. Are you ready for yours?’
‘More than ready — I’m starving.’ He walked past her into the warm, bright ki
tchen and washed his hands at the sink. Lucy took a casserole from the oven, dished out a generous portion, and put the plate on the long scrubbed table.
‘Roll on half-term!’ Daniel said, seating himself in front of it. He was a PE master at Shillingham Grammar School and grateful that as such he was spared the preparation and marking which continually hung over poor Mattie, making it almost impossible to concentrate on her gospel. Apart from taking his turn on the prep rota, his evenings were his own.
He bowed his head, said a silent Grace, and began to eat. Lucy slid into the seat opposite with a mug of coffee. ‘Hard day?’
‘Much the same as usual. I did some canvassing in the lunch hour, which was a bit of a rush. This is great, Luce.’
‘Good. Did you have any luck?’
He paused, thinking back to the calls he’d made. ‘Hard to tell. I didn’t do badly on collecting, but whether any of them will show up on Wednesday is anyone’s guess.’
‘Think any of the Friday lot will?’
‘I hope so.’ More particularly he hoped Nina would, but pushed the thought aside. He’d been disconcerted to find how often over the weekend she’d come into his mind.
‘Vince thinks those two schoolgirls will be back. They seemed quite keen to know more.’
Daniel smiled tiredly. ‘Or perhaps just to see him again. But whatever the reason, the oftener they come, the more chance we have of saving them. Which, after all, is what counts.’
‘Amen,’ Lucy said automatically.
He glanced at her with affection. She was a plump, pleasant-faced girl, always ready to help out and take on extra work if need be. She and Liz were the only two in the house who were unemployed, and he knew it worried them. The Captain actively encouraged his flock to be self-supporting, though Daniel sometimes wondered if he appreciated the strain of a full-time job in addition to the amount of work they were required to do for the Church. Adam would even now be canvassing his way round Shillingham, after being on his feet all day in the shop he managed.
Daniel pushed his plate away and looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. Time for an hour’s work before evening prayers.
‘Thanks for the meal, Lucy. See you.’
‘See you,’ she echoed, watching him leave the room. Down the hall the front door opened and closed and the sound of voices reached her. Adam was back. She stood up and went once more to the oven.
Adam had looked exhausted, Daniel thought as he entered his room, but Monday was always a late night. After prayers the household meeting was held, with discussions on fund-raising, housekeeping and accounts, and any problems that might have arisen during the week. There were eight of them resident in the house, and by the time each had made his or her report it was usually past midnight. At least the pressure on finances had been eased by what promised to be a handsome legacy. Thank God for it, he thought devoutly. The Captain always said if they had faith enough, the funds would be provided.
He drew the curtains and sat down at his desk, pulling his files towards him. As he did so, his eyes fell on his grandmother’s photograph in its silver frame, and he felt a stab of guilt. It was time he wrote to her; the least he could do, after — he smiled wryly — all she’d done for him. It was a phrase which had echoed through his childhood, as though it was his fault he’d been illegitimate.
Liz was, too, he remembered. She’d mentioned it casually once, surprising him by her unconcern. But hers had been a large, lower middle-class family with plenty of love to go round, and the lack of a father here and there was of little consequence.
He lifted the photograph, staring into the strong, lined face that gazed back at him. Though kind enough in her way, she was an undemonstrative woman and it had never occurred to her that he was starved of love. Small wonder he’d felt so isolated. Until he discovered the Church.
He smiled fleetingly, putting the photograph down again. His church, that is. The standard one had been an integral part of his upbringing, but his childhood God was a remote and awesome figure who, though he’d been taught to address Him as ‘Father’, had remained as distant, mysterious and unreal as his own father had been. Thank God — quite literally thank God — he’d been rescued by the Revelationists.
Abandoning his memories, Daniel opened the file and settled down to work.
*
Christina stretched luxuriously, and Edward, watching her, smiled. ‘If this was a film, one of us would reach for a cigarette!’
‘Not these days, surely.’
‘I don’t know that anyone’s come up with a substitute. Anyway, my love, you’ll gather that I’m more than pleased to have you home again.’
‘Me too. But apart from missing me, how was the weekend?’
‘Oh, the competition was a great success — record number of entries, and the weather stayed fine.’
‘I meant with Stephanie,’ she said, reproach in her voice.
‘Oh. Well, she was OK. Not that I saw much of her, actually; she was off with Marina most of the time, and, of course, I was at the club. One odd thing, though. She announced that she’d gone vegetarian.’
‘What?’ Christina turned her head on the pillow to stare at him.
‘Really. Just suddenly came out with it. Wanted a note to take back to school.’
‘Saying what, for heaven’s sake?’
‘Asking that her wishes be respected.’
‘Good Lord. When did this come up?’
‘Just after you’d gone on Saturday morning, when I asked if she fancied some bacon and eggs.’
‘Well, if she keeps it up in the holidays she’ll have to make do with whatever vegetables we’re having. I’ve better things to do than plan alternative menus for her ladyship.’
He said slowly, ‘There was something else odd, too. When she’d gone back to school I went into her room to retrieve the sweater she’d borrowed, and I saw she’d tipped all her make-up and scent into the wastepaper basket.’
‘Oh love, that can’t be right. She spends most of her allowance on make-up, she wouldn’t throw it away.’
‘Go and see for yourself. And there was that bottle of scent she begged and begged for, for her birthday. Cost me an arm and a leg, I seem to remember, and there it was, only half-used, in the bin.’
‘Then I shall retrieve it myself,’ Christina said decidedly. ‘Whatever’s got into the child?’
‘Some passing fad, no doubt. Now, what about your trip? You haven’t told me any details; was it worthwhile?’
‘Oh, I think so. Belinda’s been working out figures all afternoon. If we can get in with Bryant Hotels we’ll be in the big time.’
Her thoughts moved on. ‘And as soon as I got back I had that lunch appointment at the King’s Head. Have you been since it reopened? It’s very plush now — all different shades of wood and lamps everywhere.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘And you’ll be interested to hear I tried to pick someone up!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Really. Rather a dishy man, actually. I saw him sitting alone frowning at his watch and was sure he was my lunch date, so I went over to him. But as soon as we’d sorted ourselves out and he’d offered me a drink, the real Mr Derringer arrived, and that was that.’
‘And was the real Mr Derringer “dishy” too?’
‘Far from it. But much more importantly, he’s on the point of signing a contract.’
‘Good for him. And what happened to your deserted swain?’
‘Oh, his friends turned up eventually — I saw him leave with them. I bet they had a laugh about the blonde who tried to get off with him!’
But the handsome stranger wasn’t laughing now. He was at that moment lolling in an armchair in his darkened room at the King’s Head. And he was dead.
Chapter 4
Dilys watched the car turn into the drive, arranged a smile on her face and went to open the door. The rhus in the border, she noticed, had started to redden — proof, if proof were needed, of the relentless march of time towards th
e date when her manuscript must be delivered. And now this.
‘This’ was in the process of emerging from the car, held tightly in his mother’s arms. Sebastian was a placid baby, secure in the love that surrounded him and confident of getting his own way. Dilys returned his stare somewhat doubtfully.
‘Darling!’ Susie planted an enthusiastic kiss on her cheek. ‘You’re an angel! I’ve stressed to Sarah that you mustn’t be disturbed in any way.’
Dilys’s eyes moved to the young woman who was helping James extract a folding cot from the boot. ‘One point, Susie,’ she said quickly, remembering Peggy’s reservations. ‘Where does she sit in the evenings? I mean —’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that. If it’s convenient, she goes out. Seb never wakes once he’s put down, so provided there’s someone in the house we don’t mind. She has relatives in the town and spends most of her free time with them. And if she’s in, she works in her room.’
Dilys was relieved that neither she nor Peggy would be called on to entertain their visitor. ‘Works?’ she repeated with a raised eyebrow.
‘For some exam or other,’ Susie said vaguely. ‘She keeps very much to herself. She has breakfast and lunch with Seb and supper on a tray in her room. Honestly, you’ll hardly know she’s here.’
James and Sarah approached them with what seemed an inordinate amount of baggage. James bent to kiss Dilys’s cheek, and Susie continued: ‘Dilly, this is Sarah Baines. Miss Hayward, Sarah.’
Dilys smiled and nodded, disconcerted to find the young woman’s gaze as uncommunicative as Sebastian’s. However, she smiled gravely and the moment was eased by James’s inquiry as to where the luggage should be taken.
‘I’ll lead the way.’ Dilys turned back to the house and went up the stairs with the contingent following behind her.
‘This is Miss Baines’s room,’ she announced, aware of sounding formal but unable for some reason to call the stiff young woman by her first name. And unbidden, the memory returned of her involuntary shiver the previous week when checking the room for her guest.
She moved hastily down the landing. ‘And this is Sebastian’s,’ she continued. ‘There isn’t a general bathroom each room has its own. The next door is the little room where we do the ironing — the airing cupboard’s in there — and the one at the end is my room. If there’s anything you need,’ she added to Sarah, ‘do please ask either me or my housekeeper.’
The Gospel Makers Page 4