‘Second aisle, sixth row up from the front on your left.’
‘Thank you.’
Inside, the predominant colour was a deep red, interspersed with gold ornamentation around the edges of the private boxes above and to either side. The implication was that the audience had entered an imaginary world of glamour and grandeur, far removed from their humdrum lives left behind on the streets outside. A low-level hubbub of noise permeated the place as people claimed their seats, flicked through programmes, paid to release the standard-issue opera glasses from their fastenings and identified friends across in other rows. A few members of the orchestra added to the general clamour by taking their places early in the orchestra pit and using the time to warm up or tune their instruments with a few scales, arpeggios or the odd bar or two from the afternoon’s score.
James guided Anna through a small crowd dawdling on the rear walkway and onto the steps down to their row. As he did so he passed a woman wearing the uniform of the St John Ambulance, with a green first-aid haversack slung over one shoulder. For a brief moment, she seemed familiar, causing him to do a double take. Evidently, she did not have the same uncertainty.
‘Dr Armstrong! What a surprise to see you here.’
The voice cleared his confusion as to who stood before him. Recollecting himself, he thrust the tickets into Anna’s hand, urgently whispering an instruction for her to continue down to their seats with the assurance that he would join her in a moment.
‘Hello, Mrs Stevenson. The surprise is all mine. I didn’t know you are a first-aider. Do you get to many of these events?’
‘Yes, I’ve been a member for the past year – ever since Thomas started at primary school. I can only volunteer for the afternoon performances, but at least it gets me out and this way I feel that I am still being useful. I’ve been to all sorts of events – concerts, rugby matches, Hull carnival – but I prefer it here; more to my taste, you might say. Anyway, don’t let me keep you.’ She touched him lightly on his upper left arm. ‘I think it starts in a few minutes. It will be very different from the Christmas concert at St Lawrence’s. I do hope your wife enjoys it.’
‘I am sure she will, Mrs Stevenson. I hope you are not too busy and can enjoy it yourself. Goodbye for now.’
‘Bye, Doctor. At least I’ll know where to call for help if I need it later.’
James grinned in response and made his escape down the stairs to where Anna was patiently sitting.
‘Ah, I thought you’d deserted me already. Old girlfriend is she or do you just have a yearning for women in uniform?’
Her tone of voice implied that she was only partially joking; a fact not lost on James.
‘Ooh! Listen to you getting all possessive!’
He grinned, gently poking her with his finger as he spoke.
‘Actually, she’s one of my patients.’
Anna’s face instantly changed to an open-mouthed, wide-eyed look of mild horror. Instinctively, she made to turn round to identify the person.
‘No, don’t look now, you noddle. I will tell you who it is. It’s Mrs Stevenson from that hamlet just outside Helliton.’
‘The one with a young boy? What is his name… Timothy… Tony… no… Thomas?’
‘Yes, that’s the one.’
‘And there was you saying that nobody from Bishopsworth would come across the river unless they were going shopping!’
‘Ironic, isn’t it? It seems she is a member of the St John Ambulance and comes here on first-aid duty. Fortunately, she can only make the afternoon performances, so I doubt that she will be here again tomorrow evening. That might have been a bit tricky.’
‘Trickier than now?’
‘Oh, now is fine. In fact, her parting words were to hope that my wife enjoys the performance.’ His face assumed a mock quizzical expression. ‘So, Mrs Armstrong, how is it for you so far?’
‘Very good, thank you, husband. At least it will be until Mrs Stevenson next tries to book an appointment through me. That might prove to be a little awkward.’
‘She’ll forget by then. Either that or she will just think she has things muddled.’
She linked her arm in his once again and laid her head on his shoulder liberating, as she moved, the distinctive aroma of Christian Dior’s Poison.
‘I think I could get quite used to being Mrs Armstrong.’
‘Don’t you get carried away now!’
‘I can fantasise, can’t I? You’ve got to let a lady have a dream.’
Before an answer could be forthcoming, the audience around them broke into applause as the conductor entered the orchestra pit and mounted his rostrum. He bowed in acknowledgement, turned towards the orchestra and raised his baton.
‘I’ll share it with you for the afternoon,’ whispered James in her ear.
Using his free hand, he held her closer as the lights dimmed and the orchestra struck up the opening bars of the overture to Swan Lake.
28
Bishopsworth, Lincolnshire
‘Do you know that it has been almost a month since we were alone?’
It was yet another Thursday afternoon and the late August sun was trying its best to circumnavigate the profusion of rooftops and chimney pots to illuminate the bedroom of the flat. A bright patch high on the opposite wall kept fading and then brightening again as unseen clouds drifted across the shaft of light. The lower pane of the sash window was partially raised, through which the low drone of a petrol mower could be heard working somewhere on a distant lawn. A gentle breeze twitched at the voile curtain.
‘I began to think that you have been avoiding me since the ballet.’
‘I’m sorry; it hasn’t been deliberate.’ His voice sounded sincere, but inwardly he did not feel so sure.
Anna shifted slightly, stretched her left leg across his legs, lifted her head and gazed upwards at him, using his chest as a prop for her chin. He instinctively reached down and stroked the smooth nakedness of her thigh as he deliberated his next words. His mouth opened to speak, but Anna beat him to it.
‘You just don’t seem yourself of late.’ She paused, her eyes searching his face as if looking to read the answer. ‘Even this afternoon you seem… I don’t know… far away… detached.’
‘I’m sorry. I guess I am to some extent.’
It was true that their earlier lovemaking had not been undertaken with its customary level of passion, almost perfunctory even. A fact that had not been lost on either of them.
‘I guess I’m concerned that you might fall in love with me.’
Her eyes did their searching movements again and then moistened over. She turned her face away from him, laying her head back onto his chest.
‘Would it be so bad if I did?’
‘Anna, I just don’t know what to think anymore. There used to be a time when I was so certain… certain about everything. I knew what I stood for, what I wanted with my life, where I was heading, how I was going to achieve everything… now it seems… well… it’s all a bit of a mess really. I don’t even know what I believe anymore.’
‘And it’s all my fault.’
The words were a statement rather than a question, but he answered nonetheless.
‘No. You must not think that. With you, I have found something special. I have never before met any person I can be so at ease with, to whom I can talk so freely. All my protective walls have come tumbling down with you. I have shared things with you that I have never told anyone else. It’s just that…’
‘It’s just that we are both married to the wrong people.’
‘Yes. That and…’
He stared at the patch of light on the wall as though hoping that the right words might miraculously appear there like some divine teleprompt. Instead, another cloud intervened and the light faded, as though God was saying ‘you’re on your own with this one, sonny’. He sighed heavily and took the plunge.
‘And the fact that I don’t know how to square it all with my calling. I mean, I feel such
a hypocrite. Every time I enter a church now I feel that I am being judged. I am not even sure that my conscience will let me be a priest anymore… that is if the Church will accept me in the first place.’
‘Does that matter so very much?’
‘It does to me. It is what has formed my anchor to life for these past thirty years – or twenty at least. It has always seemed like my destiny. A summons so powerful that I am constantly reminded of its presence, regardless of whichever path I chose to tread at any given time. But now…’
‘Now you’re not so sure of its value.’
‘More to the point, I feel that I may have drifted too far from the right path and do not know if there is a way back.’
‘So, what about us? Is that us finished regardless as to how good we are for each other? Are the Church and God so important that they win over the power of human love?’
There was a long pause whilst he struggled to find the words to answer her. Feeling the seconds tick by, he moved his hand from her thigh to her head and gently stroked her long hair, releasing the familiar aroma of Poison. His chest began to feel wet and he knew she was crying. He swallowed hard.
‘I’m thinking of going on a retreat to sort myself out.’
‘When? I thought you were going on holiday to Malta with Janice in October?’
‘Next month. I recently met the priest who is the Warden at Norton Abbey in North Yorkshire. I rang him a few days ago. There is a room I can have for a couple of weeks.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘And Malta?’
‘I don’t know yet. It depends…’
‘Will I be able to ring you?’
‘I don’t think that would be wise. I need solitude. I need to think and pray for direction.’
‘And then what?’
‘We’ll talk again…’
‘So this could be the last time we are together.’
‘Anna, I just don’t know…’
‘It doesn’t matter. I knew it was too good to last.’ She sniffed, tugged at the edge of the quilt and used the covering to wipe her eyes. ‘I guess we ought to make it one to remember then, hadn’t we?’
With that, her head moved downwards away from James’ hand and he felt his spine ripple with the intensely erotic sensation of Anna’s tongue and lips as she worked at seducing him one more time.
29
North Yorkshire
Autumn
Set on a south-facing slope amidst several acres of landscaped gardens and surrounded by the hills of Wharfedale with the River Wharfe winding its way through the valley floor, Norton Abbey was a stage set for peace and tranquillity. Such was its immediate effect on James as he parked the MG in the gravelled car park, switched off the engine and listened to the silence that engulfed him.
A few weeks previously, he had borrowed a few books from the Bishopsworth public library and studied the history of Norton Abbey. Set in the heart of the North Yorkshire Dales, the abbey was, in fact, initially a 12th-century priory outpost of Fountains Abbey situated to the northeast. It had been built to serve, protect and develop the interests of the Cistercian monks at Fountains Abbey and their trading routes to the west, as well as to ensure a cordial relationship with their Augustinian brothers at Bolton Abbey to the south. The priory closed in 1539 with Henry VIII’s Dissolution of the Monasteries. The local populace demolished part of the buildings and removed the stone to build local houses. However, the main hall and chapel remained intact and for a while saw life as a royal hunting lodge.
All of this James recollected as he sat in his cooling MG staring at a gravelled drive, which wound away from the parking area and disappeared into a woodland on its way up to the abbey. Three upright wooden posts blocked the drive, an early indication of how the Warden protected the quietude of the retreat. On the dashboard lay Luke Palfreyman’s business card. He had left strict instructions to be telephoned from the nearby village of Kettlewell in order to ensure that someone was on hand to assist James with his luggage upon arrival.
A sharp tap on the driver’s door brought him out of his musing and he turned to see a young man in his twenties, dressed in jeans, working boots, a battered waxed jacket and a cloth cap. Without waiting to be asked, the man opened the car door.
‘Hello, sir. Dr Armstrong, I presume?’ James smiled at the allusion to Dr Livingstone and nodded as he climbed out of the car.
‘Indeed I am; and you are…?’
‘Paul.’ He offered James his hand, who in turn noted the slightly grubby, coarsened skin as he shook it. ‘Paul Jenkins, to be precise. I’m the gardener-cum-caretaker. The Warden asked me to be here for when you arrived. Sorry I didn’t quite manage that; I was having a spot of difficulty with the cider press.’
‘Cider? I wasn’t aware that apples grew that well up here?’ His question elicited a throaty chuckle.
‘Oh yes, sir. We have some hardy varieties. They are good at withstanding the frosts, though the fruit tends to be a bit on the small side. They are reasonable enough for eating, but they make an even better cider. I dare say there’ll be some available at dinner tonight if you want to sample it.’
‘With some intrigue, I look forward to doing so.’ He moved towards the back of the car, but the gardener reached it first and started to untie a small holdall from the boot’s luggage rack.
‘Do you have anything else, sir?’
‘Just a small shoulder bag in the boot and briefcase on the passenger seat. I’m sure I can manage that myself.’
‘Not at all, sir.’ He retrieved the second bag and slung it over one shoulder before picking up the holdall and then the briefcase. ‘I walk better if the load’s balanced.’ He gestured with his head towards the gravelled drive. ‘The abbey’s about ten minutes’ walk up there.’
Locking the car, James joined him as he started up the drive at a brisk pace, his booted feet making a rhythmic crunching sound on the small stones.
‘Do you look after all of this on your own?’ He gestured towards the wood, where horse chestnut trees were in the process of dropping golden brown leaves in sufficient profusion to form a pleasingly soft carpet in places.
‘Not quite, sir. I have a couple of part-time staff and then there are always a few students who come from an agricultural college near York and work as volunteers for a few weeks at a time.’ He inclined his head to the right. ‘This wood is what we call Tarn Ghyll Wood. It’s full of rhododendrons, which look lovely when in bloom, but are a bit of a bug— pardon me, sir… a bit of a nuisance when they start spreading to other areas.’ He waved the briefcase towards the left of the path, his pace failing to slacken despite the growing incline of the track. ‘That bit is Daffodil Bank. Looks glorious in spring. It would make Wordsworth feel very much at home.’
‘I imagine spring is the time to see the grounds at their best?’
‘If you like flowers it is. The next area on the left is full of camellias in April and May. But we do have a small winter garden – terraced it is, just in front of the main hall. You’ll see it in a moment just round this bend. As for me, I like the autumn here. From the house, you can see all the tree-covered hills around, with their richness of red, brown and golden colours. Makes me feel quite melancholic.’
A loud honking noise grew nearer overhead causing both men to pause and look up. Some thirty or so Canada geese flew in a wide v-formation, filling the immediate skyline.
‘Never ceases to please me, though I dare say that some of the farmers don’t share the sentiment.’
‘In this setting, I am reminded of W.B. Yeats’ poem ‘The Wild Swans at Coole’: “The trees are in their autumn beauty, the woodland paths are dry…” It goes on to speak of the clamorous wings of the swans flying overhead. It’s the wrong bird and I cannot remember the rest, but the sentiment is there!’
‘You see, sir, Norton is already working its magic on you. We’d best get you up to the abbey before you get too carried away!’ He sh
ifted the shoulder bag onto the other shoulder and took a renewed grip on the briefcase and holdall. ‘Not far now, just round one more bend.’
True to his word, in less than two minutes, the woodland cleared and a terraced garden came into view. James counted four levels before his eye was drawn to the small but imposing grey stone façade of the hall of Norton Abbey. He paused and gazed around, already calmed by the tranquil stillness of the place. His eye settled on another stone building a short way from the house.
‘That’s the chapel, sir. It has its own garden, including a Glastonbury Thorn and a Hinoki cypress. Apparently, Hinoki are usually planted near Shinto temples in Japan.’ He started to climb the steps to the next terrace. ‘Oh, and there is a fernery with an Aralia spinosa.’
‘And just what is one of those in English?’ James took the first few steps two at a time in order to catch up with his energetic guide, who gave him a sidelong glance and a wry grin.
‘The Devil’s Walking Stick.’
* * *
‘James, welcome to Norton Abbey.’
The Reverend Luke Palfreyman was waiting as they approached, clothed in a black cassock, his imposing figure framed and further dignified by the stone archway entrance to the hall. He held out his hand in greeting.
‘Just leave the bags there, Paul; I’ll assist Dr Armstrong to his room.’
‘Certainly, sir.’ He unloaded his burden, handing James the briefcase in the process. ‘I’ll be quite happy to show you round the rest of the grounds later if you wish, sir. The Warden will tell you how to find me.’
‘Thank you, Paul. I am sure I will enjoy that.’ Paul gave a small nod and started back down the terrace steps, the two men watching him depart. ‘You have a splendid place here, Luke; and the grounds are superbly kept.’
‘We do our best. There is never enough money, but God works in mysterious ways and it usually comes right. Our main aim is to provide an environment conducive to assisting people on their spiritual journey.’
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