‘Thank you. I just love cooking, so it’s no hardship. Adding a bit of this and that to create something unique, well… to me, it’s like art – if that not too much of a cliché?’
We lapsed into silence as we ate our late dinner, and when we had finished, I took out the remainder of the chocolates to accompany the coffee.
‘I’m glad I’m going home tomorrow, but I’ll certainly miss the food – and you too, of course.’
‘I’m going to the airport with you, and then I’ll get a train back to Oxford and a cab from there.’ She argued with me but I was determined.
‘On your own, you would be a really easy target for any lunatic that might be out there. I’ll relax once I know you’re on the plane and out of the country.’ She conceded, and we started to clean up the kitchen quietly, both lost in our own thoughts.
We were both tired and, not long afterwards, Caro went up to bed. I had to take Mass the following morning, and I spent a while thinking about a sermon that would be both helpful and interesting to the congregation. I decided to speak about family and forgiveness. Since our discussion about the painted cellar in France, and my mother’s reaction, it had brought home to me how I had never forgiven her for what she had done that day, and our relationship had suffered as a consequence.
After the sudden death of both my parents some years ago, I had felt a huge loss, not only for them as parents, but for who they really were. I had known so little about them, and then in a flash it was too late – they were gone, and I was full of regret. They did love me, I knew that, but they seemed to be involved in another world to such a degree that normal family life became impossible. I made my notes for the sermon and settled down to sleep, a little easier in mind than I had been for a few days.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
‘Don’t open the door to anyone, do you understand? I mean not anyone at all, even if you think you know them. Pull all the bolts across too.’
‘I will, and stop worrying… It’ll be fine. I’ll pack, and tidy up a bit, and you won’t be gone for long.’
Again, I waited until I heard the bolts being drawn across before walking down the path to the car. Black Coat was parked under a tree, and I thought he would follow me, but he didn’t. I drove for a minute or two and then pulled over to call Caro.
‘Black Coat was outside when I left, but he didn’t follow me. I don’t like you being there on your own with him outside. The door is bolted, isn’t it? Don’t open it for anyone, do you understand? Call 999 if you need to. I’ll be back in about an hour and a half.’
I hurried on to the church and was greeted by a few parishioners who had arrived early. I was feeling particularly anxious, but gave what I hoped was a decent sermon. I intended to keep the topic in mind for myself, and I hoped my congregation would too. They certainly shook my hand warmly and I left as quickly as I could, anxious to get back to the cottage and make sure Caro was safe. Black Coat was nowhere to be seen, and she quickly let me in.
‘All quiet here, so you can stop worrying. I’m all packed up and ready to go, and have scanned and copied the papers that Merry gave to us last night. I’ll read them on the plane. I’ve packed up your manbag too. I thought it would save time, and the peasant’s curtains are empty. Your laptop’s in there too, and there are sandwiches made for the journey.’
‘You have been busy. We had better get going I suppose. Thanks for tidying up – the place looks spotless.’
We put the bags in the car and I carefully locked up the cottage. There was nothing to steal, but I could do without any hassle when I got back. Within half an hour we were on the motorway and heading towards Birmingham airport. The traffic was quite heavy, but moving smoothly, so any delay seemed unlikely. Caro began to talk about the parchments and journal.
‘What do you think will happen, Ben?’
‘Hopefully nothing. Best case scenario is that it all quietens down and I get back to normal. Adrian will probably turn up, and the bishop will stop telling me to look after myself. I might carry on investigating the village church, but quietly though!’
‘Well, I’m very involved in writing my book. I’d really like you to see it. There are a few new things I’ve discovered, and I’m going to research the connections between France and here too.’
‘Be careful. Do it quietly, and don’t tell anyone for the moment. I hope to be over for the whole of August, so we can go through it then, and keep your eyes peeled for anything suspicious. Lock up the house properly every time you go out, things like that. And use your parents’ old safe in the cellar. I know it’s a hassle, but a lot less so than if anything gets stolen. And phone me if there’s a problem; in fact, phone me the second you get in.
We dropped off the hire car, and I walked into departures with her. They were already loading the bags, and I stayed until she was about to go through passport control. She hugged me tightly.
‘I’m going to miss you. I’m so sorry to have you mixed up with this. I deeply regret it… I should have kept it all to myself.’
‘I’ll miss you too. And don’t worry, I’ll see you in a couple of months, and will call you later as soon as I’m back home. You be careful too.’
* * *
I waved until she was out of sight and waited for the next train to Oxford, eventually arriving back at the cottage almost three hours later. I had become used to Caro being there, and it felt odd to be going in alone. As I walked up the path my heart sank when I saw that the front door was wide open.
I paused for a moment: what if someone was still inside? I didn’t want to get clobbered on the head or worse. Should I call the police right now? I quickly decided that if I stayed outside I would probably be safe, but just in case I picked up the cast iron doorstop and held it firm. My bag was across my body, so I had both hands free.
Still outside, I began to shout. ‘Hello? Hello? I’ve called the police, so come out.’
I heard a shuffling inside and I raised the iron cat that was the doorstop. It would give someone a nasty dent in an ear shape if I hit them with it, and a good job too! At least it would make for easy identification if they managed to get away. Then suddenly someone was in front of me. It was Peter, the vicar.
‘Good God, man. I thought you were going to bludgeon me,’ he said. ‘You’ve been broken into. The place is a mess, I’m afraid, and I’ve called the police. I stopped by to put a card through the door from Merry to thank you both for the flowers yesterday, and I found it like this. I’m so sorry. I gather you’ve taken Caro back to the airport?’
I lowered the iron cat and put it back on the path, my hands shaking. A siren could be heard and was getting louder by the second; the police were clearly on their way.
‘What the hell is going on? One more second and I would have hit you on the head with a lump of iron.’
Two flashing cars screeched to a halt, and suddenly the pathway seemed full of policemen and women, two of each to be exact. Peter explained what had happened and I told them where I’d been. He then excused himself as he had an evensong to attend, but said he would call me when it was over.
‘I used your phone to call the police and leave a message for Merry to tell her I would be late, as I didn’t have my mobile on me. I hope that was OK. I’ll speak to you later. You can stay with us if needs be.’ He nodded to the nearest officer. ‘You know where you can find me if you want a statement,’ and with that he dashed off down the street.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The officers and I walked into the cottage. To say that it was a mess was an understatement. It had been completely turned over in every sense of the word. Drawers and cupboards had been emptied, the curtains were in shreds, and my beautiful old glasses were smashed to pieces on the floor. The Rayburn doors were open, as was the wood burner. There were bits of ash on the carpet, but as I looked more closely I saw that the ash fro
m burning logs over the past week was gone. I knew exactly why that was, but the police had started to ask me questions and I concentrated on that. The forensics team arrived and started to dust handles and other items for fingerprints.
‘I doubt that we’ll get anything though,’ one of them said. ‘It looks like a professional job to me, not the usual petty thieving that we’ve so much of.’
They carried on looking around whilst a statement was taken. Nothing appeared to be missing; there was nothing of any value to take, and I told them this.
‘It’s very odd,’ continued the forensics man as he brushed his powder everywhere. ‘Most of the burglaries around here have involved electrical equipment, laptops, and jewellery. Straight in and out jobs… nothing like this. Will you be OK? Is there someone you can call for help?’
I assured him of this, and within an hour and a half, they were all gone. My hands still shook as I closed the door and bolted it. The locks weren’t damaged at all so, as the police said, it had been the work of experts. The phone rang, and I walked through the debris to pick it up. It was Caro, telling me she had arrived home safely.
‘I’m home. Everything’s fine here. All OK your end?’
I explained what had happened.
‘Oh no, oh, Ben, how awful. It isn’t going to go away; I didn’t think it would. Come home – just come home.’
‘I’d love to but I can’t just leave. I need to clear up and there’s work to consider. I’ll be fine. I was invited to sleep at the vicarage, but I might as well just stay here. The door’s bolted, and unless they use sledgehammers no one can get in, so stop worrying. I’m going to have a good think this evening, and I’ll call you tomorrow.’
Ending the call, I picked up the phone again to ring the vicarage and tell them that I was going to stay put, and clear up. Using last number redial showed the emergency services number, and the number before that was mine, calling home that morning when I was out. Perhaps I had misheard Peter when he said he had called Merry? I looked the number up and left a message, assuring them that I was shaken, but fine, and would stay here for the night.
I went upstairs and started to create some order, putting things back into drawers, straightening the mattress and fresh bedding that Caro had put on, and hanging the clothes back in the wardrobe.
Downstairs took longer with books to put back on shelves, but I was thankful that I had so few belongings over here. The curtains were ruined, and I took them down and put them in the dustbin outside. A few things in the kitchen were broken, but mostly it was OK, and I put everything back in the cupboards and wiped the surfaces down. The bathroom hadn’t been touched. I pulled out the vacuum and pushed it around to clean up the debris and bits of ash. I assumed that the burglars, for want of a better word, had thought they might be able to decipher bit of words from what was left in the grate, but I was positive that this would be impossible. The fire had been used several times, and there would be nothing at all left that would be legible.
It was now nearly nine, and I was exhausted when the phone rang. It was Merry asking if I was OK, and was I sure I didn’t want to spend the night with them? Or could she come around to help me? Or bring me a meal? I assured her I was fine, and that the place was pretty much back to normal.
* * *
Almost immediately it rang again. I thought it would probably be Caro or a local person checking up on me. When I picked up the receiver and said hello, there was no one there for a few seconds… then I heard a man’s voice. Speaking in Italian, I recognised him straight away as the owner of the parchments that had been given to me to transcribe. He spoke quickly, over some considerable noise in the background.
‘Listen to me, Benoît, and do not speak. I am sorry to tell you that I can no longer ensure your safety. Everything has changed and you are most definitely in danger. I will do my best but you need to go into hiding. I am at even greater risk and am fleeing as we speak. Trust no one. Do you hear me? Trust no one. I am unsure when I can call you again. I thought I could contain things but several organisations are now looking for the parchments and seem to know about the existence of the journal. I have made it known that you are innocent and no longer have any involvement, and that your sister is not involved at all, but these are ruthless people, Benoît. I’m so sorry to have involved you. It was wrong of me. I’m so sorry.’
His voice was drowned out by what sounded like an engine, and then the line went dead. So, that was that. I felt strangely calm; it had been inevitable really, I knew that. The second break-in and the removal of the ashes from the wood burner had confirmed that I had become involved in something very serious indeed. I needed to act and get away, but where to? France? Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to trace me to my house in Antugnac if they really wanted to. If they, whoever ‘they’ were, really wanted to find me, they could probably do so just about anywhere. The main advantage of going to France was that, if I really ended up having to go into hiding, it would be the right place to do so. For a start, my house was built like a fortress, with walls over a metre thick. Breaking in would be almost impossible.
Secondly, Caro and I knew the hills and mountains so well. They had been a major part of our younger lives, and there were caves, tunnels and hiding places that we knew about where no one would ever find us. That was a distinct advantage. Odd that the Italian had called her my sister. He had obviously been informed that she was staying with me. We did look very alike, though, and I could see how that mistake might have been made.
Then it struck me. He had mentioned the journal. How in the hell did he know about it? There was no way he could have been spying on my every move, and anyway, me buying it in the first place had been a random event that no one could have predicted. Was my phone being tapped?
I thought for a moment. If someone was that desperate to listen to my conversations, then my mobile would be tapped too. Deciding to use it anyway, I called Arnaud. He was an old friend of mine from Antugnac, and would do as I asked without bothering me with too many questions. He answered within two rings, and I explained that I would be coming back to France tomorrow or the next day and would need a car of my own. His brother-in-law was a car dealer, and I knew that Arnaud helped him out from time to time.
‘No problem, Benoît. We’ve just taken in a very tidy Peugeot 107 in part exchange. It’s seven years old, has low mileage and a full service history. What do you think? Will it do?’
‘Perfect. I used to have one a few years back, and it’s a great little car.’ A few minutes later, and we had struck a deal.
I have known Arnaud for my entire life, and we slipped back into our old and familiar friendship immediately.
‘I’ll come and pick you up – just let me know the times.’
‘That would be great if you’re sure you don’t mind? I’ll call you as soon as I’ve booked the flight and have the exact arrival time. Thank you so much.’
‘It’s nothing. No problem at all,’ came the reply. He then teased me by saying he had made a very good deal by selling me the car, and the airport pick-up had already been added onto the price.
It was a huge relief to have sorted this out, and to have a car waiting for me was a real bonus since the region of France where I live is quite remote, and getting around locally is impossible without a car. Ten minutes later, he agreed to pick me up at Carcassonne the following afternoon. It was a relief to not have to bother Caro, or worry her any more than I already had.
By the time I had cleared up a few more things, had my suitcases out ready for packing tomorrow, and had climbed, exhausted, into bed it was past midnight. I intended to get up early to pack up the things I needed to take with me, as well as generally sorting out my absence with the diocese. I would need to call the bishop too, or at least his office, and find a way of getting to the airport. East Midlands was further than Birmingham, where I had taken Caro
to, but flew to Carcassonne, which was much nearer to my home in France. A cab to Oxford, a train, and then another cab seemed easiest.
When I got to France, I could email or phone anyone else who needed to know that I would be away for a while, and sort things out as best as I could. My mind was buzzing with all that I had to do, but I fell asleep almost immediately, to be woken by the alarm at what seemed like a very short time later.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I jumped out of bed, and began to pack a case with whatever I might need for the next few weeks. I was glad I had so few belongings in England, and anyway, I had plenty of clothes in France. I did, however, have some of my most used reference books here and intended to take them with me. The cottage was already furnished when I moved in, and apart from my own kitchen equipment, bedding, towels, and a few ornaments, there was little left of my own. My beautiful antique glasses were now gone, so if someone took everything that remained it wouldn’t be too upsetting. Anyway, I told myself, I would be back as soon as things had settled.
At nine I called the bishop’s private phone, which was answered by his secretary. She told me that she was taking his messages because he had been called away for a few days on family business. I explained that I too had family problems and needed to go back to France straight away, probably for a few weeks. She was clearly very annoyed.
‘Well, that leaves me in a right pickle, Father Ben, if you don’t mind me saying. It’s bad enough with the bishop heading off like that without having to try to find a replacement for you. As you know, you’re already a replacement for someone else, and I have no idea where I’ll find extra cover. If you don’t all watch it, I’ll go off too, and then what would you do?’
I apologised to her as sincerely as I could, and said that I would be in touch as soon as I knew more.
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