Touching the Wire

by Rebecca Bryn

  ‘Effie was my partner. We split a couple of years ago. I see Gabrielle as much as I can.’

  ‘That must be hard.’

  ‘It’s not what I wanted.’ He shrugged. ‘Effie and I parted amicably. She’s still part of my life, but not my future.’ His concerned smile broadened into a grin and the puppy disappeared.

  Why had she encouraged him? She wasn’t being fair: Robin needed her. She needed… she needed someone who loved her, made her happy. Robin loved her, but could he ever make her happy, this happy? She and Robin might be having problems but he was trying hard: she didn’t have the right to throw herself at the first man who smiled at her. And then there was her infertility: she wasn’t ready to slip that personal bombshell into casual conversation.

  She changed the subject. She and Adam were non-starters: it wasn’t going to happen. ‘How long do you think it will take us to reach Coventry?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bells of St Michael’s rang out across the city. Graceful windows threw patterns of sunlight across shadowed stone paving. Above the broken walls the new cathedral rose, blending yet contrasting: a strong, purposeful building.

  Charlotte grabbed Adam’s hand. ‘There, look.’

  His fingers tightened around hers. Before her, the Sanctuary windows arched against blue sky; upon the altar stood a charred timber cross. On the wall behind the cross were the words that had led them here: FATHER FORGIVE.

  ‘What now?’ Adam broke the spell.

  ‘There’s nothing of Grandpa’s here… Perhaps it’s in the new cathedral.’

  Adam released her hand, as if only now realising he was holding it. ‘Let’s go and see.’

  A hushed awe pervaded the nave of the new building; saints and angels danced on gossamer wings in a filigree of delicate movement. Before them a window blazed, a glory of coloured light. Her footsteps echoed as she moved past the plain stone walls holding their massive Tablets of the Word. Come unto me… I am the word… She swivelled on her heel and the zigzag walls all but disappeared, giving way instead to columns of rainbow-coloured light. ‘Wow.’

  The austere splendour of the interior had not given up its secret. Perhaps, whatever it was, it was no longer here. Ahead, a plaque caught her attention.

  The Chapel of Unity is a star-shaped structure signifying the unity of the world.

  Through the doorway, tall splinters of white and coloured sunlight flooded the space from all sides. It was as if God, or Grandpa’s gods, flooded her heart with truth, blessing Tykhe’s gift of happiness: if she had only this one day with Adam.

  His breath was warm on her cheek. ‘The stained glass is a gift from churches in Germany.’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Two candles burned beside the central altar. Hair of innocents: candles to burn eternally in their memory. An arrangement of white peace lilies and blood red roses graced one alcove. Opposite, on a narrow table, stood flames of destruction: the Flames of Hell.

  Adam’s hand rested on her shoulder. ‘You were right, another carving.’

  Christian faiths from around the world joined together to build The Chapel of Unity after the bombing and the destruction of the old cathedral by fire in 1940. The Flames of Hope, given on a ninety-nine year loan by W Blundell, England, in 1978, symbolise purification, and the rising of new hope and friendship from the ashes of enmity and despair.

  She ran her fingers over the carving, feeling the connection. ‘COU. The initials on the back of the quotation in the Mason and Hargreaves carving.’

  ‘Chapel of Unity.’

  She smiled and turned to face him. ‘Grandpa would have liked you, Adam.’

  He stroked her cheek with the crook of a finger and moved it gently beneath her chin, tilting her head. His lips met hers… soft, passionate: her body moulded to his. Shocks of longing arced through her.

  ‘The next service starts at a quarter-past five. Please feel free to join us in worship.’

  She pulled away: a child caught with her hand in the sweetie jar. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she looked into the brown eyes of a balding, elderly man. Her eyes strayed back to the flames. ‘We came looking for this.’

  ‘Our Flames of Hope. It’s a beautiful piece.’

  ‘I’m Charlotte Masters, Walter Blundell’s granddaughter. This is… Dr Adam Bancroft.’

  The man held out his hand in greeting. ‘Charles Bowyer, a Canon of the Cathedral. I’m pleased to meet you. You must be very proud. Have you not seen it before?’

  Adam shook the Canon’s hand. ‘We weren’t sure it existed. I work at the Imperial War Museum. We have one of Mr Blundell’s carvings on loan at Duxford, and Miss Masters has two more, similar to this one.’

  ‘I had no idea there were more. That’s quite a leap of faith, searching for something you didn’t know existed. It seems God guided your steps to the right place.’

  Adam took a number of photos from his wallet, among them pictures of the other carvings, and showed them to the Canon. ‘Your carving is one of a set. We feel strongly that we need to reunite this one, if only temporarily, with its sisters.’

  ‘As I understand it, the carving is here on permanent loan.’

  ‘Ninety-nine years.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘We need to ascertain its purpose.’

  ‘Purpose, Dr Bancroft? What higher purpose is there than giving hope in a troubled world, and following God’s will?’

  ‘It may be that my grandfather’s will is the will of God, Canon.’ She’d talked to Grandpa, and read enough since to understand his view of religion. The canon would frown on Tykhe and the daughters of Night. How could she convince him? ‘This was carved for a reason… It is only on loan…’

  Adam shot her a warning glance. ‘I’m sorry, Canon, we haven’t explained ourselves very well. I have the details with me.’

  ‘You’d better come to the office.’ The Canon led them through the cathedral and opened a small door she hadn’t noticed. ‘Sit down, please. I have to tell you this is not my decision to make. The Chapel of Unity is fully ecumenical. It’s administered by the Churches Together in Coventry and Warwick. If you tell me more, I can judge to whom it would be best to pass your enquiry.’

  Fully ecumenical? She suppressed a smile; had Grandpa thought that included Greek goddesses? She went through the events, from the finding of the first carving to the litany and drawing that had led them here.

  ‘That’s quite a story.’

  ‘The Imperial War Museum would have an interest in mounting an exhibition of all the carvings, a travelling exhibition, perhaps. This would be a wonderful venue. If you have any information regarding the Flames of Hope…’

  The Canon pursed his lips. ‘You might find something in the city archives.’

  Adam leaned forward. ‘Where are they kept?’

  ‘John Sinclair House, in the Canal Basin.’

  She looked at her watch. ‘We have a couple of hours.’

  The Canon smiled. ‘Unfortunately, I haven’t. I have other duties and this is outside my remit. I’ll pass your name and telephone number to a colleague of mine. He’ll be able to help you further.’

  It was late when they arrived home. Charlotte unlocked the door and the cottage enfolded her once more. She switched on the light and drew the curtains, shutting the night, the past and the future outside. Adam was here now. ‘Coffee or a glass of wine?’

  He drew her closer, tangling her hair in his fingers. Their lips met, leaving her breathless.

  She pushed him away. ‘Adam…’

  ‘I love you, Charlotte. I know we’ve only just met but I feel as if I’ve always known you.’

  ‘Adam, I can’t. Robin…’

  ‘Does he make you happy?’

  ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘Life isn’t simple. Hard decisions have to be made. You said so yourself.’

  ‘Did I?’ She wanted nothing more than to be held, loved. Adam’s grey eyes pleaded: Robin
’s dark brown eyes overlaid the grey. She shook her head. ‘Robin needs me.’

  ‘So why are you here with me?’

  ‘You know why.’

  ‘You can’t live in fear of the man you’re married to.’ Adam’s voice was gentle. ‘Fear is no basis for a lasting relationship. This is your life… you don’t get a second chance at it.’

  She slumped onto the sofa, her head in her hands. ‘I know… I’m so confused… so tired of fighting… trying to do what’s right. Robin, the carvings… you…’

  The sofa springs moved. Adam’s hand rested on her forearm. ‘You don’t have to fight me. No pressure, not now, not ever. I know this is hard. I also know what it means to lose someone you love. Robin may not deserve you, but if he loves you…’

  ‘I think he does… I don’t know anymore.’ Her finger traced the scar on his cheek. ‘I wish I’d met you years ago, before I met Robin.’

  ‘I…’ He rested his hands in his lap and stared at them. ‘Only you can decide if Robin is worth fighting for, but… I had to let Effie go. It wouldn’t have worked. If the love is one-sided…’ He glanced towards the sleeping bag and airbed, half-hidden behind the sofa, but made no move to pull them out. ‘I don’t mind if you want to go to bed.’

  She wanted him to go with her, to feel for herself the heaven his kiss had promised.

  He picked up one end of the sleeping bag. ‘I shall have to make an early start to miss the traffic.’

  ‘I…’

  He began to unroll it. ‘I’ll sleep here…’

  ‘Adam…’

  He dropped it and took her in his arms. ‘I want you so much.’

  ‘It’s not…’ Her words came out in a sob. ‘I can’t.’

  He held her head against his shoulder and stroked her hair. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay.’

  ***

  The BMW roared into life. Adam waved to Charlotte, standing in the doorway of Sunnybank, and headed home. Unwilling to face an empty flat, he made for the IWM and Roger. He was waiting in his colleague’s office when Roger rolled into work twenty-five minutes late.

  ‘Accident on the M25.’ Roger dumped his car keys on his desk. ‘I thought you were going to ring me.’

  ‘I was. Have you had the Duxford carving back from the restorers?’

  ‘I’m very well and coping magnificently without you, thank you for asking.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You have the look of a man with either bike or woman trouble. If it’s got tits or wheels it’ll give you grief.’

  ‘I’m missing her already.’

  ‘The lovely Charlotte, I presume? You have got it bad.’ Roger fetched a box from a shelf. ‘Here it is.’

  ‘They’ve done a brilliant job. I’ll get it back to Duxford this morning. With luck I shall at least still have my job.’

  ‘So, you and Charlotte?’

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Women are. You should know that by now.’

  ‘I think we could have something good going.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘She’s married… husband has a temper. They’re having a trial separation.’

  ‘And has he been convicted during this trial?’

  ‘The jury’s still out.’ He yawned. He hadn’t slept much after Charlotte had gone to bed, alone.

  ‘Are you planning to ride to Duxford in that state?’

  ‘I’ll grab a shower and pick up the other two carvings from home. I’ll be fine.’

  Roger put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t let what Effie did spoil this for you.’

  Adam rode through London to his broom-cupboard. It wasn’t his idea of home: home was somewhere you shared with those who loved you. Roger’s advice was sound, but that didn’t make trusting any easier. Effie had hurt him: he’d caught her in bed with his best friend. The relationship hadn’t lasted but he’d lost her, his friend and, for a while, his daughter. He could have taken Effie back: she’d asked, for Gabrielle’s sake. He’d loved them both enough to consider it, but it wouldn’t have been a relationship founded on mutual love and trust. He’d faced the fact that he couldn’t make Effie happy and let her go. He wouldn’t let her ruin his future… as Charlotte appeared to be prepared to let Robin ruin hers. It wasn’t his call, he had to abide by Charlotte’s decision, but he couldn’t imagine a future without his hellcat.

  ***

  Charlotte reached for the phone, heart thumping. She calmed herself with deep breaths. It wasn’t Adam’s number or Robin’s. ‘Charlotte Masters speaking.’

  ‘Ah yes… Miss Masters, this is Henry Charles, secretary of the Joint Council of Trustees, administrators of the Chapel of Unity at Coventry Cathedral. Canon Bowyer passed your details to me? I’ve been looking into the conditions that apply to your grandfather’s loan of the Flames of Hope. I take it you still want to remove it?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you for phoning, Mr Charles. I have proof of ownership…’

  ‘It was sent to us on loan for ninety-nine years… we are to return it to Harris, Harris and Mason in Northampton.’

  ‘I expected that to be the case. Mr Mason will confirm that the carving is now the property of my grandmother. I have authority to act on her behalf.’ She pushed back her hair. She’d been awake half the night. She couldn’t think straight. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Charles, but I can’t say when I’ll be able to get back to Coventry.’

  ‘Perhaps I could contact Mr Mason direct to confirm what you’ve told me, and arrange to post the carving?’

  ‘That would be fantastic. Can I ring you back with his phone number, Mr Charles?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I shall be here until five-thirty.’

  She punched in Adam’s number before she thought of a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t.

  ‘Hello.’

  Talking to him seemed so natural. ‘It’s the hellcat. How did you get on at Duxford?’

  ‘My boss was fascinated, especially when I told him we’d found another carving.’

  ‘Actually, that’s one reason I’m ringing you. I’ve had a call from the bod at Coventry. He’s going to contact Mr Mason and post me the carving.’

  ‘Great.’ Adam paused. ‘And the other reason?’

  She hesitated. She should put down the phone… she should never have rung him in the first place.

  ‘I can be there in a couple of hours.’

  Her heart skipped a beat. She shouldn’t be doing this. ‘I’d like that.’

  ***

  Friday morning, after Charlotte had spent another night alone wishing life could be simple, a knock on the front door had her running, Adam hurrying behind her.

  She signed for the parcel. ‘Coventry…’ She slit the outer wrapping and tore open the bubble wrap. The Flames of Hope. She ran her hands over the carving’s perfect form feeling again Adam’s lips on hers. A kiss was all they’d shared. She looked away. ‘Shall we take it to Grant and Lucy’s?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Charlotte opened her sister’s garden gate. Lucy waved, peg in mouth, and hung frilly socks on the rotary line. She pointed in the direction of Grant’s shed and took the peg from her mouth. ‘Help yourself.’

  Lucy’s glance followed Adam towards the shed. ‘He stayed at yours again? I hope you know what you’re doing, sis.’

  ‘He slept downstairs.’

  Lucy raised an eyebrow. ‘You think Robin would understand?’

  ‘No… but this isn’t about Robin. It’s about finding out why Grandpa made the carvings.’

  Lucy hung up a pair of boys’ briefs. ‘Keep telling yourself that, sis. This is Robin’s future you’re playing with. He’s trying hard to get help. And this Adam… is he worth risking your marriage for? If Robin finds out he’s staying with you…’

  She went hot and cold: Robin’s voice had turned steely when he’d heard Adam over the phone the time he’d spilled the milk at breakfast. ‘Adam’s a friend. Robin knows he’s helping me with the carvings.’

  The buzz of the b
and-saw whirred to a halt. Adam placed the carving and its contents on the table. She picked up a sepia photograph that was faded, stained by a watermark, and tattered and yellowed around the edges. Nicotine fingers?

  A face smiled at her, a beautiful girl in her late teens, with long, dark, wavy hair partly covered by a wide-brimmed black hat. She’d seen wartime television footage that featured similar style clothing; her dress would have been fashionable between the wars. She had dark eyes and her playful smile was frozen for all time.

  The girl stood in front of an old building with rows of distinctive arched windows above two wide archways. Two round towers, one taller than the other graced its facade. She turned the photograph over. Elegant, flowery writing was penned in black ink that had yellowed almost to illegibility. She handed the photograph to Lucy. ‘Who’s Miriam Hofmann?’

  ‘No idea. Who’s Mary?’ Lucy gave her the photograph she’d been looking at.

  She studied the photo of a baby in an embroidered gown. ‘Mary is my middle name.’

  ‘And Miriam is mine.’

  She couldn’t think straight with Adam this close: she sat down with a thump. Those names should have paired instantly, and there had to be a relationship between Miriam and Mary: they both had the same mop of thick black hair.

  Adam looked over her shoulder. ‘Miriam’s daughter?’ He showed her the back of a third photograph. ‘Can you make this out?’

  ‘No… yes… I’m not sure.’

  Adam squinted. ‘I think it says The family György. Four generations? Is there anything else in there?’

  Lucy unfolded a slip of paper and read it aloud. ‘Fata viam invenient: I do not ask your forgiveness, there is none. I ask only that…’

  ‘I ask only what?’

  ‘Nothing, that’s all.’

  Adam rubbed a hand across his stubble. ‘The Fates will find a way… that’s what the Latin means.’ He tapped a photo with a finger. ‘We need to find out who these people are. Who might know?’

  She nursed her mug of tea. ‘Gran, possibly?’

  Adam pointed to the sepia print. ‘It would help if we knew where they are.’ He re-examined the photo of Miriam. ‘That building is very distinctive.’