The Sacred Sword. Scott Mariani

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СКАЧАТЬ you are on the stage. I said to Michaela, “Lord, that’s Benedict Hope!”’

      ‘It’s just Ben these days,’ Ben said with a smile.

      ‘It’s fantastic to see you again, Ben,’ said Michaela. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’

      ‘I hope I’ve changed in some ways,’ Ben said. He could see something that definitely had: the identical gold wedding rings that Simeon and Michaela were wearing. ‘I should have known you two would have ended up getting married,’ he said.

      ‘Just a little while after you … after you left the college,’ Michaela said. She seemed about to say more, then held it back. The circumstances of Ben’s leaving college weren’t a topic for small talk.

      ‘I suppose I should offer my belated congratulations, then,’ Ben said.

      They laughed, and then Simeon’s expression suddenly grew serious. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your wife. I had no idea.’

      Ben nodded. ‘Thanks,’ he muttered.

      ‘Are you enjoying the opera?’ Michaela asked him, changing the subject.

      ‘Honestly? I’d sooner be at a jazz gig.’

      ‘Please don’t tell me you live around here,’ she said. ‘It would be awful to think we’d been near neighbours all this time without ever realising it.’

      ‘No, I live in Normandy these days. I run a business there. What about you two?’ he added, always quick to deflect the inevitable questions about the kind of work that went on at Le Val.

      ‘We have the vicarage at Little Denton,’ Simeon said. ‘It’s just a few miles from here.’

      ‘Simeon has the vicarage,’ Michaela said. ‘I’m merely the vicar’s wife.’

      ‘So you went the whole hog,’ Ben said to Simeon. ‘I always thought you would.’

      ‘I’ve never been able to think of anything else I could do with myself except serve God in whatever small way I could offer,’ Simeon said.

      ‘He’s being modest,’ Michaela whispered behind her hand. ‘He’s quite the superstar.’

      ‘But tell us, Ben,’ Simeon said, blushing a little, ‘Where are you staying?’ When Ben told him the name of the bed and breakfast, he shook his head vehemently. ‘Not that Mrs Bold? She’s a terrible old battleaxe, God forgive me for saying it. And she overcharges.’

      ‘You must come and stay with us, Ben,’ Michaela said.

      ‘It’s a very kind offer, but—’

      ‘We absolutely insist,’ said Simeon. ‘It’ll be tremendous fun to chew the fat about old times. And you’ll meet Jude.’

      ‘Jude?’

      ‘Our son,’ Michaela said. ‘Only …’ She rolled her eyes up at Simeon. ‘Darling, I think Jude has other plans for the holidays.’

      Simeon frowned slightly. ‘Never mind. So what do you say, Ben? We’d love to have you. Stay a day or two – stay for the whole of Christmas, why don’t you? If you’re still as fond of good wine and scotch as you used to be, I have some real treats in store.’

      Ben hesitated, considering. It wasn’t as if he had anything else to do for the next few days. Nothing was scheduled at Le Val until January, and apart from the security guys and the guard dogs, the place would be deserted until Jeff and the team returned from their vacation. He’d have liked to spend time with his sister Ruth in Switzerland, but now that she’d become a high-flying company director she was attending conferences and summits all over the world – currently on a mission to greenify the Far East.

      ‘All right,’ he said. ‘You persuaded me. I’ll pick up my gear from Mrs Bold’s and come over sometime tomorrow.’

      ‘Nonsense, man,’ Simeon said. ‘You must come over tonight. We’re always up late anyway, so there’ll be plenty of time after the show.’

      ‘Speaking of which …’ Michaela said, glancing at her watch. The bell had sounded while they were talking, announcing the start of Act Two.

      It was pushing midnight by the time Ben turned up at the village of Little Denton. Following the directions Simeon had given him, he turned off by the village pub, wound his way along a twisty lane running parallel to the Thames, and finally found the vicarage nestled behind a high stone wall and surrounded by trees. An owl hooted unseen as he stepped down from the Land Rover in the gravel driveway. The moon was out and shining down on the ivied facade of the old house. A dog barked from inside; Simeon’s voice called out ‘Quiet, Scruffy!’

      The front door opened and the Reverend Arundel appeared in the entrance, looking less formal in jeans and a loose cardigan. He gripped Ben’s arm warmly. ‘Delighted you’re here. Really I am.’ He peered past Ben’s shoulder at the Land Rover and his eyebrows shot up. ‘Heavens, that’s seen some action, hasn’t it? Series IIa? Must be a ’73 vintage at least.’

      ‘Sixty-nine,’ Ben said. ‘Actually, it’s playing up a bit. Think a valve needs seeing to.’

      ‘Good grief, it’s the same age as I am. Even more ancient than the old Lotus.’

      ‘You still have that!’ Ben had fond memories of the many times the two of them had gone speeding round the Oxfordshire country pubs in Simeon’s 1972 Lotus Elan, in their quest to sample every real ale known to mankind. Back in those days, even at Oxford, it had seemed extremely exotic for a student to own a car, especially a bright red 2+2 sports that had been the envy of even the wealthier young gentlemen and given Simeon quite a dashing reputation among the girls.

      ‘I’d never sell her,’ Simeon said. ‘It’s till death us do part, I’m afraid.’

      Michaela appeared in the open doorway, gripping onto the collar of a shaggy black-and-white mongrel that was scrabbling to get out and greet the visitor. Ben looked at the mutt and could see how he’d got his name.

      ‘Any chance you boys could tear yourselves away from your old bangers?’ Michaela said. ‘You’re letting the cold in.’

      ‘She drives a Mazda,’ Simeon whispered to Ben with a conspiratorial wink.

      ‘Is that all the luggage you have, Ben?’ Michaela said. ‘You certainly travel light.’

      The inside of the vicarage was comfortable and warm, with the lived-in, ever-so-slightly frayed patina of a period house that had seen very little modernising. A log fire was crackling in the hearth, and a colourfully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner opposite a baby grand piano covered in framed photos. Ben stopped to look at one that showed a tousle-haired and somewhat wild-looking young man of about twenty, posing on a beach somewhere hot and palmy. He was wearing a wetsuit and grinning from ear to ear as if completely in his element, clutching a surfboard under his arm.

      ‘This must be Jude?’ Ben said.

      ‘That’s our boy,’ Simeon replied. ‘The good looks come from his mother’s side.’

      ‘He seems to like the СКАЧАТЬ