The Sacred Sword bh-7 Page 7

  ‘Again?’ Michaela frowned.

  They ordered dinner — roast duck for Ben, on Simeon’s recommendation. Michaela went for poached salmon steak. Service was efficient, and the food was excellent. As they ate, occasional peals of laughter erupted from the ladies’ badminton club table behind Ben. Simeon sipped his mineral water and looked pensive while Michaela reaffirmed her complete conviction that they were in for a white Christmas.

  Ben wondered what it was Simeon had wanted to tell him earlier. He was sure he’d get to hear it later, back at the vicarage that evening over a glass of whisky or two.

  They’d finished their main courses and were into their desserts (plum duff for Simeon, sticky toffee pudding for Michaela, while Ben opted for some cheese and crackers to go with the last of his wine) when out of the corner of his eye Ben noticed a dark BMW come rolling in across the car park, its headlights sweeping the windows. The BMW parked across from the Lotus and Le Crock. The driver’s door opened. A tall figure of a man climbed out and made his way towards the building and into the bar area. By then, Ben had already forgotten about him, and went on listening to Simeon talking about the planned new satellite TV series that he’d been offered the job of hosting.

  ‘He’s being too modest again,’ Michaela said. ‘It’s quite a big thing. The television company are investing millions in it and it’s such an honour that they picked Simeon to present it.’ She reached across the table and clasped his hand.

  ‘As long as it helps to spread the word, that’s all I care about,’ Simeon said. ‘I’m not interested in the money. Every penny of it’ll go the same way as the money my father left me, helping to restore old churches. So many of them are being left to rot these days.’

  ‘Until they get turned into McDonalds drive-throughs,’ Michaela snorted. ‘Sign of the times. You know I had to scour the whole of Oxford just to find a set of Nativity Christmas stamps? All I could find anywhere were jolly snowmen and reindeer and cards saying “Happy Holidays”. It’s the rise of the militant atheists, I’m telling you. They want to secularise the whole world.’

  ‘Well, maybe we can help to turn the tide,’ Simeon said. ‘The television series will be a big step forward, that’s for sure.’

  ‘When do you start filming?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Middle of February. The producers are still wrangling over a name for it.’

  ‘I think Christianity Today sounds pat,’ Michaela said. ‘What do you think?’ she asked Ben.

  Before Ben could offer any suggestion, he was distracted by a camera flash that lit up the room. One of the badminton club ladies, the skinny-looking woman with the leathery fake tan and pearls who’d been ogling Simeon earlier, had stood up to take snaps of the party group. ‘Smile!’ she called out over the din.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Michaela muttered as the woman swayed up to them, camera in hand. ‘Here she comes. Hi, Petra.’

  Petra Norrington’s eyes sparkled as she approached the table and sidled up to Simeon. Ben saw Michaela’s face darken.

  ‘That’s a beautiful dress, Michaela,’ Petra said, her glance still lingering more on Simeon, before shooting discreetly across at Ben. Ben looked away and smiled to himself.

  ‘Thank you,’ Michaela said, just a little coolly. She introduced Ben as an old friend. Petra’s eyes sparkled some more.

  ‘And where’s that handsome young devil of a son of yours? Coming home for Christmas?’

  ‘He’s in Cornwall, with his friend Robbie,’ Michaela said.

  ‘Oh,’ Petra said, with a look of disdain. ‘ That place.’

  Simeon looked at Michaela and cocked an eyebrow. ‘I thought he was coming straight home from New Zealand.’

  ‘I told you he had other plans, darling,’ Michaela reminded him patiently.

  ‘Cornwall? Back to that derelict old farm? What’s he want to go there for?’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ Michaela said. ‘It’s just a bit run down, and he enjoys being there with his friends.’

  Simeon gave a disapproving grunt.

  ‘Can I take a pic of you all?’ Petra broke in, brandishing her camera like a gun. ‘It’s for the club’s Christmas album.’

  ‘If you absolutely must,’ Michaela said coolly.

  Ben wasn’t too fond of having his picture taken.

  ‘Say cheese!’ Petra’s camera flashed. She looked at her watch, pulled a face and excused herself, explaining that she had to get home for some reason to do with someone called Billy. There was a brief round of goodbyes and ‘nice to meet you’ and ‘have a wonderful Christmas if we don’t see each other before’, and then Petra blew kisses at the badminton ladies and breezed out of the restaurant towards her top-of-the-range Volvo estate.

  ‘I suppose we should be thinking about getting home ourselves,’ Simeon said, and called for the bill.

  ‘It’s on me,’ Ben said, taking out his wallet.

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘It’s the least I can do to repay your hospitality.’

  They were still arguing about it when they heard a loud crunching impact from outside.

  ‘Whoops,’ Michaela said, peering out of the window. ‘I think Petra has just pranged her car. Serves the silly bitch right.’

  ‘ Michaela,’ Simeon hissed at her.

  Ben looked. The rear of the Volvo estate was hard up against the front end of the dark blue BMW. Bits of broken glass littered on the ground shone under the floodlights.

  As Ben watched, Petra clambered out of her Volvo, clapped a hand over her mouth at the sight of the damage, and disappeared back inside. He heard her voice coming from the bar area: ‘Excuse me, is that your BMW outside? I’m so sorry. I think I’ve just reversed into it.’

  A man’s voice muttered, ‘It’s OK. It’s nothing.’

  ‘I’ve broken your left headlight,’ Petra’s voice said, high-pitched with stress. ‘My fault. So stupid of me. I was in a hurry and I just didn’t… but if we could exchange details, I’ll write to my insurers first thing tom-’

  ‘Forget it,’ the man interrupted. His voice sounded hard and flat.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You heard me. Forget it.’ He sounded angrier this time.

  ‘I still need to inform them-’ Petra protested.

  ‘Are you deaf, woman? I said forget it.’

  Meanwhile, the waitress had brought the bill over and Ben was laying cash down on the little saucer in her hand and telling her to keep the change. A shocked hush had fallen over the badminton ladies’ table at the argument between the unseen man in the bar and Petra Norrington, who was now skulking back to her Volvo.

  ‘Wonder what that was all about,’ Michaela said. ‘He sounded like a right nasty piece of work.’

  Simeon wished the badminton ladies good night as they left. By the time the three of them were walking back to their cars, the Volvo had gone.

  So had the damaged BMW.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘See you back at the vicarage,’ Simeon called as he climbed behind the wheel of the Lotus. Shutting the door he gave Ben a meaningful look, as if to say, ‘We’ll be able to talk more then’.

  Ben fired up Le Crock and shivered in the blast of air from its ineffective heater. Snowclouds had drawn a veil across the stars, and frost twinkled on the grass verges in the beams of their headlights as Ben followed Simeon out of the car park. If the temperature dropped another half a degree, the roads would start to get slick with ice.

  However sweetly the Land Rover might be running now that Bertie had worked his wonders on it, it was never going to be a racing car. Ben didn’t have much chance of keeping up with the Lotus, especially with the spirited way Simeon drove it, the low-slung taillights dipping out of sight around every bend and continually forcing Ben to accelerate to close the distance between them. Powering up the long incline on the approach to Little Denton, the Land Rover lost momentum and its revs began to get bogged down. Ben changed down a gear, then another, and gently cursed Simeon for his impetuou
s behaviour.

  Up ahead, the Lotus sped exuberantly over the top of the rise and vanished from view. Ben smiled to himself at his friend’s antics. Even despite whatever it was that was so clearly and deeply troubling Simeon, he was able to enjoy life. Ben envied that quality in his old friend.

  Ben was nearing the top of the hill when a halo of white light appeared on the horizon ahead of him and then burst into a dazzling flash that made him blink and avert his eyes. In the same instant, the shape of a big saloon car came speeding over the crest of the hill in the opposite direction, its engine note high and strained as if the driver had his foot pinned aggressively to the floor. The car was just barely under control, all four wheels leaving the road as it sped over the top of the rise and went plummeting down the slope Ben had just driven up.

  Ben was blinded for a second. He blinked away the sunspots, peering hard through the Land Rover’s windscreen to regain his bearings on the road. In the quarter-second before he’d had to look away from the dazzling headlights, he’d registered something unusual about the speeding car: one of the twin lamps on the saloon car’s left side wasn’t working — three blinding lights where there should have been four. But in the next moment the car was already roaring off, its taillights receding fast in his rear-view mirror.

  ‘Idiot,’ Ben murmured. He cleared the top of the rise and the Land Rover began to pick up speed on the downward incline. He hadn’t expected to see any sign of the Lotus up ahead, and wasn’t surprised by the sight of the empty road. Simeon had obviously cleared the S-bends at the bottom of the hill and was probably almost into the outskirts of the village by now.

  Not wanting to throw an ageing Land Rover into the bends with quite so much aplomb, Ben took the corners gently and slowed for the little stone bridge over the river.

  Then he saw the black skidmarks that criss-crossed the road like rubber snakes.

  And the gaping hole where the side of the little stone bridge should have been.

  Ben slammed on the brakes and the Land Rover slewed to a halt at the entrance to the bridge. His heart was hammering, his instincts telling him the worst as he leaped down out of the car and sprinted towards the jagged gap in the stonework.

  A strangled cry burst out of him as he looked down at the fast-moving water below.

  The frosty riverbank was littered with broken stone and wreckage. The tail end of the Lotus was sticking up out of the river, the rapid current washing over the roof. The car’s headlights were still on, casting a glow under the surface of the water. Ben could see nothing of its two occupants.

  The silence was stark and terrible, like a shroud that muted the whole atmosphere around him. Ben had known it many times before. It was the stillness that accompanied the presence of death.

  He tore off his leather jacket, kicked off his shoes and dived without hesitation off the side of the wrecked bridge. The shock of the icy-cold water was stunning, heart-stopping, and the powerful current threatened to carry him away downstream. Pressure roared in his ears as he kicked out and swam for all he was worth towards the submerged vehicle. The Lotus’ wedge-shaped nose was buried in rocks and dirt, completely destroyed by the impact. Where the crumpled bonnet joined the bodywork of the car, the windscreen was an opaque mass of fissures. Ben could only just make out the shapes of Simeon and Michaela, behind the glass, still strapped into their seats. He could see no sign of movement from inside. Bubbles streamed from his mouth as he called their names.

  Then the Lotus’ lights dimmed and went dark as the water fused the battery terminals. The depths of the river were plunged into darkness. Ben fought a surge of panic that gripped him and made his heart race. He groped his way blindly around the side of the car and yanked at the driver’s side door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Either it was locked, or the pressure inside the car still hadn’t equalised. Which meant there was still a pocket of air in the cabin. Ben knew that it could take up to a couple of minutes for a submerged car to fill up completely. There might still be hope for them inside, but seconds were like minutes. Ben could feel the pressure in his lungs mounting fast and his heartbeat escalating with every passing moment as oxygen starvation crept up on him.

  Clambering astride the crumpled bonnet he punched at the cracked windscreen. Punched again. He felt no pain, only dimly registered the injury. The weakened glass sagged inwards and gave way in an explosion of air bubbles. Ben shoved both hands through the broken screen and, bracing himself against the bonnet and roof and yanking with all his strength, ripped the whole thing away. His vision was getting accustomed to the murk now, and he could make out the forms of Simeon and Michaela inside the car.

  How long had they been under now? Ninety seconds? Two minutes?

  His movements clumsy against the strong current, he threw the shattered windscreen away and plunged inside the Lotus.

  Ben had seen enough death in his life to recognise it instantly in Michaela. With only the Lotus’ old-fashioned seatbelts for restraint and no airbag to cushion her body, she’d been thrown forward under impact and collided hard against the dashboard. A murky brown cloud swirled around her head where the skull was crushed in.

  Simeon was struggling weakly. His eyes flickered open and seemed to catch sight of Ben. The steering wheel had prevented him from flying forwards. It had almost certainly staved in his ribs, but he was still alive. Ben searched furiously for the seatbelt catch. His chest was bursting. His movements were becoming frantic. Don’t panic. Panic means none of you leaves this river alive.

  Ben’s fumbling hands found the seatbelt catch and suddenly it was free. He tore it aside and grabbed Simeon by both arms. Bubbles burst out of Ben’s mouth with the effort of hauling his friend over the dashboard and out through the glassless window. With Simeon’s arm around his neck he pushed hard with both legs against the bonnet of the Lotus, trying to propel himself and the dead weight of his semi-conscious friend upwards towards the surface. He saw lights on the water a few feet from his head. The surface was just there, so close, so out of reach. His strength was failing.

  Two and a half minutes under. Maybe three. He was going to drown.

  Don’t panic.

  Where the strength came from for that final desperate lunge for the surface, Ben would never know. A wheezing gasp erupted from his lungs as his head broke the surface. He dimly heard a yell from across the water. Lights and movement on the bridge. People on the bank. He couldn’t understand what they were saying. He paddled hard, keeping a tight hold on Simeon and his head above the surface.

  Then, suddenly, there was soft mud under his feet. Reeds prickled his hands and face. With a roar of effort he heaved Simeon’s limp body up onto the bank, where two of the passersby who’d scrambled down from the bridge were waiting with shouts of encouragement. They seized Simeon’s arms and hauled him clear of the water. Ben scrambled up the muddy bank and crouched over his friend, turning him over and letting the river water drain from his lungs. He yelled his name. The two passersby stood back in grim silence.

  Simeon’s eyes were shut. His face was white in the lights from the bridge, his wet hair plastered across his brow. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth and down his cheeks into the mud. More lights were appearing in the distance, a flashing and swirling of blue on the horizon, accompanied by a building chorus of sirens.

  Simeon’s pulse was fading. It was barely there at all. Ben knelt helplessly over him, feeling the terrible concavity of his chest where the ribs were crushed inwards and knowing that the emergency chest compressions of cardiopulmonary resuscitation would probably kill him.

  Simeon’s eyes opened. For a brief moment, they stared right into Ben’s. His lips pursed and opened, as if he were trying to say something. His hand twitched, then moved upwards to weakly grasp Ben’s arm.

  ‘Jude…’ Simeon’s voice was a dying whisper. His eyes seemed to be imploring Ben.

  Then they closed again.

  ‘Simeon!’ Ben felt for the pulse once more. This time he co
uld feel nothing at all. He wanted to shake him, slap him, beat him back to life. ‘Simeon!’

  The first ambulance had screeched to a halt at the bridge, bathing the scene in a blue swirl, its siren drowning out the shocked murmur of conversation among the growing crowd of bystanders. Paramedics burst out of the ambulance doors and came sprinting down the frosty slope to the river bank with their emergency equipment. Ben moved aside as they clapped the defibrillator to Simeon’s crushed chest and applied the first electric shock in a desperate attempt to revive him. Simeon’s spine arched upwards in an involuntary spasm, as if he was trying to get up. But Ben knew the time for that had come and gone.

  ‘No pulse,’ one of the paramedics said.

  They tried another shock. Simeon’s body arched on the ground, then fell limp again. His face looked like a piece of mud-streaked porcelain, eyes staring upwards.

  ‘No pulse.’

  ‘He’s gone, I’m afraid,’ said another. ‘Nothing more we can do.’

  A gentle snowfall had begun to spiral down from the dark sky, turning blue in the flashing lights. Ben stared as snowflakes settled on the body of his friend. He turned and gazed at the sunken car, thinking of Michaela inside. He said a silent goodbye to them both.

  Another ambulance had arrived at the mouth of the bridge, together with a police emergency response vehicle. The officers were herding the bystanders away to clear the area. The place was alive with voices and crackling radios. A woman was led away, crying, someone’s arm around her shoulders.

  Events followed as if in a dream. Emergency crews surrounded the crashed Lotus, struggling to extricate Michaela’s body. By now it was clear to everyone involved that the ambulances would be taking away two corpses that night. There was no longer any need for hurry.

  Several minutes passed before Ben even became conscious of the crippling cold and the pain in his torn hands. The paramedics checked him for signs of hypothermia: slurred speech, disorientation, unsteadiness. His wet hair dripping onto the thermal blanket they’d wrapped around him, he sat in the open back of the third ambulance and watched the scene unfold as if from a million miles away. He numbly answered the questions the cops came to ask him before he could be carted off to hospital. Name, address, occupation, relationship to the deceased. He told them what he’d seen. Described the car that had passed him from the direction of the bridge, told them how one of its headlights had appeared to be damaged.