Scott Mariani - The Sacred Sword

The waitress took their orders for drinks. Michaela wanted white wine, Ben asked for a medium glass of house red. ‘No wine for me,’ Simeon said. ‘I’m afraid I might have a migraine coming on if I touch alcohol tonight.’

‘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.

‘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 impetuous behaviour.