Kate Mosse - Labyrinth

Feeling awkward, Alice followed the group to the West Door and joined the queue to enter the cathedral. Straight away, everybody dropped their voices as the distinctive smell of stone and incense worked their magic. In the side chapels and by the main entrance, flickering rows of devotional candles sparkled in the gloom.

She braced herself for some sort of reaction, visions of the past, as she’d experienced in Toulouse and Carcassonne. She felt nothing and after a while, she relaxed and began to enjoy herself. From her research, she knew Chartres Cathedral was said to have the finest collection of stained glass anywhere in the world, but she was unprepared for the dazzling brilliance of the windows. A kaleidoscope of shimmering colour flooded the cathedral, depicting scenes of everyday and biblical life. The Rose Window and the Blue Virgin Window, the Noah Window showing the Flood and the animals marching two by two into the ark. As she wandered around, Alice tried to imagine what it must have been like when the walls were covered with frescos and decked with richly woven tapestries, the Eastern fabrics and silken banners all embroidered with gold. To medieval eyes, the contrast between the splendours of God’s temple and the world outside the cloister must have been overwhelming. Proof positive, perhaps, of God’s glory on earth.

“And, finally,” the guide said, “we come to the famous eleven-circuit pavement labyrinth. Completed in 1200, it is the largest in Europe. The original centrepiece is long gone, but the rest is intact. For medieval Christians, the labyrinth provided an opportunity to undertake a spiritual.pilgrimage, in place of an actual journey to Jerusalem. Hence the fact that pavement labyrinths – as opposed to those found on the walls of churches land cathedrals – were often known as the chemin de Jerusalem , that is, the road or path to Jerusalem. Pilgrims would walk the circuit towards the centre, sometimes many times, symbolic of a growing understanding or closeness to God. Penitents often completed the journey on their knees, sometimes taking many days over it.”

Alice edged to the front, her heart racing, only now realising subconsciously she’d been putting this moment off.

This is the moment.

She took a deep breath. The symmetry was destroyed by the rows of chairs on either side of the nave facing the altar for evensong. Even so, and despite knowing its dimensions from her research, Alice was taken aback by the size of it. It entirely dominated the cathedral.

Slowly, like everyone else, Alice began to walk the labyrinth, round and round in ever decreasing circles, like a halting game of follow-my-leader, until she arrived at the centre.

She felt nothing. No shiver up her spine, no moment of enlightenment or transformation. Nothing. She crouched down and touched the ground. The stone was smooth and cool, but it did not speak to her.

Alice gave a wry smile. What were you expecting ?

She didn’t even need to get her drawing of the cave labyrinth from her bag to know that there was nothing for her here. Without a fuss, Alice excused herself from the group, and slipped away.

After the fierce heat of the Midi, the gentle northern sun was a relief and Alice spent the next hour exploring the picturesque historic town centre.

She was half looking for the corner where Grace and Audric Baillard had posed for the camera.

It didn’t seem to exist or else was outside the area covered by the map. Most of the streets had taken their names from the trades practised there in previous times: clockmakers, tanners, equerries and stationers, testament to Chartres’ importance as the great centre of paper making and book binding in France in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But no rue des Trois Degres.

Finally, Alice arrived back where she had started, in front of the West Door of the cathedral. She sat down on the wall leaning against the railings. Immediately, her gaze honed in on the corner of the street directly opposite. She jumped up and ran over to read the sign on the wall: RUE DE L’ETROIT DEGRE, DITE AUSSI RUE DES TROIS DEGRES (DES TROIS MARCHES).

The road had been renamed. Smiling to herself, Alice stepped back to get a better view and banged into a man buried in a newspaper.

“ Pardon ,‘ she said, moving sideways.

“No, excuse me,” he said, in a pleasant American accent. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

To her surprise, he was staring intently at her.

“Is there…”

“It’s Alice, right?”

Yes?“ she said cautiously.

“Alice, of course. Hi,” he said, pushing his fingers through his mop of shaggy brown hair. “How amazing!”

“I’m sorry, but I-”

William Franklin,“ he said, holding out his hand. Will. We met in London, nineteen-ninety four or five. Big group of us. You were dating a guy… what was he called… Oliver. Is that right? I’d gone over to visit with my cousin.”

Alice had a vague memory of an afternoon in an over-crowded flat filled with Oliver’s university friends. She thought she could just about remember an American boy, engaging, good looking, although she’d been head over heels in love at that stage, noticing no one else.

2›This boy? 2›

You have a good memory,“ she said, shaking his hand. ”It was a long time ago.“

You haven’t changed so much.“ he said, smiling. ”So, how is Oliver anyhow?“

Alice pulled a face. We’re not still together.“

That’s too bad,“ he said. There was a slight pause, then added: Who’s in the photo?”

Alice looked down. She’d forgotten she was still holding it.

“My aunt. I came across this in some of her things and, since I was here, I thought I’d see if I could track down where it was taken.” She grinned. “It’s been harder than you’d imagine.”

Will looked over her shoulder. “And the guy?”

“Just a friend. A writer.”

Another a pause, as if both wanted to keep the conversation going, but didn’t quite know what to say. Will looked back to the picture.

“She looks nice.”

“Nice?” She looks rather determined to me, although I don’t know that for a fact. I never met her.“

“Really? So how come you’re carrying her photo around?”

Alice put the photograph back in her bag. “It’s complicated.”

“I can do complicated,” he grinned. “Look…” he hesitated. “Do you want to get coffee or something? If you’ve not got someplace else you’ve got to be.”

Alice was surprised but, actually, she’d been thinking the same thing.

“Do you usually go picking up random women like this?”

“Not usually,” he said. “The question is do you usually accept?”

Alice felt as if she was looking down on the scene from above. Watching a man and a woman, who looked like her, walk into the old-fashioned patisserie with the cakes and pastries laid out in long glass cabinets.

I can’t believe I’m doing this.

Sights, smells, sounds. The waiters dipping in and out of the tables, the burned, bitter aroma of the coffee, the hiss of milk in the machine, the dink of forks on the plate, everything was especially vivid. Most of all Will himself, the way he smiled, the turn of his head, the way his fingers went to the silver chain at his neck when he was talking.

They sat at a table outside. The spire of the cathedral was just visible over the tops of the houses. A slight constraint descended on them when they sat down. They both started talking at once. Alice laughed, Will apologised.

Cautiously, tentatively, they started to fill in the stories of their lives since they’d last met six years ago.

“You looked really engrossed,” she said, turning his newspaper around so she could read the headline. You know, when you came hurtling round that corner and we collided.“