F. Cottam - Dark Echo

McIntyre Marine prospered. Sean celebrated two decades of business success by buying a cruiser as a fortieth birthday present for himself. When the cruiser foundered a week later on a reef off the Bahamas, Sean’s wife and fourteen-year-old son were aboard and Sean, piloting, had drunk the best part of a pint of white rum. His wife and boy drowned. Sean was picked up alive. He’d been in the water eighteen hours and was delirious but, by that time, sober. He began his training for the priesthood a month later.

‘Why did he pretend to be Peitersen?’ Suzanne said.

‘Because we told him he should,’ Delaunay said, who was still meeting her eyes, she thought, only from supreme effort of will.

‘Because we told him he should. As penance.’

‘I think you had better explain, Monsignor.’

Delaunay was at the window. Its shape was arched and its glass heavily leaded. It did not let in much light. It was one of a row of four that embellished the exterior wall of the chamber. Even collectively they did not admit much light. But then the weather outside was foul. Though the windows were all tightly closed against it, Suzanne could hear the rain hurled against the panes.

‘Early in the winter of 1918 an infantry captain called Harry Spalding looted something very valuable from Rouen cathedral. We know this because one of the men charged to protect this object survived the raid.’

‘What did he take?’

‘Something brought out of Palestine in the First Crusade. An item taken to France lest it be sold by Rome for influence with kings during the great Papal Schism. This artefact is among the most important relics in the entire history of the Church. And Spalding was successful in stealing it.’

‘For profit?’

‘For power. For the power its desecration would give him with the great adversary we have faced since the Fall. That was why he stole it.’

‘And you thought McIntyre, masquerading as Peitersen, might find it aboard the Dark Echo ?’

Delaunay smiled. ‘You’re very bright, Suzanne.’

‘No, I’m not. Because actually, I’m very confused. If it was that valuable to you, Cardoza Associates would have won their pissing contest at Bullen and Clore with Magnus Stannard.’

Delaunay turned to the window and the rain.

‘I’m sorry, Monsignor. I’m sorry for the profanity.’

He spoke with his back to her. His voice was grave. ‘We did win the pissing contest. With respect to Magnus Stannard, the Vatican has very deep pockets. But the auctioneer was incompetent, or he was drunk. And the gavel came down early.’

‘Who are Martens and Degrue?’

‘You’ve heard of the Jericho Club?’

‘Recently, yes.’

‘They are the continuation of the Jericho Club by other means. Or, perhaps more accurately, under another name, because the means remain the same.’

‘Why are you choosing to tell me all this now?’

He turned back to her. ‘None of this was known to me until a few days ago. None of it. Martin told me about Peitersen over lunch on the day that I blessed the Dark Echo at Magnus Stannard’s request. Magnus was convinced he was merely some kind of crank. Then Martin mentioned Spalding and I remembered only that the name had vague, uncomfortable associations. I made some enquiries of my own among knowledgeable people in Rome. And I was told what I have told you.’

‘Weren’t you sworn to secrecy?’ Suzanne had considered that the sort of question she would never have asked without her tongue firmly in her cheek. She had been wrong.

‘I was pledged to silence on the subject. I have chosen to break that pledge.’

‘Why?’

‘Father McIntyre did not find what he was looking for aboard Harry Spalding’s boat. He is convinced it is not there. But Martens and Degrue may think it is. These people are not beyond an act of piracy.’

Suzanne thought about what she was hearing. ‘When you blessed the boat, Monsignor, did you think it benign?’

Delaunay smiled, looking at the floor. Then he looked at her. He raised an arm and tapped at the window with his knuckles. His fist was enormous. The impact thudded dully in the silence of his chamber. ‘The sea down on the shore outside our refuge here is sometimes benign. And sometimes it rages. Its power waxes and wanes. At the time I was aboard her, at least, the Dark Echo was no threat to anyone.’

‘I cannot believe you let them go.’

‘I knew about none of this until after their departure. I had not set eyes on Martin for a decade. Magnus called me out of the blue.’

Suzanne smiled. ‘Come, Monsignor. Does anybody ever really do anything entirely out of the blue?’

‘Now is not the time for theological debate,’ Delaunay said. ‘We are not here to discuss predestination. I have broken a vow in order to tell you what I have.’

‘Because I called you. Out of the blue.’

‘I was concerned for them on their departure. My concern for them has only increased since learning what I have since then. I would have called you, Suzanne. I was resolved to. I would have called you, had you not called me first.’

And this, she believed.

She did the calculation in her mind. They would be three, perhaps four hundred miles beyond the West Coast of Ireland. And they would be heading directly west, if they were on their charted course. And Delaunay had told her nothing that would make Magnus Stannard turn back. Quite the opposite, since McIntyre had established that Spalding’s desecrated relic was not aboard the Dark Echo . Good luck to them, she thought Magnus might remark, warned of Martens and Degrue’s potential piracy. He had guns aboard, Martin had told her. And he was expert in their use. He was a man capable of such hard-headed belligerence that he would probably relish the action if pirates tried to board.

She rose to go.

‘I don’t think it wise for you to leave here tonight.’

‘You have facilities for female guests?’

‘We have facilities for any guest of our choosing.’

Suzanne looked at her watch. It was just after seven in the evening. Outside, the rain fell unrelentingly from a sky sullen with cloud. She had booked a room at an inn just outside the village of Holburn. It was a drive of around eight miles. It had looked very cosy in the pictures on the website. She had travelled most of the day to get here and was tired. She wanted an early night and an early start.

‘Why don’t you think it wise for me to leave?’

‘An intuition,’ Delaunay said. ‘It might be more circumspect to wait until morning. You will be comfortable here.’

‘I’ll take my chances,’ she said.

‘As you please.’ He got her coat from the stand and helped her into it. Then he guided her out the way she had come. They were both silent on the walk back through the dim, stone-flagged corridors and staircases of the seminary. But, to Suzanne’s mind at least, the silence was a comfortable one. Everything necessary had been said between them. She found herself liking Monsignor Delaunay despite the disturbing implications of the things he had told her. He had broken a vow in order to impart the information. He had chosen to sin out of friendship and loyalty and the instinct to protect. She suspected that he loved Martin. She thought that if it were not for his vocation, he would have made a very different kind of father than the one Magnus Stannard was. His strength, his might, was the key to him. He was mighty, so he could express his tenderness without fear of being considered weak. As a priest, of course, he should not have cared about whether or not his character impressed people. But she suspected that he did. He was possessed of enormous strength. His great weakness was his vanity.