by D C Macey
‘How can we thank you? So much gold, praise the Lord for his generosity.’ As he spoke, Monsignor Acciai moved along the chamber, opening lids at random to reveal many more gold bars and other chests full of gold coins. ‘What reward can we give you? Any wish, I know it will be met. Now, we must hurry this news to his Eminence.’
Helen stepped forward, putting a friendly arm round Monsignor Acciai. He looked a little startled, unused to such feminine proximity, but he tolerated it. His new-found bonhomie even extended to forward young ladies, and particularly to this young lady.
‘Monsignor Acciai, there is one thing you can do,’ she said.
‘Yes, I am sure his eminence will look kindly on any request.’
Helen reached out her hand and patted one of the bullion boxes. ‘I reckon I know of a deserving home for one of these.’
‘Yes?’ said Monsignor Acciai. He had been expecting a reward request, but when it came, it surprised him.
‘There’s a little church community in Greece. Kefalonia. You’ve heard of the island?’
Monsignor Acciai nodded.
‘Well that’s where our young friend Nick comes from. His people were like mine. But their resources have gone helping to save the poor people of their island. Their church needs to be rebuilt; they need a lot of help. They made real sacrifices; some gave their lives to get us here today. Without them, you would never have reached this point. Help them. The man you need to speak with there is Father Christos.’
Monsignor Acciai nodded acknowledgement. ‘Leave it with me; consider it done.’
Sam stood up from where he had been crouching down to inspect the sides of the chamber beneath the shelving. ‘One thing strikes me as odd.’
‘Only one?’ said Helen.
‘Well, one in particular. It’s all coin and bullion. I was sure there were meant to be religious artefacts. Holy texts, icons, statues and regalia, that sort of stuff - I don’t know what, but all the things the Templars had collected. You know, from Jerusalem and so forth. I’m sure that’s what Xavier and Francis thought; it’s what all the myths suggested too.’
Monsignor Acciai listened intently but whatever he intended to say was left unsaid as Sam swayed and leant against the wall to stop himself from falling. Helen moved swiftly to support him as Monsignor Acciai beckoned over two of his men.
‘Sam, your wounds may be more serious than we thought. Let’s get you to the cruiser at once. Let the doctor take a look before things get any worse. My men will assist you.’
Helen stepped away from Sam to allow the men to support him. And he offered no objections as they moved him into the main chamber and on towards the tunnel. She followed, pausing for a moment to turn back. ‘Thank you, Monsignor Acciai. Will we see you down on the boat?’
His head dipped slightly towards Helen - part salute, part agreement. ‘I will join you, but later, there is much to do here first.’
Helen smiled an acknowledgement and turned away to catch up with Sam and his helpers.
CHAPTER 33 - THURSDAY 12th SEPTEMBER
Helen stood to one side of the communion table looking out across the congregation. Every pew was full. The congregation’s numbers were swelled by supporters from the neighbouring parishes, representatives from presbytery and members of the public who just wanted to be there for the occasion. Some to mark the end of a parish, some just to say they had been there. One or two reporters were dotted amongst the congregation but she knew the majority of the media were gathered outside.
She tried hard to concentrate on what James Curry was saying but, after everything that had happened, it was hard. The sound of his voice rolled down from the pulpit to wash over her and fill the nave. In the end, as presbytery clerk, it had fallen to him to speak - though Helen could think of others who held the parish dear and would have been more appropriate choices for this final act.
The service of thanksgiving for the parish, its history and all its former works was nearly over. She looked out across the congregation. Faces she recognised came into focus to deliver supportive smiles before merging back into the mass.
She knew that sitting behind her in the apse were Elaine and the other elders, their seats arranged in a semicircle following the shape of the building. Above them the great black wooden cross, fixed to the eastern wall - higher still, the glass of the Templar window. The elders’ duties all done, now this final thanksgiving, a last goodbye, and the church would be closed.
A prayer, a blessing from James Curry and it was all over. He stepped down the aisle, she followed and the elders fell in behind her. Passing each pew, she saw more and more friendly faces; it seemed so unfair that St Bernard’s had been railroaded to closure. In front of her, James Curry set a pace that seemed just a little too fast, hurrying them all towards the exit.
Stepping out through the great doors of the church, she thought, for just a moment, perhaps Curry was right. Below her, at the bottom of the steps, the media swirled and rippled like a shoal of piranha. They jostled for position: cameras, flashing lights, shouted questions and sound booms swinging their microphones close in. The media would never forget the brutal killings of the summer past. St Bernard’s could never go back to being the quiet, anonymous parish it had once been.
The elders, led by Elaine, clustered stoically around Helen as she stood with Curry on the church steps. They listened politely as he delivered carefully prepared sound bites to the media. All the while, the congregation funnelled out behind them, channelling to either side and down the steps, skirting the media pack; there some of the congregation paused, gathering together to watch, others dispersed into the neighbouring streets.
With Curry’s PR words spoken, it was finished. The media turned away, dispersing quickly towards their cars and vans. Still on the top step, Helen and Elaine found themselves facing James Curry. He was elated, no hint of sadness at the ending of St Bernard’s. Pointing along the street towards a parked removal van, he beckoned the driver of the van forward. ‘There they are,’ he said. ‘Elaine, would you get the removals team over please. Show them in. We have a midday deadline for handover of the keys. I want those porters at work right away.’
Elaine gave a resigned nod and stepped down to the pavement to wait for the removals van as it edged up the road towards them.
James Curry turned to Helen. ‘I don’t think we need you now. There’s nothing you can do. You may as well just go.’ He paused for a moment them stepped a little closer to her. ‘You see, my dear, it’s all gone now. I told you I’d win. No minister and no parish will stand above me in my own presbytery. Oh, and don’t look to the presbytery for a reference. You defied me, backed the wrong side and now you’re beaten.’ He leant closer still and spoke in a theatrical whisper. ‘The pity is this parish was more viable than one or two others. Under other circumstances, it would not have been the one to close. Still, on the bright side, we’ve got more money than you could ever dream of, twice the market value for a quick sale. Now, I’m afraid you’re in the way a little. Perhaps you should just go. Hmmm?’ And he turned to monitor Elaine and the removals work.
Helen stepped to one side, allowing space for the porters who were swarming into the church. Everything was to go, the communion table, lectern, elders’ chairs and yet more packing cases from the vestry. At the church doors, Elaine was busy filling boxes with the hymnbooks and pew bibles, now retiring after their last service.
Finally, the church was almost bare. The pulpit stood as a lonely sentinel overlooking rows of redundant pews; the apse cleared, just the blackened wooden cross remaining - left at the specific request of the purchaser.
‘Yes, yes. Well done. Thank you. Thank you all,’ Curry’s voice carried down the church steps to Helen. In his haste to have the building clear, Curry seemed to be almost wishing the removals foreman down the steps and away. She had been reluctant to follow Curry’s instruction to leave her friends. Now she stood at the foot of the steps, speaking with those other members of the cong
regation who had also been reluctant to disperse. Pulling the church doors shut, Curry glanced down at his watch for the umpteenth time. ‘I think we’ve made it in time.’
Helen looked up to the top step, watching him as he pointed across the street.
‘Look, Elaine, that’s the Church solicitor parking now. They’re doing a handover of the keys here. A ceremony, Heaven knows why. It all seems a bit theatrical but money talks, as they say. Wait with me. You may as well see the process through. If we need a witness you’ll do.’
He glanced down the steps towards the pavement, where Helen was standing. He waved a dismissive hand in her direction. ‘Perhaps you could encourage that lot to move on a little? We don’t want a crowd getting in the way or making a fuss.’
Just as the Church solicitor arrived at James Curry’s side, Elaine followed his instruction, and stepped down to stand beside Helen. Clustered around Helen were Sam, Francis, Grace, all the other elders, and a good number of friends and parishioners. Nobody wanted to follow Curry’s instruction. They were determined to see it through to the end.
Helen glanced about; so many good people here to witness the day. Even her mother had made it; she was standing beside Sam’s parents who Helen had met for the first time only the previous evening. Father Christos stood with the young deacon from Xavier’s parish, she was sure she spotted a couple of familiar Sardinian parishioners hovering in the background too. Quite a crowd - Davy, Julie, and away at the back DCI Wallace and DS Brogan.
Helen watched Curry and the Church solicitor exchange pleasantries, then saw Curry glance in her direction with a disdainful look. The keys to the church were in the Church solicitor’s hand now, the keys to the manse and the church hall too.
Curry was muttering in a theatrical whisper. ‘Is all this rigmarole really necessary? I’m sure it would have been easier to transfer the keys between your respective offices. That’s what would normally happen.’
‘Yes, it is,’ agreed the Church solicitor, ‘but you don’t normally get a buyer offering you twice a routine property’s value for an off market sale. The Church is making something more than four million extra. So, if your buyers want a key transfer ceremony, you’d better give it to them.’
‘Well let’s get on with it then. Where are they anyway? As a point of interest, what do we really know about them?’
‘Nothing more than I’ve already told you. They want to keep the manse as a private dwelling and use the church and the church hall for worship and community work - no change of land use or restrictions; just a simple sale and transfer.’
A taxi drew to a halt at the roadside and an older man stepped out; smart, perfectly turned out.
The Church solicitor waved towards him. ‘That’s their man now. David Cromarty, decent type. I hope you’ve got a few words ready.’
David Cromarty returned the friendly wave and stepped up to greet his counterpart who promptly made introductions to James Curry.
‘So where’s your client?’ said Curry. ‘I’m keen to shake his hand and conclude this business. The Church is very pleased with the transaction, and we hope he will be happy with the properties.’
David Cromarty released Curry’s hand and smiled graciously. ‘It’s nice of you to say that. But surely, you know my client?’
‘Oh, oh, twelve o’clock. Time to complete the transaction, transfer the keys,’ said the Church solicitor while checking her watch.
She glanced at David Cromarty, they exchanged nods of agreement and the keys changed hands. ‘All yours now, congratulations,’ she said.
David Cromarty thanked her, took the keys and shook her hand. Then half turned towards Helen as she joined him on the step.
James Curry started to wave her away. ‘Whatever it is, this is neither the time nor the place. We have important Church business. I’m expecting a VIP at any moment. Please, just step away.’
David Cromarty reached out a welcoming arm, taking Helen by the elbow and drawing her up to the top step. ‘Helen, there you are. The Church people were just getting a bit worried that you weren’t here and I know they are eager to learn of your plans. Do tell.’
As Helen joined them on the top step, David Cromarty handed her the keys with a flourish. She beamed him a smile of thanks then turned to James Curry, who was standing in stunned silence.
‘James, I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure doing business with you. But at least I can say the outcome is a pleasure.’
‘What’s going on?’ said James Curry, spluttering, his face turning slightly red, the volume of his words rising. ‘Is this some kind of joke? I don’t think it’s funny. Let’s get on with the presentation, where’s the buyer?’ He turned to the Church solicitor who had stepped back slightly and was watching with a bemused expression on her face.
‘There’s no joke. I can assure you,’ said David Cromarty as he waved a hand to embrace the whole property. ‘Helen is the representative of the trust that has bought the property. Helen do you want to say anything?’
‘I just want to thank James for giving us the opportunity to ensure good work continues to be done at St Bernard’s. We’re going to maintain all the community activities in the church hall and keep the name of course. And I’m sure he’ll be delighted to know that Elaine has agreed to take on the role of director of the St Bernard’s Community Trust, which will be based in the church buildings.’
Helen saw the wrath in James Curry’s stare as she shook the Church solicitor’s hand to thank her. He was about to slip away in disgusted disbelief when Helen’s friends, who had remained at the foot of the steps, finally surrendered to impulse and rushed up, cheering and bursting open champagne bottles as they came. Grace took delight in ensuring her opening bottle burst over Curry’s suit and Francis just managed to restrain her before she splashed more of the contents over the man.
In a melee of excitement Curry disappeared, the Church solicitor took a half glass of champagne before excusing herself, and then the party moved inside the church.
As the doors opened to cheers and the popping of more champagne corks, David Cromarty pulled Helen to one side. ‘Helen, I’m so pleased it’s worked out for you as you hoped.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But you and your firm made it all possible. Without your acting on my behalf, it wouldn’t have happened. The look on James Curry’s face was priceless.’
‘He certainly didn’t seem very happy. But you have what you want?’
‘Oh yes, I do.’ She leant in and kissed David on his cheek.
Sam joined them. ‘We’ll have to throw a proper celebration. I’m sure Helen will want you to come, Franz Brenner too.’
‘And I’m sure I’ll be delighted to attend,’ said David Cromarty. ‘Just tell me when. In the meantime, I will let Franz know the outcome of today’s events as soon as I get back to my office. I hope this will work out well for Helen, for you both.’
‘I’m quite sure it will,’ said Sam.
‘Helen, one more thing before I leave you. You have three sets of keys, the manse, the church and church hall.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Interestingly, there’s another property. It’s linked with the church deeds as part of an estate.’
‘Oh? That sounds odd.’
‘Very odd. The properties seem to have been combined together when the current church was founded. So it goes back a long way.’
Helen linked her arm through Sam’s, squeezing it in tight to her. He grimaced slightly as the pressure fed across his body to the wounded shoulder. She smiled at David Cromarty. ‘This is exciting. Sam, we have an estate!’
David Cromarty gave a little laugh. ‘Well, don’t hold your breath. It’s a farm in Midlothian, not huge by any means. There’s a tenant farmer; same family’s been on the land for generations. It doesn’t earn much in the way of rentals at all, I’m afraid. There’s a steading and some acres of arable ground together with a good bit of grazing. The deed allows the tenants to stay for a pep
percorn rent in return for protecting and preserving the adjoining woodland. That’s yours too, ancient woodland, but it’s not actually part of the farm tenancy. At a rough measure, the farm is around two hundred acres and the woodland a little less, perhaps a hundred and fifty acres. It’s well over three hundred acres in total.’
‘Well, it’s always something and how fascinating,’ said Helen.
‘No real value to it I’m afraid. The farmland is committed for a very low income and parts of the wood are designated as SSSIs. So you can’t even sell the timber, much less develop the land.
‘What’s an SSSI?’ asked Helen.
‘A Site of Special Scientific Interest.’ David Cromarty gave a little shrug. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to look at the specifics in this case. Getting the main deal through fast was your express instruction and sole priority and, in practice, there is nothing you can do to the SSSI site in any event. The paperwork from Scottish Natural Heritage will work its way through to my office and I’ll let you know as soon as I can.’
Sam nodded, understanding. ‘It’ll be interesting to see what’s there. It could be anything; a breeding ground for a rare type of frog, endangered woodland flowers; anything. If it’s ancient woodland, the land may have been untouched, that’s really rare, especially in this part of the country. But the SSSI designation means it is protected.’
‘Quite so,’ said David, extending a hand towards Sam. ‘Nice to have met you.’
Sam took his hand and shook. ‘Whereabouts exactly is the land?’ said Sam.
‘It’s beyond Bonnyrigg, just outside one of those little hamlets. Let me think, you know I actually had to look it up on the map when I checked the deeds; it’s quite out of the way. What was it now? Yes, that’s it, Temple. You have a parcel of land and woodland at Temple.’
David Cromarty extended his arm to shake Helen’s hand and graciously allowed her to convert it to a light hug. Then he was gone.
