Shrine

by Herbert, James

  She came back to the bed and he winced as she dumped the case on his belly. She squashed out the cigarette and jumped in beside him, the pointed brown nipples of her small breasts as eager as the expression on her face. ‘I knew you’d level with me sooner or later,’ she said, smiling.

  He grunted, working the dials of the briefcase locks with his thumbs. When the six-digit combination showed, he flicked back the locks and opened the lid. The inside of the case brimmed with pencil-scribbled notes.

  Nancy reached in and took out a handful, turning back to the light with them. ‘What the hell is this, Fenn?’ She saw dates, names, short notes.

  ‘That’s the fruits of one week’s solid research. And partly the cause of the nightmares.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’ she asked, sifting through the notes and reaching for more.

  ‘When I was a student, I worked one summer in a restaurant. In a fairly high-class tearoom, to be exact; you know, the kind matrons and aunts go to for afternoon tea and scones. It was a busy place and the work was pretty new to me. In the first couple of weeks, all I could dream of at night was silver teapots and scalded fingers. This week I’ve been dreaming of old parchment papers. Tonight – and the other night – a little extra was thrown in.’

  ‘But what’s it all for? You writing the history of Banfield?’

  ‘Not quite. I’m looking into it, though. You know the Church is paying me to write about the Banfield miracles—’

  ‘That doesn’t mean you can’t write for us as well.’

  ‘We’ve been through all that, Nancy. It doesn’t exclude me from writing for anybody, but for now, I want to get the whole story straight in my own head.’

  ‘You’ve been acting kinda strange since the fire.’ She touched the discoloration on his forehead; the swelling was gone but the mark was still ugly. ‘You sure the damage wasn’t permanent?’

  He took her hand away. ‘You want to listen or not? I needed to get the whole historical background on Banfield—’

  ‘Come on, Fenn. I don’t buy that. You could get all the background from the local library. That’s what I did, and so did the other reporters.’

  ‘I wanted some in-depth material.’

  ‘Okay, treat me like a hick, I’ll go along with you for now.’

  He sighed in exasperation. ‘Just listen, will you?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘The local library was the first place I went to. It doesn’t have too much – just a book written by a guy who used to be the vicar to the village in the thirties, and a couple of volumes on the history of Sussex.’

  ‘Yeah, no meat.’

  ‘So I went to the village hall, the public records office. The Parish Clerk was helpful, but their records only went back to the 1960s. From there I went to the county records office in Chichester and that’s where I’ve spent the past week. I think the archivist who helped me is sick of the sight of me by now. I’ve been through every piece of paper on Banfield from the eighth century onwards – not that I understood much of the earlier stuff. Most of it was either illegible or written in Latin. Even the later scripts were difficult, all those “f”s instead of “s”s, you know the kind of thing.’

  ‘What were you digging for?’

  He looked away. ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Why not? What’s the big secret?’

  ‘There is no big secret.’

  ‘Then why are you in such a state?’

  He turned to her once more. ‘What?’

  ‘Have you seen how you look?’ She brushed her hand roughly against his chin. ‘Aren’t you aware of how you’ve been acting? Getting back here each evening juiced up, keeping your goddam papers locked away like they were state secrets, your nightmares, mumbling in your sleep – screwing me like you were a goddam zombie!’

  ‘You don’t like my technique?’

  ‘Shaddup! What d’you think when we’re in the sack, that you’re just paying your dues on the use of this pad? What the hell d’you think I am?’

  He put a hand to her shoulder, but she slapped it away. ‘I thought maybe we could get together on this thing,’ she said angrily. ‘I’ve stood back and let you get on, waiting for the time you’d open up to me. Just now you could’ve, but you chose different. Okay, my friend, since we have no deal, it’s time for you to scoot.’

  ‘Hey, there’s no need—’

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘It’s . . . it’s . . .’ he scrabbled for his wristwatch lying beneath his pillow ‘. . . it’s after three . . .’

  ‘Tough shit! Get moving.’

  ‘I can improve my style,’ he said, brushing his palm against her nipple.

  ‘I’m not kidding, Fenn. Out!’

  His hand slid beneath the covers and around her waist. ‘I’ll shave.’

  She pushed against his chest. ‘Get lost.’

  He gently ran his hand down her thigh.

  She punched his shoulder. ‘I mean it, you fucker.’

  He rolled on top of her and her legs clamped tight together.

  ‘You think,’ she hissed, ‘you’re suddenly a hot lover? You think I’m going to swoon away, you little shit?’

  He slumped against her, defeated, then rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Jesus,’ he breathed, ‘you’re rough.’

  Nancy sat up and looked down at him. ‘I’m rough and I mean it. You’ve used me, Fenn, and given me nothing in return—’

  ‘Okay, okay, you’re right.’

  ‘I guess it’s your style, using people, situations. But not with this lady.’

  ‘Aren’t you the same, Nancy?’ he said quietly. ‘Aren’t you the same kind of animal?’

  She hesitated. ‘Sure, it takes one to know one. That’s why I’m wise to you. That’s why I know I’m not getting anywhere—’

  ‘Hold it. I said you’re right and maybe I’m beginning to feel guilty. I’ve felt strange this week, almost . . . well, almost obsessed with this kid Alice. Ever since the fire, ever since she came through those flames . . .’

  Nancy was silent, fuming still, and he looked at her as though seeking an answer. Her body was thin, her breasts not as firm as they probably once had been, faint lines around her neck betraying the passing years. The hardness in her face was softened by the dim light, but the fierceness in her eyes could not be muted. Even when she was younger he felt sure she had never been classed as beautiful, yet she had the attractiveness that any woman would envy, that would make most men want her (maybe just for one night, perhaps two – she would prove too hard to handle for much longer).

  ‘I was there, too, you know,’ she said, disturbed by his gaze. ‘Alice didn’t have the same effect on me.’

  Fenn lifted himself up on one elbow so that his face was closer to hers. ‘Tell me what effect she did have on you.’

  ‘Wha – ? Hey, you’re sneaking out of this, you’re changing the subject.’

  ‘No, tell me. I promise I’ll come straight with you after you tell me.’

  She looked at him doubtfully, then shrugged. ‘What the hell do I have to lose?’ She thought for a few seconds, thinking back to the Thursday of the fire. ‘Okay. She had absolutely no effect on me at all. Nothing. Zilch. I didn’t believe what was happening and I still don’t.’

  ‘But you saw it.’

  ‘Yep. And I still don’t believe it.’

  ‘That’s crazy.’

  ‘Sure. I saw her arrive on the scene, I saw the fire die out. But something in here . . .’ she tapped her temple ‘. . . won’t, or can’t, put the two together.’

  He shook his head. ‘And how about Alice herself? Do you have any feelings about her?’

  ‘She’s just a kid. A skinny, undersized kid. Quite pretty, but nothing special.’

  ‘A lot of people say she has a radiance about her, a kind of holiness.’

  ‘Maybe to some she has; not to me, though. In fact, if I have to be perfectly honest, she leaves me a little cold.’

  ‘Why?’


  ‘Well, I guess it’s because she doesn’t seem to sparkle like other kids. I know she’s been through a lot, but there’s something . . . I don’t know . . . something flat about her. It’s as if her emotions are locked away somewhere deep inside. She was obviously upset by the death of her father, but I didn’t see her shed a tear at his funeral. Maybe she cried herself out in private.’

  He sank back down in the bed. ‘Lately I’ve had the same feeling about her. When I first saw her, the very first night I chased her into the field, she was just a scared, vulnerable little girl. Now . . . now she seems different. She probably saved me getting badly burned last week, yet I can’t seem to find any gratitude towards her. And . . . oh, Christ, I remember now! I saw her just before the car crashed! I’m sure it was her.’ He was sitting up again, arms over his raised knees. ‘She was standing in the window of the convent, watching. Just before the cars went . . . out . . . of . . . control . . .’

  ‘What are you saying, Fenn?’

  ‘The cars. Don’t you remember? The Capri in front went out of control, then so did mine. The steering just went.’

  ‘I don’t remember. I thought the Capri went into a skid and you tried to avoid it.’

  ‘That’s what I thought – until now. It just came back to me, Nancy. I couldn’t control the bloody car. And she was watching all the time.’

  ‘I don’t get you. What the hell are you trying to say? That she was responsible?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘Maybe that’s exactly what I’m saying.’

  ‘You’re insane.’ She reached for her cigarettes again, lit one.

  ‘If she can control a fire she can interfere with a car’s steering.’

  Nancy opened her mouth to speak, then just shook her head.

  ‘Strange things have been happening around her,’ Fenn insisted.

  ‘Shit, that’s an understatement. But there could be other factors involved, psychological reasons for these so-called miracles. And besides, her father died in that fire. The kid wouldn’t have had anything to do with that.’

  He rubbed a thumb across his lower lip. ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘No, of course not.’ He became lost in his own thoughts.

  Nancy ran a hand up his back towards his shoulder. ‘You were going to level with me.’

  Fenn relaxed against the headboard and Nancy withdrew her hand, letting it rest on his thigh.

  ‘Simply, it’s this,’ Fenn said. ‘Monsignor Delgard is seriously concerned over what’s happening at the church—’

  ‘That’s hardly surprising.’

  ‘Let me finish. He feels something wrong is going on there—’

  ‘With all those miracles? He should be jumping for joy.’

  ‘Perhaps he should be, but he isn’t. He’s worried about Father Hagan’s death—’

  ‘That was a plain old coronary.’

  ‘Will you shut up and listen. He’s also worried about the atmosphere of the church. He feels it’s – to put it in his own words – “spiritually devoid”.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I suppose it means the sanctity has disappeared.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. You’re not trying to tell me the place is possessed by demons?’ She gave a short laugh.

  ‘No. St Joseph’s is empty. There’s nothing there at all. Father Hagan felt the same before he died.’

  ‘Hey, I can’t write this kind of junk.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, I don’t want you to write about it! I’m telling you in confidence, because you wanted to know. You’ve baled me out this week, you’ve helped me stay away from the scavengers so I could get on with all this. I’m returning the favour by letting you know what I’m up to, but I don’t want it broadcast to the bloody nation!’

  ‘Don’t worry, that won’t happen. My chief would bury me. Now if you’re saying there’s some kind of fraud going on, then I’m with you all the way.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe it is all some elaborate fraud, who knows?’

  ‘Why go into this, uh, “spiritually devoid” shit, then? You’re spoiling the chance of a good story, Fenn, probably the biggest that’ll ever come your way, by going off on that tack.’

  ‘It’s hard to explain, but I feel there’s something wrong, too.’

  ‘You’re a cynic. It’s natural for you.’

  ‘Thanks, but I mean deeply wrong. Like you, I think there’s something strange about Alice.’

  ‘I only said she didn’t have much personality.’

  ‘You implied more.’

  ‘All right, you and the priest think something wicked this way comes. So what’s the point of all this research? Where’s it going to get you?’

  ‘Probably nowhere, but I might uncover something in the church’s history that could shed some light.’

  ‘You mean root out some dark secret from St Joseph’s past. Fenn, I don’t believe this of you. I thought your flat feet were firmly on the ground and your grubby little fingers always ready to grab the golden egg. I’m not knocking you. From me it’s a compliment, it’s how I operate myself. But now you’re beginning to disappoint.’

  ‘Monsignor Delgard sees me the same way – that’s why he hired me.’

  ‘Oh yeah, that makes sense.’

  ‘It does in a crazy way. He wanted someone to look at the whole business coolly and logically, someone who wasn’t wrapped up in religion and someone who would scoff at bad vibrations.’

  ‘Until a few moments ago I would have said he’d chosen the right boy. Now I’m not so sure.’

  Fenn sighed and his body sank lower against the headboard. A smile slowly formed on his lips. ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘could be I was getting carried away. The crash, the fire – maybe it just scared the shit out of me, enough to make me think too much, anyway. I could have panicked and imagined the car’s steering had gone. There may have been oil on the road – that would account for the other car losing control. Anyway . . .’ he emptied the suitcase full of notes onto the floor ‘. . . I found nothing nasty in the history of Banfield or St Joseph’s. Nothing, at least, that hasn’t happened in every other village, town or city in England over the past few hundred years. I guess it should be a relief.’

  Nancy looked down at the scattered paper. ‘D’you mind if I go through your notes sometime?’

  ‘Help yourself, there’s nothing there that’ll interest you.’

  She settled down closer to him and her hand moved towards his inner thigh. ‘What about us, Fenn?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Working together.’

  ‘I thought you wanted me to leave.’

  ‘That was before. Now you’ve told me what you’ve been up to.’

  ‘There wasn’t much to tell, was there?’

  ‘No, but at least you confided in me. What about our deal?’

  ‘I’m working for the Church, Nancy.’

  ‘Come on, Fenn. You’re working for yourself – you’re using the Church. It’s a way of being right up there in front and getting all the inside information you need. Whatever they’re paying you, you’ll make treble, probably quadruple, from other sources when your job for the Church is done. Isn’t that why you accepted in the first place?’

  His smile was slow to surface, and when it did it was strained. After a while, he said, ‘I won’t work with you, Nancy, but I’ll pass on information, try to get you a ringside seat for any special occasions, and generally help in any way I can.’

  ‘Up to a point, right?’

  ‘Yeah, up to a point.’

  She groaned, giving up the fight. ‘I guess it’s gonna have to do. I think you’re a fool, though – I could have improved anything you wrote, given it style. I mean it, I could have. And I could have gotten you a good deal from the Post.’

  He reached over and kissed her neck, the pressure of her hand having some effect. ‘When do you have to get back to the States?’ he asked.

  ‘Soon as I figure I’ve got all I’m going to get on this miracle thi
ng. I can’t stay forever, that’s for sure. Maybe a coupla weeks; unless, of course, even bigger things break.’

  ‘It’s hard to imagine anything more mind-blowing happening.’ He wondered, though. Just a few weeks ago he had been saying the whole affair would fizzle out and Banfield would sink back into anonymity once more. For his own personal motives, he didn’t want that to happen, but some small instinct which became elusive when he tried to focus upon it warned him that it might have been for the best.

  Nancy nuzzled her cheek against his forehead. ‘What I’m saying, Fenn, is if you’re going to help me, it’s gotta be soon. No keeping it to yourself. Okay?’

  ‘Sure,’ he agreed, not believing himself. He’d help her but, as he had already said, up to a point. Newsmen were generally selfish creatures where their work was concerned and he was no exception to the rule. Her hand had moved upwards and her fingers began to close around his stiffening penis. For the first time that week (and much to his own relief) his desire became much more than just the need to fulfil a bodily function. He squirmed when her movement gained a pleasurable rhythm.

  He kissed her lips, turning towards her to press close, but she did not relinquish her possession, nor break the rhythm. Her palm, her fingers, were soft, knowing just the right pressure, knowing when to tighten, when to release. His kiss became hard, his lips moist. She bit down on his lower lip, gently, just enough to excite and not enough to hurt. Her tongue sought his and his whole body became tensed, the area of excitement spreading from his loins to his arms, his thighs, the muscles of his buttocks, his nipples. His own fingers slid over her hips, reaching for her breasts, caressing them, each one in turn, pressing and pulling at the erect nipples, flattening his hand to encompass every part, squeezing hard one moment, fondling tenderly the next.

  She could feel his passion and it was unlike any of the other times during the week. It was as if he had finally roused himself from a semi-drugged state. She smiled inwardly. Or she had roused him from that state.