by Lazlo Ferran
“Well?”
For a moment there seemed to be an impasse, but I relented.
“Well I don’t know how you could have possibly heard anything. Perhaps you haven’t?”
“Just guessing? No. I have my sources.” She slowly sucked the oyster sauce from the spoon with her ruby red lips and I imagined myself kissing them.
“During the War, I often found I could get out of trouble or even avoid it. I don’t know how. I just seem to have a sixth sense. You can believe it or...”
“I do believe it. But only since the War?”
“Okay. Since I was a boy.” Stupidly I looked around me before continuing. “Normally I don’t admit that to anybody.” We both laughed momentarily at the melodrama of my glances.
“But I am not just anybody.”
I looked into her eyes, and she held my gaze. I almost thought her pupils opened up and I fell in to them.
“Come on Mr English Mystery Man. We must go. Eat up quickly and pay the bill.”
“Go? Where are we going?”
“I want to walk along the river with you, and talk.”
As I waited for the waiter to bring the change, my hand lay on the table and she put her hand on mine, touching my wedding ring with her index finger. “Where is she?”
I laughed. “Actually I don’t know. She could be back in our house near Nevers or she could be in London.”
“You are not close then anymore?”
“No. I guess you would say not.”
“Most French men would have taken off the ring before meeting me.”
I had thought about it but when I casually tried to remove it, it would not come off and I decided not to try any harder.
We left the café, me carrying a bottle of champagne, and Georgina the remnants of the red wine. We headed towards the south bank of the Seine. She occasionally leaned against me as we walked along the bank, the drink taking its toll on her balance.
“So you were a student of history and now you work in an advertising agency for a boss who tries to look up your skirt all the time?”
“Ha! Yes, you are very close. Only thing wrong with your guess is that I work for a publisher and I don’t wear skirts to work. But my boss tried to look down my dress instead. Oh Theo, you are such a devil” She raised the bottle in a toast to her boss and then downed a long swig of wine.
We reached a wrought-iron bench, typically French and typically elegant. We sat down and she leaned against me, as if she were my daughter. I put an arm protectively around her shoulders.
“Umm. I am a little cold actually. It’s surprising how cold it gets at night, even in August.” She drank more wine. “Oh. Nearly gone.” After a pause while we both watched the steady rippling movement of the Seine, she asked, “What is your wife’s name.”
“Rose.”
“Rose, Such a lovely name. Is she very beautiful?”
“She is, of course. But not in the way you are.”
“Am I? Beautiful?” She turned her face towards me and I longed to kiss it but I couldn’t. She looked away. I squeezed her shoulder just ever so lightly, involuntarily.
“It’s okay,” she said. She lifted the bottle of wine to her lips for a moment. “Oh. All gone.”
“Shall I open the champagne?”
“No! Not yet. Let’s walk.”
We stood up, but she kicked off her shoes and picked them up. It was only then that I noticed how expensive they were, some kind of silver-lamé strapless shoes with high heels. They must have cost a fortune. She skipped on ahead of me. “Come on slow… how do you say? Camionette?” She laughed, a high laugh like laughing water.
“Coach. Slow-coach! I am old.”
“Oh you are not that old...” In mid-sentence she stopped as she was looking back at me. She seemed to be looking at something over my shoulder and a worried frown came over her face. Then she held her hand out and I walked up to her, taking it and falling in beside her. I glanced back.
“What’s wrong?”
“Come on. Don’t look back.” We walked quickly for some distance until we came to a junction on the path where we turned left between two old buildings. “Run,” she whispered, and we did. When we reached the main street which ran parallel to the river, she turned right, crossed the road, all in bare feet, and her footsteps hardly made a sound on the tarmac as she ran. As we crossed the road I thought for a moment that I heard footsteps echoing in the passage behind us. We reached the other side of the road and a little further on were some barrows, covered by tarpaulins; probably part of a market during the day. She turned between them and then through a narrow passageway and down some steps onto another street, at a lower level where we ran back in the direction of the café where we had eaten earlier. I was getting out of breath when she pulled me into an entrance lobby and stopped. We waited for perhaps ten minutes without speaking.
“It’s okay now. I think he’s gone.”
“Who’s gone? What’s going on?”
“We were being followed.”
“Yes. I guessed that. But by who?”
“Pastor Michel”
“Who the hell is he?”
“Yes. You might well ask,” she said smiling. “Luckily I know this area. Otherwise maybe we would not have lost him. They know where my flat is now but not my sister’s. Let’s go there.”
I had become so intoxicated with her company I had completely forgotten to ask what information she had. Now I just seemed to be going along for the ride.
After what seemed an eternity of passages and long narrow roads we reached a modern, steel-framed door to a block of flats, with an entrance phone and camera.
“Hi tech!” I said.
In her sister’s flat, which was ultra-modern, and expensively furnished with black leather, glass and white walls, she took the champagne and poured two flutes.
“On there. On the table!” she called out as I sprawled, out of breath on the long leather sofa.
On the glass coffee table in front of me was opened a brown leather-bound scrap book. On the opened page was a blurry photograph of a group of Catholic priests standing in rows, as if having a year photo taken. I hadn’t seen Georgina open the scrap book when we came in but she might have.
“Who are these?”
“These gentlemen are your enemy. Move over. Here!”
I took the champagne but put the glass down. Georgina settled next to me, her hip just touching mine as she sank into the plush, giving leather.
“They are a fundamentalist Catholic group, sect, if you will, of priests trying to stop Ordo Lupus.”
I sucked in my breath at the mention of the brotherhood. She must have heard me. “You know about Ordo Lupus.?” I asked.
“Yes. My father was an expert. I think he was a member but he died too young for me to know for sure.”
“Oh I’m sorry. Did he talk to you about it a lot?”
“Actually, no. Never. But he left a lot of books and papers. This is one of them. Pastor Michel is one of those but I could not tell you which because the picture is too bad. It was taken many years ago. He has been following me for few months now. He may have followed you, or one of his friends might have.”
I recalled the time I left Henry’s and felt that something was following me. That had definitely felt supernatural though.
“What more can you tell me?”
“I can tell you that you are in very great danger. From studying your case, what I have read in the papers, I think I have come to understand some things better which I have been trying to work out for years.” She stood up and went into the kitchenette. “Are you hungry? There is come chocolate here.”
“Not really hungry but I never say ‘no’ to chocolate. I don’t really like to ask but did your father die in tragic circumstances?”
“Tragic and violent, yes. That is all I will say for now.”
She sat down next to me but this time pulled her legs up under her and leaned against me. She put a plate of expens
ive confectionery on my knee and I politely took one. It was delicious. I felt that she wanted me to put my arm around her but I couldn’t do it. I had never been unfaithful to Rose and I just didn’t feel comfortable in this situation with a strange woman.
“You said I was in great danger?” I said.
“Yes. So am I.”
“You said you had something to tell me, some information you could give me?”
“All in good time. How is the champagne?”
Up until this moment, I hadn’t drunk any but I felt guilty now so I quickly drained the flute, which prompted Georgina to refill it. She reached behind her and loosed her hair which fell in great black drapes around her delicate and beautiful face. I could feel the velvet-soft touch of her hair on my shoulder and it excited me.
“Wait. I want to put on some music. Is Ravel alright with you?”
“Yes. Sure. I love Ravel.”
She went to a modern hi-fi unit on a glass shelf and chose a cassette. After a few moments the gentle idyllic sound of the opening sequence of ‘Daphnis and Chloe’ started to fill the room, and I let my head rest back on the sofa with my eyes closed to listen. I felt Georgina sit back on the sofa and rest gently against me but I didn’t open my eyes just yet.
After what must have been a few minutes I heard Georgina speak. “I have been scared the last few weeks.”
“Really?” I said putting my arm instinctively around her shoulder as I opened my eyes. She leaned into me and I could see deep within her cleavage, almost the entire shape of her breast. It surprised me and I felt a pleasant hardness between my legs. She seemed to be looking directly at her cleavage herself and this excited me more, as if it were an assignation.
“The Good Pastor and his cronies have been hunting me all over Paris. One night they smashed the window of my car and stole some documents I was studying.”
“Are you serious? If they are religious men, how could they do such a thing?”
“Religious! Yes, their kind of religion. Intolerant and extreme. They will kill anything that they feel violates the Catholic Church’s beliefs.”
“Kill?”
“Yes. Kill. I do not exaggerate. Do not underestimate them.”
“But one thing I don’t understand. Pastors are usually found in the Protestant Church.”
“No. If you go far back enough in time, Pastors were prominent in the Catholic Church too, and in the fundamental strands of the Church there are still fundamentalist Orders, usually of monks, but sometimes priests who defend the faith.”
“You know a lot about these people.”
“I know a lot more and I will tell you, but I need protecting.”
“And I want to protect you.” It seemed as if somebody else were speaking using my mouth. I hadn’t intended saying that, but I was rushing along now on a fast river of passion. Talking of the things that affected us both, while seeing the curve of her beautiful breast had removed the barriers I had felt were between us, and now I wanted her. I stroked the nape of her neck with the back of my index finger and she lifted her face to look into my eyes.
“Am I really beautiful?”
“Oh yes.” We hung there in space for a moment, her lips moist and eyes wide with eager longing and submissive desire, and then I leaned forward slightly and kissed her. Her warm mouth opened as I tasted the sweetness of her lipstick and then explored the inside of her lips with my tongue.
“Ah!” she sighed. The music was building now, painting a sound picture of mounting waves in the sea around the enchanted island, and as the satyric flute ran up and down the register, I gently pushed her dress down to reveal a naked shoulder. She pulled her arm through the opening and then the other while I continued kissing her, and then the dark blue dress fell to her waist. She was really stunning, lovely full breasts and a slim waist with just the faintest downy line between her navel and the top of the folds of her dress, just above her legs.
“You are so beautiful.”
“Oh. Show me.” I started to stand, to take her to the door which I thought led to the bedroom, but she stopped me. “No, here.”
She was already undoing the buttons on my shirt and I helped her, pulling it off, and then unfastened my trousers. Before long I was naked, pulling her dress off her hips and looking at her completely naked as it fell to the floor. She climbed on top of me and, hard as I was, I just lay back while she took control, lowering herself onto it. This allowed me to see the whole of her beauty, her face, her long black hair cascading around her lovely breasts and the soft ‘V’ just above my own hips. We rocked gently as I felt her youth taking the hand of my many long lonely years, and showing me the rhythm and dance she wanted to explore. Finally we came together, just as the music subsided at the end of the storm.
I wanted to say “Excellent choice of music,” but I knew we would both laugh and the moment would be lost.
I wondered at what seemed like her experience, which had moved things along smoothly, and put it down to the youth of the day.
She lay on me, her sweating forehead resting under my chin, and I rubbed her shoulders affectionately.
“That was great,” she said. “That felt really good. I don’t want to move right now.”
“Then don’t.”
We fell asleep like that, for a little while, her light body on top of mine, and then, when we became a little cold, we walked hand-in-hand to the bedroom, and climbed under the soft white sheets of a large bed. There we made love again before sleeping until the morning.
“Georgina. Can you read Latin?” I asked upon waking.
“Yes. Read and write it.” Her voice was slightly muffled as her mouth was pressed against the pillow.
“Good. Come with me to my hotel. I have something I need translated.”
“Okay. I didn’t have anything planned today.”
By mid-morning we were sitting on my hotel bed, with many of the Latin sheets Barton-Brown had sent me, laid out around us. The napkin though, was the centre of attention. On it was written the Latin which Cosette had originally dictated to me in the café.
Unus super parietis,
Per securis, conicio oppugno in vallum,
is quisnam semotus vexillum.
Iterum vexillum eram perspicuus,
Nostrum vir remuneror Le Pilon.
Under this, after only a short while, Georgina had written her translation.
Alone upon the wall,
With axe, throws assailant in the moat,
he who removed the flag.
Again the flag was bright,
Our hero’s reward Le Pilon.
Georgina had laughed when she translated the final line. “It’s quite sexy. The last part; I don’t know if it is a joke or not but it certainly sounds like one. ‘Le Pilon’ is a typical medieval pseudonym for a man’s cock. Where did you find this?”
“It was encoded in pages from the book I was trying to borrow in the library – ‘De Secretis Scientia Occultis’. Each letter of the poem was at the bottom of each of the pages, written in lemon juice I believe, or something similar.”
“Wow! Okay, so you want to know what it’s about?”
“Yes. Do you know?”
“Well. A man is defending some kind of building, standing on a wall with an axe and throws down a guy who stole the flag. The flag is raised up again, possibly in the sunlight, that part’s not too clear, and then the hero gets his reward, which I can best translate as ‘The Rammer’. I would say it is pretty unusual to have homosexual overtones like this even in an occult book of that time.”
“It’s not much to go on. Could The Rammer be some kind of magic weapon, a battering ram for instance?”
“Could be. Honestly I really cannot tell you anything more than that.” After a pause while we both thought she added: “Do you know which country the book was published in? Looking at the Latin here it seems idiomatically French to me. It would be a help if we knew for sure. Then we could search in the library for Le Pilon and see what
we find.”
“Yes. I believe it’s French. I tried to buy the book a few weeks ago and my source told me it was French.”
“You tried to buy this book a few weeks ago?”
“Yes. This very book.”
“That is very strange. I don’t understand how it could be bought by the library so quickly and quietly and then be on loan so soon.”
“No. Me neither.”
“And how much did you offer?”
“8,500 Guineas.”
She whistled. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast and go to the library. There is no time to lose.”
I was eating waffles with jam and cream in the small hotel restaurant, with Georgina reading a copy of Le Monde and sipping coffee next to me, when she sharply slapped my hand. “Look at this.” I looked. She was pointing at a small photograph on page two. “Isn’t that the man you were talking to in the library?”
“Let’s see.” I pulled the paper towards me so I could peer more closely at the photo. I read the caption to be sure. “It’s Barton-Brown! Oh my God! He’s been killed!” I read the first few sentences of the caption out load. “English History professor found dead in hotel room from what appears to be strangulation. The Gendarmes are seeking anybody who was in the area and may have seen anything suspicious to contact them. Anonymity is assured. The hotel has been sealed and staff are being held for questioning.” Further down an article gave details of the hotel’s location, just a few blocks from the library.
The hairs were standing up on the back of my neck as I read the article. The unnamed danger I had felt following me for the last few weeks suddenly seemed a lot closer. Now, the truth of what Georgina had said about my predicament the previous night really hit home.
“Does it sound like the other murders?” Georgina spoke, breaking the spell I had been under for a few moments.
“Sorry baby. No it doesn’t sound like those. They were crushed.” A pain gripped my chest, thinking of Annie and I must have grimaced, because Georgina squeezed my wrist affectionately. “We will never get that information now. The Gendarmes will be all over that library.”
