Casting Samson

by Melinda Hammond

  “Hi, gorgeous.”

  She looked round to see Andy approaching, Steve and a dark stranger just behind him. Andy kissed her cheek, and while Steve followed suit he pulled the stranger forward.

  “This handsome hunk is Ryan.”

  “Hi.” The hunk grinned and put his arm around her. “Since kissing seems to be the order of the day…”

  As Ryan touched her lips lightly with his own, she heard Andy laugh.

  “Careful, mate, she’s Josh’s bird.”

  I wish. Deborah found herself flushing under Andy’s knowing grin.

  “Have you seen him then, Josh?” She tried to sound casual.

  “Haven’t, actually, love. Not for a while. We’re just going for a beer. D’you want to come with us?”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m part of the committee, so I’d better go and see what I can do to help.”

  Steve took off his sunglasses and bent his serious gaze upon her, his fair hair falling forward over his eyes. “You look as if you could do with a break, love. Come and have a quick drink.”

  “I don’t like crowds. Thanks for the offer, but I’d better not.” She tried to smile. “I might seek sanctuary up at the churchyard later. It’ll be quieter there.”

  She watched them saunter off before turning to look for a familiar face amongst the crowds, eventually spotting the vicar’s black robes ahead of her.

  “Reverend!” She ran up to him. “Where is everyone, Anne—Miss Babbacombe?”

  The vicar regarded her with a faint, preoccupied smile.

  “I couldn’t say. I think Godfrey and Clara went off to the First Aid Centre with a couple of the Scouts—nothing serious, just a cut lip and bloody nose, but one cannot be too careful. Anne may have gone to the village hall. Hilda Gresham and her helpers had arranged to bring all the clothes down from the Happy Landings to save everyone having to troop all that way back there.” He beamed at her. “Wasn’t that a good idea?”

  “Yes, yes. Very good. I’ll—um—I’ll just go and see who’s at the hall, then.”

  She wondered if Josh might still be there, but she found only Hilda Gresham packing costumes away.

  “Hello, Deborah. Who’d have thought they could make such a mess, eh? There’s bits of costume everywhere. Were you looking for someone? Most of ’em have been in and changed now. I’m just trying to tidy up a bit in case we need to use the hall for the service tomorrow.”

  “I’ll give you a hand.” Deborah collected up several discarded tea-towel headdresses.

  “Thanks, dearie, it’s always so much quicker when there’s two of you, isn’t it?” Hilda chattered on. “Alan and the vicar were talking about putting on a pantomime at Christmas. If they decide to go ahead, I hope you’ll help out. We really need people like you, Deborah, reliable helpers who will muck in and get on with it. This has been such fun, hasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  And it had been fun, Deborah realised. She had enjoyed being part of the team, being needed, but who could say where she would be by Christmas?

  Hilda’s chatter cut through her thoughts. “This pageant’s been a great success, hasn’t it, despite that little upset with the Scouts—and the set-to between Rita Tring and Yvonne, of course…” Hilda chuckled as she packed away the costumes. “And I thought young Josh looked particularly good as Samson, didn’t you? Such a nice young man. Pity he’s leaving.”

  Deborah looked up. “Oh, so it’s definite, is it? I mean, he’s really going?”

  “Oh yes, he’s got a new job. He was telling me all about it while I was rubbing in the baby oil—that’s what gave his skin that lovely sheen, you know. It was Josh’s idea. He told me it was a trick he picked up when he was with those strippers. And it worked a treat—he looked really good out there…”

  “Yes, I know, but you said he’s got another job?”

  “Yes. Alan’s offered him another job—very hush-hush at present of course, because the deal’s not signed, apparently, but he’s very excited about it. I think it must be one of Alan’s big hotels in Swindon, don’t you?”

  Deborah felt the depression closing in again, but she tried to keep it out of her voice as she replied. “Probably. I mean, couldn’t expect him to stay in a small place like Moreton, could we?”

  “No, that’s just what I thought. That boy’s going places, I said to myself. And good luck to him too.”

  Yes, good luck to him.

  Outside, the sun had driven off any lingering clouds and blazed down now from a glorious blue sky. The noise from the green was carried across on the breeze and Deborah stood for a moment, listening. There were hundreds, maybe thousands of strangers in the village, and she really did not want to be amongst them.

  She slipped across the footbridge into the churchyard. At the front of the building one of the big wooden doors stood open, but there was builders’ tape across the entrance and a large red-and-white sign warning everyone to Keep Clear.

  On the far side of the church, sheltered from the road, she sat down on the grass, leaning back against the great stone buttress. She closed her eyes. Sheer bliss to have time alone, but at the back of her mind was the knowledge that she had to make a decision. She had told her parents she would be going back to London, and Bernard was offering her an easy way to do it. All she had to do was pack a bag and she could be in the city tonight. Simple.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  Her eyes flew open. Josh was standing before her, grinning. Her heart lifted, almost flipped over at the sight of him. He’d swapped his costume for a pair of combat trousers and a tight-fitting sleeveless top.

  He threw himself down beside her on the grass. “Phew, what a day. I’m exhausted. I thought at one point the whole thing was going to fall apart, but everyone seems to have had a good time—well, nearly everyone. Alan’s really pleased at the number of people who turned up.” He turned his head to look at her. “Only problem is we haven’t had a moment together since I got back from Reading.”

  “I—I thought you might be with Spike and the others.”

  “No. Spike’s probably tied up with Kylie. And Steve and Andy are back together again now, so I wouldn’t want to play gooseberry.” He grinned at her. “It was Andy who said I might find you here.” He reached out one hand to stroke her cheek.

  Deborah felt her heart pounding. He was going to kiss her, she knew it. And would he then tell her that he was leaving? She couldn’t bear the thought of that. Neither could she bring herself to tackle him about why he had told Alan about her father’s need to sell the restaurant. It was too late now, anyway. It couldn’t change anything. She drew away slightly. Perhaps she should give him the same speech she’d given her parents—get it in quickly. But Josh was speaking again.

  “I haven’t told you about Alan’s offer, have I? Though I expect you already know…”

  “Yes, actually. Everyone seems to know about it.”

  “Is that why you’ve been acting a bit distant? You’re pissed off because I didn’t tell you personally? Sorry, Debs, but it’s just so fantastic I really didn’t want to tell you over the phone, and last night when I rang—”

  “Yes, I was out.” This was her chance. “With Bernard. He—he came down from London specially to, um—ask me to go back with him.”

  Josh sat up. “You’re not going—surely you’re not even thinking about it!”

  With his dark eyes fixed on her, she found the words would not come. They died in a strangled sigh in her throat. Go on, she told herself crossly, tell him now. “I—I thought I might go back to the city, get another job, you know, pick up my career again.”

  “Pick up your—! Debs, I thought—”

  “Deborah!” A shout interrupted him.

  “For Christ’s sake, who’s that now?” Josh exclaimed.

  “It’s Bernard.” She sat up as he strolled into view. “And his ankle seems to have recovered remarkably quickly.”

  “So there you are. Someone said they�
��d seen you coming this way.” He’d changed into a pair of grey chinos and a pale lemon shirt. He’d also washed the river mud from his hair, which now gleamed palely in the sunlight. “I came to find you. We’ll have to be getting back to town in a while, and you’ll need to pack.”

  She blushed vividly and glanced at Josh, but he was picking daisies out of the short grass and not looking at her.

  “Bernard, I never said—”

  “You didn’t need to, love.” He was smiling, complacent. “And you know the job offer is too good to miss. You’d find it hard to get a better deal in London.”

  Deborah bit her lip. He was right, of course. The sun, which had been shining benevolently on them, disappeared behind a small cloud, and in that brief moment Deborah considered her choices. Her parents were leaving Moreton, and so was Josh. She would have to find another place to live, and Bernard’s offer was tempting—to go back to what she knew, the familiar places and people. The alternative was to start from scratch again, and she remembered how hard she had found it first time round, finding somewhere decent to live that she could afford, getting a new job, making friends—in her heart she dreaded being alone. Slowly she rose to her feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Well, that went off better than I ever dared hope. Here—wages.” Alan handed Anne an ice cream and turned back to collect his own with his one good hand. “When David and Goliath decided to fight it out for real, I thought we were in for a disaster. As it is, the crowd loved it, Aubrey is over the moon with his full collecting tins, and Godfrey is confident we’ve already reached our target.”

  “That’s good.”

  “And we still have the money being raised with things like the cake stall and face painting, as well as Graham’s pig-roast and disco tonight at the Dog and Sardine. All in all, a very successful day, I’d say, wouldn’t you? Anne?”

  “Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, a very good day.”

  “Are you all right? You sound a bit flat.”

  She summoned up a smile. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit tired, that’s all. I think, if you can manage without me, I might slip off home for a while.”

  “Yes, if you like. You go on home. We’ll finish up here and you can get some rest before the disco tonight.”

  The disco. The very thought of it made Anne’s heart sink as she left the green. But as a member of the committee it was her duty to attend, and Alan for one would be fussing around her and asking questions if she didn’t go. She sighed, staring up at the sunny sky. Why, on the best day they’d had for ages, did she feel so low? What she needed was something to kick her out of this depression. A half bottle of vodka might help, she thought morosely, then scolded herself for being miserable when the pageant had gone off so well, despite Toby Duggan’s best attempts to ruin it.

  Looking up, she saw the huge stone bulk of the church rising on its natural mound and overshadowing the village. Suddenly she wanted to be there, to stand in the cool shady interior of the church. There were large strands of tape fluttering across the entrance, but one door was open and the church seemed to beckon her. Slipping under the tape, she stepped inside.

  The empty church looked very sorry for itself with dust-sheets shrouding the font and the altar and all the pews stacked along the south wall. Several rows of flagstones had been taken up and neatly rested against the supporting pillars. She moved forward a few steps and gazed around her. The pageant had undoubtedly been a success—the committee would probably conclude that the press attention had helped to swell the crowds, so everything had turned out fine in the end, hadn’t it?

  Except for her meeting with Toby Duggan. Anne had thought that in the professor she had found a friend, someone she could really talk to, but now all that was gone, because of their stupid disagreement over the church’s history. And when he’d come to her, offering an apology, she’d told him to get lost. Well, it served her right if she was miserable, when she’d treated him so badly. She squared her shoulders and put up her chin. She’d probably lost his friendship forever, but she could at least rescue a little of her dignity. She would write to him, apologise for her own behaviour. It wouldn’t put everything right, of course, but at least it might make her feel a little better. With a sigh she turned to leave.

  “Oh!”

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Toby was standing in the doorway. As he stepped forward she saw his anxious frown, the lines of strain around the eyes behind the glasses.

  “How—how long have you been there?”

  He shrugged. “Just arrived. Saw you making your way here, and after debating whether or not I should, I followed you in. Please—I haven’t come to gloat,” he added quickly.

  “I didn’t think that. I know that’s not the sort of thing you would do.” She drew a breath. “I’m glad you’ve come. I want to apologise, for what I sai—”

  “There’s no need. We both overreacted.” His grin made a fleeting appearance. “Your carnival was a success.”

  “You watched it?”

  “Uh-huh. Saw the lot, including some very realistic battle scenes.”

  “Totally unscripted.” She couldn’t prevent a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I think the committee is very pleased.”

  “But you’re not?”

  She spread her hands. “I wanted so much to prove that old Hugh was a Templar and that he built this church. I suppose it became something of an obsession. Not very professional, is it?”

  “No, but it happens to lots of historians. And we did find a link, didn’t we? A mention of Hugh going off to the Crusades.”

  “Yes, enough to tie in with the legend, but I wanted more. I don’t like to think of poor old Hugh dying in the Holy Land.”

  He shrugged. “You’re looking back nearly a thousand years, Anne. Sometimes the voices get a bit muted.” He walked past her, picking his way through the piles of lifted flagstones towards the Lady Chapel. The iron gates had been removed and the floor taken up completely.

  “That’s where the leak first appeared,” she said, following him.

  The sunshine glowed through the windows, and Anne felt that familiar lifting of her spirits.

  It is worth it, she thought. It’s worth all the effort to save this beautiful church.

  “Anne.” Toby was staring at the effigy of Hugh de Moreton. “Anne, come here. Look.”

  As she moved up beside him, he stretched out his hand, pointing to where the floor in front of the effigy had been removed. Anne stared, hardly daring to believe what she was seeing.

  The stone feet that had seemed to rest so naturally on the flagstones were now revealed to have a stone plinth beneath them, a square block carved with a simple cross and two crossed daggers. Beneath it were four clear-cut Roman numerals. MCCX.

  Even as she struggled to make the calculation, Toby spoke.

  “Twelve hundred and ten.” He crouched and ran his finger over the carving. “Perfect. The later floor has protected it all these years. Sacrilege, of course, to cover up the base like that, but there you are.”

  “But…that makes the church eight hundred years old.”

  “Or even eight hundred and one.”

  Anne found herself grinning. “So Hugh did get back! But what about the stone beside him? The inscription?”

  “I’d wager it’s the relic of a later Hugh, probably a descendant, built into the wall at the same time as old Hugh’s effigy, when the church was remodelled. Looking at it now, comparing it with the effigy, I can see it’s a different kind of stone, from a later period. Everyone just assumed they belong to the same man. I wonder.” He walked towards the altar. The flagstones had been removed and he jumped down between the old heating pipes.

  Anne watched him, mystified. “What are you doing?”

  “You’ll see.” Picking up a piece of rag, he rubbed away the brown silt. “Look. Glazed tiles—early medieval, I’d say.” He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice. “This one has a cross on it�
��and this one—look—the cross on a chequered background—symbol of the Templars.”

  He moved over towards the wall. “And look here, Anne. You can see the original footings—the wall came round—it continues the curve of this existing wall behind the altar, forming a circular building.” He looked up at her, grinning. “Of course, we’d have to contact the archaeological department at the university, get them to verify it, but I’m pretty certain it’s your answer. A Templar burial and a Templar chapel. It’s the proof we were looking for!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Moreton Manor, AD 1209

  The afternoon sun poured through the unglazed window and fell on Hugo. He shifted uncomfortably and sank back into his dreams.

  “No…no…we should return…We must fight!”

  “Uncle—uncle! Wake up, sir.”

  The voice dragged him back to the present. He stared at the face above him and for a few moments looked uncomprehending at the young man smiling down at him, until memory returned.

  “Hugh. Nephew.”

  “You need not fear now, sir.” The young man gripped his shoulder. “You are safe. You are home.”

  Home. The word was comforting and he gazed around the room, then back to the window. He had asked for his bed to be moved, so that he could look out over the courtyard and beyond to a rise on the far side of the river, where a little round chapel was being built, its shape distorted by the spider’s web of scaffolding about its walls.

  Young Hugh sat on the edge of the bed and watched him patiently. “Are you in pain, sir? Shall I fetch you a sleeping draught?”

  “No, not yet. You think me foolish, boy, or a villain?”

  “Neither, sir. I will always think you—a Crusader.” The young man sighed. “I wish I could do as you did.”

  “Nay, lad. That’s no vocation. Your father has built Moreton into a goodly estate. As his successor you must continue his work. You are five-and-twenty now, it is time to find yourself a good lady and secure the family.” He paused. “I loved a woman once, you know.”