By noon she was starving but too embarrassed to ask the Irish couple for anything, so she took the car and drove to the nearest village, bought some newspapers, and had a glass of beer and a Croque Monsieur at a gastro-pub. By and large the townspeople were doughy and white and reserved with her, but she was still glad to be there. The sudden break from New York continued to feel invigorating and before returning there she would be able to give London its due, shopping and seeing old friends.
When she got back into the car, she called and reached Fiona.
‘I told you she was a bit mad,’ Fiona said, laughing. ‘But Mother loves her; says she can be a lot of fun once you get to know her.’
‘Fun?’
‘Not in a social way. She’s a bit of a hermit, I think. But in a quirky way.’
‘I just wish she would get to the point.’
‘You just arrived. It’s gorgeous, no?’
‘Oh my God.’
‘A bit lonely I expect.’
‘Lonely is not so bad after the last five months with Nathan.’
‘Lose him. Do yourself a favour.’
‘You mean do you a favour.’
‘Do us both a favour. It would be nice to have you around without a jailer.’
Laura was reluctant to go on arguing about Nathan because it often had the effect of drawing her closer to him.
Jet lag and the beer got the best of her and she was sound asleep when Camilla returned that afternoon, something she feared might put another check mark into the negative column. But Camilla showed no signs of disapproval and they had a pleasant drink before dinner during which Laura learned all about Camilla’s passion for horses.
That night it was a rack of lamb, cream of spinach and mashed potatoes, with a twenty-year-old Burgundy of the sort that Nathan would never allow her to order even if she were paying.
‘You mentioned that you have a ThD,’ Camilla said at dinner. ‘What is that exactly?’
‘It’s the equivalent of a doctorate degree, but in theology.’
‘So, you must be religious.’
‘Not really, no.’
‘You’ve no spiritual feelings?’
‘Yes and no.’ She wanted to tread carefully here. ‘I understand, in general terms, how religions came about. I mean it’s one of my fields of study. And I can sympathize with why people seek comfort in them, and I find many religious paintings and texts extraordinarily beautiful. I adore churches and temples and mosques, just sitting in them, for the peace they offer, but I also find it … well, curious, in an age when we know so much, to see religion still having such a powerful sway in so many parts of the world. It astonishes me really.’
‘You don’t believe in any sort of deity.’
Laura decided to throw caution to the wind.
‘How could one really?’
Camilla smiled, a real one this time. ‘I appreciate your honesty.’
‘Did I just give the wrong answer? I don’t mean to be disrespectful to anyone.’
‘No. I quite understand your point of view. What I may believe, or wish to believe, is probably determined by my background.’
‘Growing up with Robert Graves surely exposed you to all the great mythologies, no?’
‘More than I could count.’
‘I devoured The Golden Bough in college.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Camilla said.
They finished their wine.
‘I find most people’s religious beliefs come from a very emotional place,’ Laura went on, ‘and that they’re cultural, and that people really don’t spend all that much time thinking about what it is that they profess to believe in.’
‘So, I suppose it’s science you believe in then?’
‘I don’t believe in it; I mean I guess what I “believe in” might be the scientific method.’
‘But many of the texts you’ve translated have been religious in nature, no?’
‘It is paradoxical, I admit. But what I love most about what I do is the uncovering, bringing back human thoughts written down in code, as it were, deciphering actual feelings that were put down and then lost.’
Camilla refreshed their glasses without waiting for Finn.
‘Have you ever signed a confidentiality agreement?’
That seemed to come out of nowhere.
‘Once before, yes.’
‘Good.’
‘Why? Is that going to be necessary?’
‘I’m afraid so. But it would be just a formality. Well – tomorrow we can continue.’
Camilla rang a small bell by her plate and rose from the table. Laura followed suit.
‘Can you just tell me one thing?’ Laura asked, almost biting her tongue.
‘Yes?’
‘Where did the … whatever it is, originate?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ Camilla said, stealing a glance at herself in a mirror. ‘I’m hoping that’s something that can be deduced. I mean I know the story I’ve been told over the years. But the amazing thing is that no one in my family, myself included, ever had the curiosity to try and find out for sure.’
Chapter 4
Though she could have slept til noon, Laura made a point of appearing at the breakfast table at seven thirty sharp. Camilla came in a minute later, greeted her, and placed a folder next to Laura’s plate. It was the NDA.
‘If you could read and sign it, I am prepared to offer you the position.’
‘Really? What about the Oxford professors?’
‘I spoke with my son last night and we both agreed we’d rather go with you. To be perfectly frank, I’m not terribly good at this sort of thing and the idea of having to meet two more candidates, perfect strangers, is beyond me.’
It was not the most ringing endorsement, but Laura took it. She began to peruse the document.
‘You should read it carefully,’ Camilla said.
She did and saw nothing she had not seen before; she made sure there was a provision allowing her to publish her findings once a possible auction had gone through. She signed it with the pen she had been using to solve a crossword.
‘There you are,’ she said, handing it to Camilla.
‘Splendid. Oh, and we have to speak of terms, of remuneration.’
‘All right.’
‘What do you normally earn, say over the course of a year?’
‘Hard to say, maybe, oh, like sixty-five thousand dollars – for a full year.’
‘I’m willing to pay you the equivalent in pounds of a hundred thousand dollars for as long as it takes you, which shouldn’t be more than a month or so I imagine, and with the option to renegotiate if it goes on too long. How does that seem?’
‘Very generous,’ Laura replied, even though the word ‘extremely’ was what came to mind. It would be what Nathan made for a full year.
‘Good.’
‘I have to say, I thought I was failing the audition.’
‘Why?’
‘Insecurity I suppose – not about my competency – but about selling myself. I hate doing it and I’m not any good at it. And then the fact I’ve come to you through a friend rather than through more official channels. That sort of thing.’
‘For me, that is just a pleasant coincidence,’ Camilla said. ‘We shall see of course, but my general impression is that you’ll do a perfectly good job of it.’
As Laura tried to conceal her glee at the rate just agreed upon, Camilla poured herself more tea and looked out at the garden, one she had been contemplating all her life. She felt a sudden pang for the only house she considered to be truly her own, far away from the windy sea down the hill: her hideaway in the pines of Mallorca. Laura felt another craving for a cigarette, so she helped herself to an additional piece of toast. Camilla rang the bell again and stood up.
‘Shall we have a look?’
‘By all means.’
They made their way into the library. Camilla went up to a section of shelving at shoulder level and removed an end
volume. ‘You’ll find this amusing – straight from the movies.’ She reached her hand into the shelving and Laura heard a distinct click. Then Camilla pushed against the shelves and the whole section became a door that opened inwards. ‘Voila.’
‘Amazing.’
‘I’ve been coming to this house since I was six and only found out about this five years ago. This part of the house dates from the sixteenth century. These secret spaces were originally made for priests to have a place to say mass during the reign of Queen Elizabeth.’
‘A priest hole,’ Laura said.
‘Exactly. Many of the passageways were sealed when they put in central heating between the wars, but this chamber proved to be an ideal place to hide the family treasure apparently.’
She flipped a light switch. The room was square-shaped, fifteen feet wide by fifteen long, the floor carpeted, wall to wall. On a wooden side table there was some electrical monitoring equipment, some of it with a dated look featuring dials and indicator needles, some of it more recent and digital. In the middle of the room stood a large, glass display case containing the remains of an ancient scroll and a pair of leather-bound codices.
‘Oh my goodness,’ was all Laura could think to say.
They approached the case and stared into it.
‘Let me turn off the alarm,’ Camilla said, moving to the side table and punching a code into a keypad. Then she retrieved two pairs of sterile latex gloves from a dispenser full of them. ‘The case is kept as free from humidity as possible.’
Laura just kept staring. Even as she took her set of gloves and put them on, she could not tear her gaze away.
‘Do you have any idea how old they are?’
‘My son James looked into that for me. I gave him samples of the parchment, of the papyrus and the vellums and he took them to a place called the Oxford Radiocarbon Accelerator Unit, who were most thorough about it.’
‘What did they say?’
‘Approximately 60 CE for the scroll, around 390 CE for the older codex and 1285 or so for this one that’s written in old French.’
‘Really!’
Camilla carefully removed the top of the display case. She reached down and untied satin ribbons dyed a Lenten purple hue that had been added a century earlier to hold the leather cover of the codices in place. Then she removed the cover and put it gently to the side, away from the scroll, revealing to their eyes the top sheet of vellum parchment and its sea of ancient French. There were no illustrations, just script.
‘This is very exciting.’
‘I’m glad you think so.’
‘Do you have any idea what they are?’
‘The only thing my mother told me,’ she said, pointing, ‘was that a great-great-great-grandmother of ours, who was French, tried to make sense of this one and declared it to be “a sea yarn,” as she called it. But that was the most she could glean from it.’
The older codex was written in ancient Greek. From the small scraps available to her and without doing any further damage to the scroll that was in a sorry state, Laura could see that it was written in Aramaic. Camilla gave her the alarm code and left her to it. After doing an intensive comparison that took up the rest of her morning, she determined that the Greek codex was probably a faithful translation of the Aramaic scroll. But the old French codex, copied from the Greek, had introduced some changes. This being the case, she decided to first translate the Greek codex, the carbon date of which placed it in the same year that, upon the decree of Theodosius, the Serapeum library was destroyed in Alexandria. Might it have come from there? And if so, how had it happened that these three versions of the same text came to rest in Cornwall? It boggled her mind.
Chapter 5
Laura translated the opening pages from the ancient Greek codex in the following manner:
In light of my advanced years, the pains in my heart, and of what befell my nephew in Jerusalem, I feel compelled to put an end to the rumours his death has given birth to. My scribe shall put down here what I know. Word has reached me that the Mashiah story runs like fire through dry brush, argued by the Pharisees in the Sanhedrin. Perhaps the tale shall fade as time progresses and be cast into the pit of superstition where it belongs, these Mashiah dreams that keep men from watching the sun set in peace, that keep men in caves of ignorance.
I failed, in the end, to persuade Yeshua to keep hold of the simple beauty of flesh and blood. After his wife and their two children passed away, he returned to Jerusalem, to resume his earlier dream of being a teacher. He left behind the young life of his one remaining son. I have forgiven him, concluding he was mad with grief. His was a good and loving soul, who turned away from the world I offered him with its pleasures and woes, and returned to the darker world of superstition, sin, and suffering. I am told his followers claim he came back to life after his execution, and that he rose into the heavens. They say he was divine, that he was the son of God. But I know what I know, and I have seen too many men die vile deaths and seen what becomes of their bodies, the very same thing that happens to beasts and fowl. Therefore, I shall make this testament, and tell of things that I have lived, and do my best to celebrate my nephew’s humanity.
Laura was riveted. Excitement pumped through her heart; excitement mixed with deep suspicion. She was tempted to call an expert she knew and ask some key questions. But given the restraints of her agreement, she would have to put that off. What was clear to her already was that, even if the content of the texts was false, her career in the field, simply based on what she had before her, on how old the texts were, would be guaranteed. The three documents resting in the glass display case would merit decades of study, all over the world.
Unable to resist translating the next section she skipped lunch and continued working through the whole day.
My niece, Miryam, invited me to her home. She was the fairest of three sisters and the one who had displeased her mother and my brother by marrying a simple joiner. Yeshua was her eldest son and she was fraught with concern for him. She said to me ‘We are pained for he continues to argue with the Sadducees and the Pharisees of the temple. He tells us he is a prophet. When he finishes working with his father each day, he studies the books of the Tanakh, and since the first signs of manliness have settled upon him, he shows scant interest in any of the maidens who live nearby.’
I sat down next to her and said to her, ‘Is he negligent in his work with Yosef?’ ‘No,’ she said. ‘And does he argue well with the Sadducees and the Pharisees at the temple?’ ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And does he learn the texts of the Tanakh?’ ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And does he show interest in other young men?’
‘No!’ she said, putting a hand to her mouth.
‘Then you are graced,’ I said to her.
She went for a pitcher of water and poured me a cup and said to me, ‘Though we be graced we fear for him, for already the Pharisees and their Rabbis speak of him.’ And I smiled at her and rested my hand on her simple cloak and said, ‘The story you and Yosef often told of the three foreigners who rested in that stable when you fled the dictum of Herod, and of the star that shone so brightly, and the lambs that lay about you on the night Yeshua was born, has brought this upon you.’
‘Do not be cruel with me,’ she said. And I said to her, ‘I only wish to see you smile as you did before you became a mother and a joiner’s wife.’ ‘It is too late for that,’ she said, and as she said it, I hoped it was not so, for she was still fair and beguiling, and little changed from when she had been a maiden. ‘What would you have me do?’ I asked her, already knowing her response, for her husband had visited me and told me of their wishes. ‘We would ask that you take him with you when you next set forth for the Cassiterite Isles, so that he might see more of the larger world for a time and less of this one.’
Chapter 6
When she was able to calm down and accept the probability that the texts were apocryphal, the last thing she did before resetting the alarm and closing the chamber was to met
iculously photograph each fragile sheet of both codices and the available scraps of Aramaic written on the disintegrating papyrus scroll. Then she copied the photographs onto her laptop before erasing them from her phone for security’s sake. Working from the photographs, she would not have to risk damaging the originals any further. She went upstairs, took a bath and, before coming down to dinner, sent a brief email to Fiona, simply saying that she had been offered and had accepted the job.
That evening’s meal was a shrimp cocktail, filet of sole meunière with rice, and a bottle of white wine.
‘It’s a Pouilly Fumé, La Doucette; it was my mother’s favourite for everyday use.’
Laura took a sip. ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, even though she found the taste a bit too acidic.
‘What, if anything, have you been able to discover?’ Camilla asked, as Finn stood by holding the bottle for all to see.
Laura shared only some of what she had gleaned.
‘So, they are three versions of the same text,’ Camilla said.
‘I’m almost certain.’
‘But the most recent one, the one in French, is altered for some reason?’
‘That’s how it seems at the moment.’
‘And you understand what you are reading. I mean, do you think you can translate them?’
‘Yes, I do. I can translate the codices. The scroll requires a level of professional care and scrutiny beyond our resources here. But I can supervise that when the time comes.’
‘Splendid. And, do you suppose they might be as valuable as my mother seemed to think?’
‘Regardless of what they contain,’ Laura said, ‘they have great value just as objects. I’ve never heard of a text available in three different periods of antiquity gathered together in one place. And if it turns out that the subject of the text or its author have significance, well the value would increase significantly.’
‘I suppose it’s too early to know anything about that.’
The Secret of Provence House Page 3
