The Secret of Provence House

by Aubrey Rhodes

  Who was I to tell him she had been charged by Claudius to seduce him? Who was I to stain this memory he had just depicted with such passion, by relaying the level of amusement and satisfaction that had spread through the villa once the servant girl came down from the temple with the news? For perhaps it took place just as he described it. In the end, after all, the scorpion bite had not been staged, and though it had been she who engineered the sleeping arrangements, it was he who took the initiative by kissing her breasts. Surely a young woman so beautiful saw in him a worthy reflection. His tale, as he told it to me that night, when all of us, en route to Spain and Belerion, were thankful to be on land through such a storm, had a simplicity and authenticity to it that leads me to think he seduced her as much as she him.

  Laura sat back in her chair. This last story, dictated so long ago, had moved her and even turned her on. As she saved the document before turning off the computer, she smiled at the thought that perhaps it had been Joseph of Arimathea who had made up or embellished the story, and that she might be dealing with an unreliable narrator, or at least one who, like the best storytellers, was not above altering or elaborating here and there, sacrificing objectivity when necessary for the greater good of a tale better rendered.

  Chapter 18

  She was so entranced by this last translation that she lost track of time. It allowed her to put aside the tensions that had come her way due to James and Carmensina’s visit. Determined to avoid ruining the pleasant state she was in and not wishing to risk asking Camilla for permission to take the Land Rover into town, for fear she might try to change her mind, Laura went into the kitchen and asked Finn MacShane.

  ‘Well of course you may. As far as Mrs Trevelyan is concerned, ever since we returned your rented car, the Land Rover is for your use for as long as you are here with us.’

  Laura noted how the hawk-like man never used Camilla’s full, married surname. She assumed it was just a bit too foreign for his taste.

  ‘I’m going to have dinner with a friend at the local pub, so I won’t be at table this evening.’

  He gave her a look indicating that he saw through her blarney, ‘And might, by any chance, the Missus know?’

  ‘For that I was counting on you Finn, who knows just how and when to break such news.’

  Doubtful, he aimed another stare at her.

  ‘Would you mind terribly?’ she added, giving him the most fetching and imploring look she could muster. ‘I don’t want to upset her, and I think everyone’s dinner will go more smoothly this way.’

  ‘All right, Miss.’

  When she got to town around seven thirty, she decided to try the more traditional of the two pubs. The one where she had eaten lunch on the day before she was hired was a gastro-pub that boasted two large flat screen TVs showing rugby matches. It was a loud place that played to a younger crowd. The other had an older and darker look that appealed to her more that evening. All she wanted was a booth and a table where she could read and have some real pub food and a pint or two without getting hit on. The older one also had the advantage of being called The Wounded Hart. As she came inside and found a table, she saw there was no television and there were two autographed photos of Tom Jones hung over the sticky wooden bar, one of the Welsh crooner, the other of Albert Finney as Fielding’s protagonist.

  During her meal she pored over a New Yorker brought with her from London, and before ordering some pudding she went outside to have a cigarette, justifying it with all that was going on around her. She was pleased to note it tasted awful and she put it out quickly. Before going back inside she toyed with the idea of phoning Fiona to gossip, and of phoning Nathan to check in, but neither notion was strong enough to spur her into action. By the time she finished a stale tarte tatin and a cup of decaf she asked for her bill, figuring it was late enough to return to Camilla’s and go up to her room without having to see anyone. Then James walked in. He saw her, smiled, and came up to her.

  ‘There you are.’

  ‘Hello,’ she said.

  She truly hoped she was not blushing, or that if she were it would not be so apparent in the dimly lit space.

  ‘I tried the other one first and just assumed I’d missed you or that you’d gone to some other village. Never expected to find you in here.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Fine. Carmensina and Noelma and the girls went back to the cottage after dinner and I stayed at the house to chat with Mother whereupon she promptly insisted I come and find you to apologize for this morning.’

  ‘There was no need for that.’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure that’s true and, besides, I had the distinct impression there really was something you wanted to talk with me about. Can I buy you a brandy?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, removing her coat and sitting down again, agreeing to a drink she had never enjoyed. He raised a hand to the bartender and then realized he would have to go and order it himself.

  ‘How was your meal?’

  ‘Wonderful. Just what I wanted.’

  He looked around. ‘I haven’t been in here for years. My father used to love this place. It hasn’t changed at all.’

  ‘How was your meal?’

  ‘Fine. An immense Scottish salmon with béarnaise sauce, carrots, and a good Côtes du Rhône. You were missed.’

  She let the remark go and her smiling silence cued him to approach the bar. Laura regretted the cigarette. After being so good to her throat these past weeks she had sent waves of burning smoke back against it and now there would be some firewater to boot. It also irked her, for some reason, that he might smell the smoke on her, although she realized that living with a woman who looked like she went through two packs a day had probably inured him to it. He returned holding two small snifters and handed her one.

  ‘Something that has changed is the brandy selection,’ he said. ‘It’s not what it used to be. This’ll have to do I’m afraid.’ She took a sip and looked at him. He seemed more relaxed, the Côtes du Rhône perhaps, and surely a drink or two before dinner, or maybe it was just being away from the estate.

  ‘I did want to speak with you,’ she said. ‘Not to tell you anything I haven’t already said to Camilla, but I’m a bit concerned that she has yet to take what I’ve been telling her seriously enough.’

  ‘I’m all yours,’ he said.

  ‘Has she told you what it is I’m working on? In any detail, I mean.’

  ‘No. I mean the damn things have been around forever, so I know they’re very old.’

  ‘I hope she won’t mind my telling you. I suspect she wants me to. But you must promise me that, for now and during the near future, you’ll not tell anyone.’ She leaned forward, ‘Anyone.’

  ‘What the deuce is it? And yes, I can promise you that.’

  ‘They are three, very beautiful, very valuable, and very explosive documents. Camilla seems focused on their potential monetary value, while I’m more concerned about the explosive part.’

  ‘Explosive in what way?’

  ‘The scroll – and the codices that are Greek and medieval French translations of it – if authentic, is a memoir written by Joseph of Arimathea who was the uncle of Jesus Christ. In it he tells the tale of a trip they took together when Christ was seventeen years old, from Nazareth all the way here to Cornwall. Joseph of Arimathea was a wealthy tin merchant and did business with Cornwall tin miners. So far, and I’m about three quarters of the way through it, they have reached Sicily on the voyage out. At one point, Christ has been sold into slavery and rescued. And this afternoon I translated a passage in which he is seduced by a beautiful maiden, a high-end call girl perhaps, who kept a private temple dedicated to the Roman goddess Minerva.’

  ‘My God.’

  ‘Well, exactly.’

  ‘And are they authentic?’

  ‘It was you who brought the samples to Oxford, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. They seemed quite convinced of their findings.’


  ‘So, there’s an excellent chance they are authentic, in which case, once they go up for sale, if that is what you decide to do with them, and word gets out about what they contain, the reaction, worldwide, is going to be significant.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘I’m sure of it. Various religious communities will be up in arms and questioning the whole enterprise. The scrutiny brought to bear will be massive and the media attention unrelenting. I mean, I am actually worried that droves of angry people might come down here and picket the estate. That sort of thing. Not to mention random lunatics looking to shoot heretics. Camilla has heard me out on this, but I don’t have the impression she’s really thinking about it, which is why I’m telling you.’

  He took a larger than usual sip of his brandy.

  ‘I hear you,’ he said in that British accent she enjoyed listening to. ‘I’m glad you’re telling me,’ he said looking away. Then he looked at her again, ‘I understand. And the first thing that occurs to me is that by the time word does get out, the scroll and the codices should be somewhere else, somewhere safe, like within a serious bank vault in London. I’ll call Sotheby’s and make a general inquiry about how things like this might be handled.’

  ‘Thank you, James. That’s the sort of suggestion I wanted to hear coming from someone other than myself. I think you and Camilla will also need someone to run interference. Your phones will be ringing off the hook. Your lives will be changed, for a while anyway. Do your daughters attend a religious school in Barcelona?’

  ‘Hmm. Hadn’t thought of that. They do, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I’m just trying to think of everything. This will be on the cover of every magazine and newspaper around the world. Hopefully it will all blow over after a while.’

  ‘They’ll be coming after you the most, surely?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Are you ready for that?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  ‘Did you have any idea what you were getting yourself into?’

  ‘None. But I’m thrilled. Don’t get me wrong, this is the best thing, professionally, that could ever happen to me. The work itself is very moving, and I’m doing my best to get it right. I’m trying to make the translation as contemporary as possible. But no matter how it comes out, or how long I might have to work on it, people will be criticizing it, some of them viciously, until the day I die. I’ve no doubt about that at all.’

  ‘You’re brave.’

  ‘Not really. Not yet anyhow. Anyone I know in my field would have killed to get this opportunity.’

  He finished his drink.

  ‘You can have the rest of mine if you’d like,’ she said, moving her glass over to his side of the table. ‘I’m actually not much of a brandy drinker.’

  He smiled and took it into his hand, ‘Thank you for this Laura, for bringing this to my attention. Let me give it all some serious thought.’

  ‘You’ll find it does need to sink in a bit. It’s been that way for me. And I do worry about your mother. I’ve come to care for her a great deal, and I’m concerned this whole thing may end up making her unhappy. The publicity might be overwhelming, and your family will be looked at through a microscope. Or maybe I’m just being an alarmist and it will go much more smoothly than I fear.’

  ‘No, I think it’s wise to prepare for the worst. You’re quite right about that. She cares for you too by the way. She was furious about this morning – something I only did to please Carmensina who gets a bit insecure sometimes and it comes out as hostility, I’m afraid.’

  She decided not to say anything negative or positive about Carmensina and it led them into a brief and awkward silence.

  ‘We should be getting back I suppose,’ she said, ‘I mean, for your sake.’

  He sat back and sighed and did take a sip from her glass. Then they looked at each other.

  ‘I’m glad we could talk like this,’ he said.

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I understand you’re a pal of Fiona Phillips.’

  ‘It was she who put your mother onto me. Here I’ve been slaving away in the academic world all these years and it ends up being Fiona of all people who sets me up with the best job I’ll ever have.’

  ‘Say hello to her for me next time you see her. I’ve known her all my life it seems.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘She’s a force of nature.’

  ‘That she is. Why not call her yourself? I have her mobile.’

  He took another sip of the brandy and shifted about in his chair. ‘Don’t know about that.’

  ‘She’s over you if that’s what you’re concerned about.’

  ‘Ah. She told you.’

  ‘We’re old friends.’

  ‘Of course. And you say she’s well.’

  ‘Very well – madly in love with some fellow – still going out every night. I get exhausted sometimes just hearing about it.’

  He downed the rest of her brandy.

  ‘Have you ever been married?’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s a tricky business sometimes, I assure you.’

  ‘I’ve noticed. I mean, not you … Everyone I know is either divorced or just about to be.’

  ‘Quite.’

  It was clear to her he was closing up and she regretted going on about Fiona.

  He walked her to the Land Rover. The night had turned foggy and the bonnet and windshield were covered in mist. With the exception of the gastro-pub where some light and motion still glimmered, the little village, all of two blocks long, was dark and abandoned. The air reeked of sea.

  ‘How is this car holding up?’ he said.

  ‘Fine. I mean I know nothing about cars. Tonight is the first time I’ve used it. Makes me feel like Isak Dinesen.’

  She unlocked it and he held the door open for her as she climbed up behind the wheel.

  ‘You know, Laura, I’d love to read it – what you’re working on – to have a look at it. If that would be all right.’

  ‘It’s still very much a work in progress.’

  ‘Of course. Well, when you’re ready …’

  ‘No, but I would like you to read it. It would do me good to share it. Funnily enough, Camilla has never asked to see anything yet. I tell her what I’ve read in bits and pieces and she seems to be fine with that.’

  ‘She’s very respectful of your expertise and doesn’t want to disturb you, I think. Perhaps I should do likewise.’

  ‘I’d like you to read it. Thing is, I don’t want to print it out yet or send it to anyone by email. But you could read it from my computer screen in the library.’

  ‘Understood. We’re off tomorrow morning before lunch but if I can find a way to finagle it …’

  ‘I’ll be in the library all morning.’

  They drove back to the estate together, him leading the way. There were no other vehicles on the road. He waved to her as he went on toward the cottage and she blinked the lights of the Land Rover at him before parking. She went into the kitchen to hang the keys back in their place and found Camilla in a bathrobe and slippers standing at the stove warming some milk.

  ‘Hello there,’ Laura said.

  Camilla turned and smiled, ‘Hello dear. You caught me.’

  ‘At what?’

  ‘Making myself some Spanish cocoa. It’s one of my favourite things, since childhood. Would you care for some?’

  ‘No thank you. I think I’ll just have a glass of water.’

  ‘It helps me sleep; though it really shouldn’t, but such is the force of habit.’

  ‘I just had the nicest meeting with James thanks to you.’

  ‘Good. He improves considerably one on one, don’t you think?’

  ‘I do.’

  James let himself into the cottage like a burglar and was relieved to find everyone sound asleep. He undressed and brushed his teeth in the dark and stealthily slipped into bed next to Carmensina. He felt a tug at his heart at the tho
ught of having to leave the following day. Each time they came for a visit he inevitably resolved to spend more time there, to take a good portion of their summer holiday there for example, but it never seemed to happen. Something always got in the way. The pull of Carmensina’s family who always insisted they stay with them near the Costa Brava, the children’s desire to be close to their cousins, or having to oversee some badly needed repair job of one sort or another at Camilla’s house in Mallorca. But this was where he felt best, this house and its surrounding countryside that never failed him.

  He also realized part of him was excited by his encounter with Laura. It had felt on some level like an illicit date, at The Wounded Hart of all places. Being alone with her and speaking about such extraordinary things so alien to his normal life had ignited something inside him. She was stylish in a particular New York way he had always found intimidating and appealing in equal measure. He’d always felt that Manhattan women saw right through you. A man’s old-world European manners, the stratagems established for getting along and for impressing people, though viewed as charming at first, were processed rapidly by these women, and if you did not have something more substantial to say or show for yourself, they generally moved on without a second thought. But Laura had something European about her as well; she was at ease in new surroundings, and seemed free from any compulsion to talk about herself or to draw unsolicited comparisons between where she was and where she came from. And there she was in flesh and blood back at the house, immersed in bringing his peculiar family heirloom to light, thanks to his mother’s sudden resolve.