Chapter 6
6
‘I feel incredibly peaceful,’ I say quietly to Jock. The service has just finished and we’re sitting in our seats soaking up the atmosphere of Westminster Abbey.
‘I know what you mean,’ he replies. ‘I’m not especially religious, but there’s something about being in a place like this and experiencing a ritual that’s taken place, probably unchanged, for hundreds of years.’
‘That piece they sang in the middle was so atmospheric. It sounds silly, but I actually felt quite emotional. What was it?’
He looks at the service sheet. ‘“Miserere” by Gregorio Allegri.’
‘Are you two all right?’ We look up to see one of the attendants gazing at us curiously. I’m sure there’s a special name for whatever he is, but I have no idea what it is.
‘Sorry, do we need to go?’
‘We’ll be locking up soon, but if you need some time for private prayer, I can come and get you in a few minutes.’
‘No, it’s fine, thank you. We were just saying how incredible the piece the choir sang in the middle of the service was.’
‘The anthem? Yes, it’s one of my favourites. It reminds us not only of our inherent sinfulness and wickedness, but more importantly of God’s great mercy. There’s a bit of a story attached to it, actually.’
‘Go on,’ I encourage him as we follow him towards the entrance.
‘According to legend, it was only allowed to be performed in the Sistine Chapel and nobody outside the Vatican was permitted to see the sheet music. However, it escaped because Mozart heard it, memorised it and wrote it all down, which is why we’re able to perform it today.’
‘Is that true?’
‘I doubt it, but it makes a good tale, doesn’t it? You do need a capable choir to perform it though, because the soloist has to hit a top C, and there aren’t that many people who can do it reliably.’
‘I did notice the boy who did it getting looks from his colleagues.’
‘Yes, I expect he’ll be dining out on that for a while. Do you live locally?’
‘It depends what you mean by local. We’re in London, yes.’
‘Well, do feel free to come anytime. We have Evensong every day. The times vary, but they’re all published on our website.’
‘Thank you, we might just do that.’
‘I can’t believe you got me to go to church and I enjoyed it,’ I say to Jock as we make our way towards the bus stop.
‘I did too. Although I don’t think I’d want to do it every day, would you?’
‘No. It would be like eating in a Michelin-starred restaurant every night; the magic would wear off pretty quickly. It needs to be a special occasion thing. Do you think God likes it? Or is he sitting up there on his cloud angrily shouting, “Change the tune!”’
‘Maybe churches are like radio stations. He just tunes in to whichever one he’s in the mood for.’
I smile. ‘I like that idea.’
The bus is just leaving as we get to the stop and the board tells us there will be a fifteen-minute wait for the next one. Although it’s still light, the heat has gone out of the day and I shiver in the cold breeze.
‘Are you OK?’ Jock asks. ‘We could take the Tube if you’d rather. At least it will be warm.’
‘No. I want to be outdoors. It sounds stupid, but I don’t want to waste a moment of this week, and being underground feels wasteful.’
‘Fair enough. I’d offer you my coat, but I don’t have one. We could do the penguin thing, I guess.’
‘What penguin thing?’
‘I was reading about it while we were at the zoo. When male Emperor penguins are looking after the eggs, they all huddle together in a circle. The problem is, while that’s lovely for the penguins in the middle, who are kept warm, it’s not so much fun for the ones on the outside.’
‘I can see that.’
‘So they shuffle constantly in a kind of spiral, which means that everyone takes a turn on the outside but gets more time in the middle.’
‘How does that apply to us?’
‘Well, if I stand with my back to the breeze, you could stand in front of me and take shelter.’
‘What, and then we swap over after a bit? I don’t think I’m going to make a very good shelter for you, somehow.’
‘You’re right. It wasn’t the best analogy, but I don’t mind staying on the outside. This is tropical weather compared to some of what I grew up with.’
Although we’ve spooned and held hands already today, they were both strictly accidental, to begin with at least. Consciously snuggling into his chest feels too intimate. However, I have to admit that the warmth coming off him as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close is very welcome. After a moment’s hesitation, I snake my arms around his back and squeeze him tight in return. I can feel myself relaxing as I breathe in the comforting scents of soap and fabric conditioner, and I can’t help feeling a slight pang of disappointment when the bus finally arrives and he lets go so we can scramble aboard.
‘You know what would make today absolutely perfect?’ I ask him. The bus is crowded so we’re having to stand, but I don’t mind.
‘No, what?’
‘A glass of wine in a pub somewhere. Not just any old pub, but one overlooking a river, where we can sit outside because they’ve got those outdoor heaters.’
‘That does sound nice, I agree. I don’t think we have time before the curfew kicks in though.’
‘I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Yeah, it’s a pain. Bloody curfew.’
‘It’s better than the alternative, I suppose.’
He sighs. ‘You’re right, but it’s still a pity. The rest of the world is getting ready to kick back with a drink after a long day in the office, and we’ve got to skulk back to the hotel of shame, running the gauntlet of Robin bloody Bugg on the way.’
‘Who?’
‘The journalist from this morning. I’m pretty sure that’s what he said his name was.’
‘He’s got to have lost interest by now, hasn’t he?’
‘We can hope. It’s an unfortunate name for a journalist, isn’t it?’ he observes. ‘Bugg – kind of implies he’s squashable. I wouldn’t mind squashing him. Maybe I will, if he’s still there.’
‘Yeah, I’m sure the police won’t take a dim view of that at all,’ I say, nudging him in the ribs.
‘I’ll threaten him with harassment then.’
‘I’m not sure you can do that either, if it’s in a public place. What a loathsome way to earn a living.’
‘He probably thinks that about us, to be fair to the little rodent.’
‘You have to choose. Rodent or bug, you can’t have both.’
‘And there, ladies and gentlemen, is the pedantic Beatrice we all know and love.’
‘You’re not funny.’
He grins. ‘Only kidding. Oh, I think this is our stop.’
We’re both on high alert as we make our way along the street to the rear entrance of the hotel, but thankfully there’s no sign of the journalist, and we make it inside unmolested.
We’re in the kitchen debating what to have for dinner when the rear door buzzer sounds again. The CCTV shows a uniformed policeman, and my heart is in my mouth as I hurry to open it. Has he come to take us back into custody? Maybe they’ve found some piece of incriminating evidence.
‘Good evening, miss, sir,’ he says officiously when I’ve let him in. ‘Can I just check your names, for the record?’
‘Beatrice Fairweather and Andrew McLaughlin,’ Jock tells him.
‘Excellent. Just checking you are where you’re supposed to be. I’ll leave you in peace. Have a good evening.’
‘Are they going to check on us every day?’ I ask Jock incredulously once the police officer has gone. I glance at the clock. ‘It’s only ten past seven. Talk about jobsworth.’
‘I suspect it’s a tactic. Check up on us the first day to make sure we behave for the rest of the week.’
‘Well, he’s certainly put a dampener on my mood. I was just about to say how much I’ve enjoyed myself today, but now all I can think about is the fact that we’re not free. Not properly, anyway.’
He comes over and pulls me into another hug. ‘Don’t let him spoil it. He was just doing his job and he’s gone now. Don’t think about him; think about the good things. Think about the sloth, and the “Miserere” in the Abbey.’
‘I did like the sloth,’ I say to his chest as I secretly soak up the pleasure of being in his arms again. I’m not normally a particularly physical person, but then this isn’t a particularly normal week.
‘Did you know that a sloth’s internal organs are stuck to its ribcage to make it easier for it to breathe when hanging upside down?’
‘Where do you learn that?’
‘It was on the sign next to the enclosure. Pretty cool, huh? Apparently, they have so little spare energy because of their diet that trying to breathe against the weight of their internal organs would exhaust them otherwise.’
I pull away and look up at him. ‘Who needs David Attenborough when I’ve got you, eh?’
‘I do what I can. Now, dinner. We’ve got loads of prawns, so I could make a prawn cocktail to start if you’re feeling retro, or I could do them with garlic, chilli and lemon if you prefer.’
‘What’s prawn cocktail in French?’
‘No idea. It was the one retro dish Madame hated, so I was never allowed to put it on the menu.’
‘Let’s have that then, just to piss her off.’
He smiles. ‘OK. Fish, meat or vegetarian main?’
‘ Canard à l’orange ?’ I suggest.
‘No. I’ve got oranges but no duck. If you’re very good, I’ll do you crêpes suzettes for pudding. How’s that?’
‘Ooh. Will you bring the trolley and flambé them at the table like you did for the guests?’
‘No, because I always felt incredibly self-conscious doing that and, frankly, it’s naff.’
‘And prawn cocktail isn’t?’
He sighs. ‘Do you really want them flambéed at the table?’
‘I know you’ll probably think less of me, but I kind of do. I’ve never been to a restaurant where someone has flambéed something at the table for me.’
He laughs. ‘Where have you hidden this side of your character? The Beatrice I thought I knew would never get excited about something like that. She’d be far too busy checking that the napkins were perfectly ironed.’
I open my mouth to challenge him, before realising that he’s probably right. ‘Attention to detail matters,’ I tell him defensively instead.
‘Of course it does. Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset, but it must be the same for you, surely? You wouldn’t send something out if you weren’t a hundred per cent happy with it, would you? Even if it’s only a sodding potato croquette.’
He holds up his hands in surrender. ‘Fine. We’re both obsessive about our work. Anyway, your wish is my command and I will flambé for you. Now, mains. I’ve got steak, chicken, some nice halibut or wild mushroom tortellini.’
‘If we had steak, I could open a bottle of the South African Pinotage to go with it. How big are they?’
‘Various sizes. Madame liked to sell them by the hundred gram; she thought that gave them a “fresh from the market” vibe.’
‘I’ll have a small one. Have you got any of those matchstick fries?’
‘ Pommes de terre frites à la julienne ? Yes, I think so.’
‘Let’s have some of those as well then. Do you need a hand?’
‘Yes, you can do the prawn cocktail. The prawns are in the fridge, and you’ll want iceberg lettuce as well. For the sauce, you need mayonnaise, tomato ketchup, a lemon, Worcester sauce and a pinch of paprika. The mayo is your base; just add the others until it tastes right.’
‘Ketchup?’
‘Yup. I’m pretty sure that’s why Madame banned it. She thought ketchup was for tradespeople.’
Twenty minutes later, the steaks are resting and we carry our prawn cocktails into the dining room, where I’ve laid a table for two and lit a candle. I’ve opened the Pinotage and Jock pours us both generous glasses once we’ve sat down.
‘Cheers!’ Jock clinks his glass against mine, and I can’t help noticing the twinkle of his eyes in the candlelight.
The conversation flows easily as we make our way through the food we’ve prepared, no doubt helped by the generous measures of wine. Jock is as good as his word, bringing the crêpes over on the trolley and flambéing them at the table. Every gesture is given added theatre – a flourish here, a flamboyant pour of the Grand Marnier there – and I can’t help but laugh at how over-the-top it all is. I’m surprised to see that we’ve managed to polish off the bottle of wine between us. Although I feel very mellow, I don’t feel tipsy at all so, after we’ve washed up, I accept Jock’s invitation to a nightcap in the bar.
‘Thank you,’ I say as I rest my head on his shoulder.
‘What for?’
‘For today. For cheering me up after the policeman came. For your frankly ludicrous flambé. For all of it.’
‘Ah, you’re more than welcome. It was fun, wasn’t it? And tomorrow, we’ll have another set of adventures. This was a very good idea of yours.’
I yawn. ‘It wasn’t bad, was it?’
I feel pleasantly full and sleepy as we climb the stairs to bed, but that doesn’t stop a niggle of anxiety forming in the pit of my stomach as I contemplate a repeat of last night’s failed attempt to get to sleep.
‘Are you going to be all right?’ Jock asks when we reach our rooms. ‘Or do you want to stay with me again tonight?’
‘I’m sure I’ll be fine. I don’t want to impose.’
‘Hey, it’s no skin off my nose. Who knows, we might get closer to finding out which of us is the phantom spooner.’
It’s not much of a dilemma. ‘Give me ten minutes to change, brush my teeth and grab my pillow,’ I tell him.
He smiles. ‘I’ll be waiting.’