The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET. Scott Mariani
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us was the ancient scroll in its leather tube. I picked it up and shook it at him. ‘I am a direct descendant of the authors of this wisdom,’ I said. ‘My Cathar ancestors knew the importance of preserving their secrets, at all costs. They knew who was seeking them, and they knew what would have happened if they had fallen into the wrong hands. They gave their lives trying to preserve this wisdom.’
‘I know, master, but…’
I interrupted him. ‘This knowledge we have been privileged with is power, and power is a dangerous thing. It corrupts men, and attracts evil. That is why I warned you about the responsibility I was giving you. And don’t forget–you swore an oath of silence.’ I hung my head in sadness. ‘I fear I have revealed too much to you,’ I added.
‘Does that mean you’re not going to tell me any more? What about the rest? The second great secret?’
I shook my head. ‘I am sorry, Nicholas. It is too much knowledge for one so young and rash. I cannot undo what is already done, but I will not take you any further until you have proved greater wisdom and maturity.’
At these words, he stormed out of the laboratory. I could see he was on the edge of tears. I, too, felt a knife in my heart knowing what had come between us.
Ben heard a soft knock at the bedroom door. He looked up from the Journal as the door opened a crack and Roberta’s face appeared.
‘How are you feeling now?’ she said. She looked concerned as she came in carrying a tray.
He closed the Journal. ‘I’m OK.’
‘Here, look, I prepared this for you.’ She laid a bowl of steaming chicken soup on the table. ‘Eat it while it’s hot.’
‘How long was I out of it?’
‘Two days.’
‘Two days!’ He took a slurp of whisky, wincing at the movement.
‘Should you be drinking, Ben? You’ve been on antibios.’ She sighed. ‘At least eat something. You need to get your strength back.’
‘I will. Can you kick over my bag? My cigarettes are in it.’
‘Smoking isn’t good for you right now.’
‘It’s never good for me.’
‘Fine. Have it your own way. I’ll get them for you.’
‘No, just–’ He moved too abruptly and pain shot through him. He leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes.
She reached down. As she rummaged around in the bag, a small object fell out and landed on the floor. She picked it up. It was a tiny photograph in a silver frame. She studied it, wondering what it was doing in there. The photo was old and faded, creased and worn at the edges as though it had been carried for years in a wallet. It was a picture of a child, a sweet little girl of about eight or nine with blond hair. She had sparkling, intelligent blue eyes and a freckly face, and she was smiling at the camera with an expression of open happiness.
‘Who is she, Ben? She’s lovely.’ She looked at him and her smile faded.
He was staring at her with an expression of cold fury she’d never seen before.
‘Put that down and get the fuck out of here,’ he said.
Father Pascal saw the look of anger and hurt on Roberta’s face as she came downstairs. He laid a hand on her arm. ‘Sometimes when a man is in pain, he lashes out and says and does things he does not mean,’ he said.
‘Just because he’s injured, that doesn’t excuse him for behaving like a bas-’ She caught herself. ‘I was only trying to help him.’
‘That was not the pain I was referring to,’ Pascal said. ‘The true pain is in his heart, his spirit, not in his wounds.’ He smiled warmly. ‘I will speak to him.’
He went into Ben’s room and sat beside him on the edge of the bed. Ben was lying there staring into space, clutching his flask. The whisky was dulling his pain a little. He’d managed to retrieve his cigarettes, only to find the packet almost empty.
‘You do not mind if I join you?’ said Pascal.
Ben shook his head.
Pascal was quiet for a few moments, then he spoke gently and warmly to Ben. ‘Benedict, Roberta has told me something of your occupation. You have a calling to help those in need–a noble and commendable thing indeed. I, too, have a calling, which I carry out as well as I can. I must say it is less dramatic, less heroic, than yours. But the purpose the Lord has for me is nonetheless an important duty to fulfil. I help men to release their suffering. To find God. For some, that simply is to find peace within themselves, in whichever form it may come.’
‘This is my peace, Father,’ muttered Ben. He held up his flask.
‘You know it is not enough, that it will never be enough. It cannot help you, it can only hurt you. It drives your pain deeper in your heart. The pain is like a poisoned thorn. If it is not released, it will fester like a terrible wound. And not one that may be cured by the simple application of penicillin intended for a goat.’
Ben laughed bitterly. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
‘You have helped many people, it seems,’ said Pascal. ‘Yet you continue on your path of self-destruction, relying upon liquor, this false friend. When the joy of helping others has faded, does the pain not return soon after, and worse?’
Ben said nothing.
‘I think you know the answer.’
‘Look,’ Ben said, ‘I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me. But I’m not interested in sermons any longer. That part of me died a long time ago. So with the deepest respect to you, Father, if you’ve come up here to preach to me you’re wasting your time.’
They sat in silence.
‘Who is Ruth?’ Pascal asked suddenly.
Ben threw him a sharp glance. ‘Didn’t Roberta tell you? The little girl who’s dying, my client’s granddaughter. The one I’m trying to save. If it’s not too bloody late.’
‘No, Benedict, that is not who I meant. Who is the other Ruth, the Ruth of your dreams?’
Ben felt his blood turn to ice and his heart quicken. With a tight throat he said, ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. There isn’t any Ruth in my dreams.’
‘When a man sits through two nights with a delirious patient,’ Pascal said, ‘he may discover things about him that might not be openly discussed. You have a secret, Ben. Who is Ruth–who was Ruth?’
Ben let out a deep sigh. He raised the flask again.
‘Why don’t you let me help you?’ Pascal said gently. ‘Come, share your burden with me.’
After a long silence Ben started talking quietly, almost mechanically. His eyes were staring into space as he played the familiar, painful images back in his mind for the millionth time.
‘I was sixteen. She was my sister. She was only nine. We were so close…we were soulmates. She was the only person I’ve ever loved with all my heart.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘She was like the sunshine, Father. You should have seen her. For me, she was the reason to believe in a Creator. This might come as a surprise to you, but at one time I was going to become a clergyman.’
Pascal listened carefully. ‘Go on, my son.’
‘My parents took us on a holiday to north Africa, Morocco,’ Ben continued. ‘We were staying in a big hotel. One day my parents decided to go to visit a museum, and they left us behind. They told me to take care of Ruth and not to leave the hotel grounds under any circumstances.’
He paused to light his last cigarette.