I realised that I had been right to invite her. Without Mrs Pemberthy’s ill wishes our party would have been too bland for words. We could survive her disapproval. Indeed, we cherished it.
I saw Cherie Holliday and her father arrive laden with two enormous picnic baskets and similarly large smiles. And I thanked the gods and goddesses who look down upon us for the joyfulness of life.
I even went to the side table and tried one of Mrs P’s rock cakes. They appeared to have been baked out of plutonium. I offered a bit to Geordie, but he shook his head and wandered off to look for something more edible. I didn’t blame him. But our tables contained more delights I had not noticed until then. There was some splendid fruit sorbet to take away the taste, and I spooned myself a bowl. Frozen citrus and forest fruits caressed my mouth and throat. There, there, they seemed to be whispering to me. We’ll save Mrs P’s rock cakes until we really are under attack and need missiles for our siege catapults.
Just then, I noticed Philomela walking towards me and smiling. Where once she had resembled a Greek goddess of vengeance and divine fury, she now looked serenely Olympian. She sat next to me and began to recite. I opened my mouth in astonishment, because I recognised the words. It was Prospero’s Farewell at the very end of The Tempest. In a clear, accented, level tone she recited:
Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free.
This was the veriest of happy endings for her. And I rejoiced.
As she rose from her chair to join Therese and Anwyn, her place was taken by Alasdair. He had a plate of Greek food and was discovering it was, much to his astonishment, delicious.
‘Now you’ve got Geordie back, what are you intending to do?’ I enquired. He dropped half a spiced meatball into Geordie’s mouth and smiled.
‘Ah’ve go’ a friend in a place called Hepburn Springs. He’s running a bed and breakfast and he tells me he could dae wi’ a hand. He’s an ex-squaddie like meself. Ah’ve never heard of the place. What’s it like?’
‘I think you’ll love it, Alasdair. It’s quiet, hilly, and utterly beautiful. There are mineral springs there, and wineries, and lavender farms.’
‘It sounds wonderful. Quiet would be juist what we both need right now.’ He stroked Geordie’s head in contentment.
I ate some coconut cake, sat back in my chair and inhaled deeply. Everyone was talking softly, eating, drinking, and enjoying the cool breeze. The sun would not set for ages yet, and it was glorious not to have to hurry, or stress, or fret. Though I did want to talk to Dion Monk and ask him about Vienna in 1945. If what Jon had suggested were true, he must be in his nineties at least!
Suddenly the man himself caught my eye, and waved me over. I brought a small stool to sit with him and Mrs Dawson. ‘Tell me about your baked ham,’ I begged. ‘It is superb.’
‘Pernam ubi eam cum Caricis plurimus elixaveris,’ he quoted. ‘It is from an Ancient Roman cookbook by a fellow called Apicius. Figs, honey and bay leaves lend it their particular charm.’
‘Splendid,’ I said. ‘And …’
He lifted an interrogative eyebrow.
‘What I really wanted to ask you,’ I confessed, ‘is if you have finished your translation.’
He inclined his head with grace and gravitas.
‘Indeed I have. And the Gospel of St Joseph of Arimathea has lived up to its billing. This will indeed set tongues wagging when it is published.’
‘You haven’t found the Holy Grail, have you?’
‘No, my dear. Though I have never understood why people seem to think it’s a cup.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Well, no. Wikipedia seems to think it comes from the Latin gradalis, and of course the medieval French leapt to the conclusion that it was a cup. I think it far more likely that it comes from graduale, meaning a ladder.’
‘Like Jacob’s Ladder?’ I had not realised Daniel was with us, but he was kneeling at the Professor’s feet. As indeed did we all.
‘Well, yes. A stairway to heaven, if you like. But it would relate to Christ’s crucifixion because it would have been the ladder from which the Deposition from the Cross was effected. However, St Joseph has remarkably little to say about that. What happened afterwards is a lot more intriguing; because, as we have long suspected, Jesus appears to have indeed married Mary Magdalene – though she is simply called Mary – and they went … well, now. Would you care to hazard a guess?’
I couldn’t. Though Mrs Dawson clearly knew, because she was grinning from ear to perfectly formed ear.
‘England,’ he resumed, in quiet triumph. ‘It is a singular fact that the Glastonbury Thorn Tree really is a Syrian thorn, and it was supposedly grown from the staff of St Joseph, where he planted it in what became the monastery grounds. The idea that Jesus visited England has long been a staple of the British Israelites. They went rather too far in suggesting that the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel had also gone to England, but nevertheless we have substantial evidence for the first time that the story really is true. Now do you see why our zealous young friend Jordan King was so anxious to impound my copy of the scroll?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, not really. And how would he have known what was in the scroll? But you’re going to tell me, aren’t you?’
Mrs Dawson clasped his hand in hers and smiled. ‘Oh, I think the Catholics have known about this scroll for some time. In its essentials. Word gets around in Vatican City. But they didn’t want this to get out.’
‘Why not?’ I asked, still not getting the point.
‘Because, my dear, this means that the Church of England really is the one true church after all. I have always thought so.’
I gaped, and looked at Daniel. He nodded slowly. ‘That does make sense. Rome may have had St Peter and St Paul. But if England has Jesus Himself …’
I saw Kate and Marie were next to me, still hand in hand.
‘Have you given him his present yet?’ Kate wanted to know.
‘I was saving it up for after dinner. But now seems as good a time as any. Daniel?’
Instantly he was at my side. I reached into my pocket and handed over the gift-wrapped USB. ‘Any particular occasion, ketschele?’ he asked, when he had unwrapped the parcel and was admiring the song list.
‘Hanukkah?’
He kissed me. ‘That was last month. But never mind. Gifts are always sweetly welcome.’ He turned to the girls. ‘Your work?’
‘Yes.’ Marie’s face dimpled prettily. ‘Our shop is just down Calico Alley.’
‘Thank you both. And you also, Corinna. I cannot thank you enough, for everything.’ He kissed me again. And why not?
But now it was time for my dessert to be unveiled. I opened a cardboard box and gestured in triumph. Daniel looked, cut himself a slice and ate it.
‘What do you think?’
‘Delicious! It tastes like soda bread, but with raisins. What’s it called?’
I waited until I had Alasdair’s attention as well, then I announced, to general smiles: ‘It’s called Spotted Dog.’