that he carried a spare can, he sprang up out of the armchair and went over to root in the depths of his bag.
The first thing he found was the Bible he’d taken from the vicarage. He gazed at it for a moment, then put it back in the bag and continued rummaging. His fingers closed on something small and solid. It wasn’t the lighter fluid, either, but he took it out and held it tightly in both hands.
Until now, he’d completely forgotten about the present Michaela had given him. He carried it over to the armchair, dropping any notion of another cigarette as he turned the Christmas-wrapped object over in his hands and felt a fresh wave of sadness wash over him.
Jude was fast asleep on the bed, snoring gently.
Ben heard Michaela’s words in his mind. Promise me that you won’t open it until you’re back in France. He was in France now. He quietly, carefully pulled away the prettily tied ribbon, then tore open the wrapping.
As he’d thought, the present was a book. Not another Bible, but a very handsome antique miniature leather-bound edition with Works of John Milton embossed in fine gilt letters on the cover.
There was a lump in Ben’s throat as he opened the book. To his surprise, a little envelope fell out from between the pages and dropped in his lap. He popped the seal, expecting a Christmas card. He didn’t know if he could bear to read the cheery inscription Michaela and Simeon would have written inside.
But there was no Christmas card inside the envelope. Instead he found two sheets of neatly folded letter paper. The paper was a delicate shade of sky blue, and smelled faintly of the same perfume Michaela had worn. When he unfolded it, he saw that both pages were filled with her elegant, curvaceous handwriting.
Dear Ben,
Simeon and I hope you had a safe journey back to France. I expect you’re tucked up all warm and cosy at home with a nice glass of wine reading this.
It was a joy to meet up with you again so unexpectedly, Ben. Simeon and I have been so delighted to see you after so long.
Ben couldn’t stand any more. He scrunched the letter up and tossed it on the ground. A few seconds later, with a stab of shame, he picked it up again and went on reading.
And his mouth dropped open.
Twenty years is a long time to wait to tell someone a secret. Simeon and I have often talked about how, when and indeed whether we should reveal to you what I’m about to say. When we met up with you again at the concert, we both agreed that the time had come. You were never one for beating about the bush, Ben, so here goes.
Jude isn’t Simeon’s child. He’s yours.
There. I’ve finally told you what nobody else in the world knows.
I’m not quite sure how you’ll react to the news. All I can tell you is, Ben, I know it for a fact. There’s absolutely no doubt about it, for reasons I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you.
You must have suspected all those years ago, as I did, that even when you and I were an item, Simeon secretly liked me more than just as a friend. When you and I split up – that is, when I dumped you in the awful way I did – and you disappeared from University soon afterwards, Simeon was there for me. He’s known since before Jude was born who the real father was, and been honoured to raise him as his own son. We always hoped that a brother or sister might come along for Jude one day, but sadly that wasn’t God’s will.
Please never think that either Simeon or I would dream of placing any responsibility, legal or otherwise, on you. We just thought it was right that you should be told the truth. I hope you’ll want to meet Jude one day, and that you’ll see what a wonderful and charming young man he’s turned out to be … when he puts his mind to it, that is. If you ever felt he should know who his biological father is, well, that’s a choice we freely leave to you.
Either way, we hope you’ll keep in touch with us all now that we’ve made contact again. If you prefer not to, and don’t want to meet and get to know Jude, we’ll understand. If we don’t see you again, may you have the peaceful and joyous life you’ve always wanted.
Thank you for having spent this Christmas with us. Your presence has made it feel special, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Simeon so happy.
Love, and God bless,
Michaela (and Simeon) Arundel
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ben read the letter three times, open-mouthed, then a fourth just to make sure he hadn’t dreamed it. There was no mistake. He stared at Michaela’s handwriting until the words swam before his eyes and lost all meaning.
He was still sitting there gaping at it in utter disbelief when Jude’s voice broke in on his thoughts and startled him. ‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Jude asked, yawning. He kicked out his legs and bounced off the bed.
Ben quickly slipped the letter in between the pages of the book. ‘Poetry,’ he said in a dry, raspy voice. He cleared his throat.
‘Poetry. Give me a fucking break.’ Jude peered at the book cover and let out a snort. ‘Milton. I tried to read that once. Couldn’t be bothered with it. Load of old tat, if you ask me. Where did you get that book from, anyway?’
Ben looked at him for the longest time.
‘What?’ Jude said.
Ben didn’t reply. He didn’t have the words.
‘So I didn’t like Milton. What’s the big deal?’
‘Milton?’ Ben said. His mind wasn’t working. His thoughts were a spinning jumble.
‘Why – are – you – staring – at – me?’ Jude said, making bug eyes. ‘You’re freaking me out.’
‘I wasn’t staring at you,’ Ben said.
‘Yes, you bloody well were.’ Jude flapped his arms impatiently. ‘Anyway. It’s almost midnight. What are we doing? I’m tired of sitting around here waiting for nothing to happen.’
‘Get some sleep,’ Ben said, forcing himself to return to the present moment. ‘Tomorrow might be a long day.’
‘I just was sleeping. I’m not sleepy any more.’ Jude crossed over to the window and pressed his nose to the glass, watching the snow fall over the village street.
Ben suddenly realised that the Christmas wrapping from Michaela’s present was still lying on the rug. Jude only had to turn round to see it there. Feeling suddenly heavy and weary, he levered himself out of the armchair, bent down and scooped it up and stuffed it in his pocket before Jude could notice. He slipped the Milton into his other pocket and grabbed his jacket from the bed. It felt as if it was weighed down with lead. ‘Do what you want. I need some air. Going out for a walk.’
Still in a daze, Ben left the room and stumbled downstairs to the empty foyer. Outside, the cobbles were beginning to disappear under a blanket of white. Large snowflakes drifted down in the glow of the street lamps and flecked his hair and shoulders as he set off aimlessly through the winding village streets. Saint-Christophe was mostly asleep, just a smattering of lights on here and there.
Could the letter have been some kind of joke? he thought in bewilderment as he walked. No, Michaela and Simeon would never have done that. Nor would they have lied about such a thing.
Could Michaela have made a mistake? If the baby hadn’t been Simeon’s, perhaps it had been someone else’s entirely. Ben pondered the idea for a moment, then felt ashamed for thinking it. No. There had been nobody else during those days of his and Michaela’s brief relationship.
Ben