Sacred Sword (Ben Hope 7) Read Online Free PDF

jeans and a loose cardigan. He gripped Ben’s arm warmly. ‘Delighted you’re here. Really I am.’ He peered past Ben’s shoulder at the Land Rover and his eyebrows shot up. ‘Heavens, that’s seen some action, hasn’t it? Series IIa? Must be a ’73 vintage at least.’
    ‘Sixty-nine,’ Ben said. ‘Actually, it’s playing up a bit. Think a valve needs seeing to.’
    ‘Good grief, it’s the same age as I am. Even more ancient than the old Lotus.’
    ‘You still have that!’ Ben had fond memories of the many times the two of them had gone speeding round the Oxfordshire country pubs in Simeon’s 1972 Lotus Elan, in their quest to sample every real ale known to mankind. Back in those days, even at Oxford, it had seemed extremely exotic for a student to own a car, especially a bright red 2+2 sports that had been the envy of even the wealthier young gentlemen and given Simeon quite a dashing reputation among the girls.
    ‘I’d never sell her,’ Simeon said. ‘It’s till death us do part, I’m afraid.’
    Michaela appeared in the open doorway, gripping onto the collar of a shaggy black-and-white mongrel that was scrabbling to get out and greet the visitor. Ben looked at the mutt and could see how he’d got his name.
    ‘Any chance you boys could tear yourselves away from your old bangers?’ Michaela said. ‘You’re letting the cold in.’
    ‘She drives a
Mazda
,’ Simeon whispered to Ben with a conspiratorial wink.
    ‘Is that all the luggage you have, Ben?’ Michaela said. ‘You certainly travel light.’
    The inside of the vicarage was comfortable and warm, with the lived-in, ever-so-slightly frayed patina of a period house that had seen very little modernising. A log fire was crackling in the hearth, and a colourfully decorated Christmas tree stood in one corner opposite a baby grand piano covered in framed photos. Ben stopped to look at one that showed a tousle-haired and somewhat wild-looking young man of about twenty, posing on a beach somewhere hot and palmy. He was wearing a wetsuit and grinning from ear to ear as if completely in his element, clutching a surfboard under his arm.
    ‘This must be Jude?’ Ben said.
    ‘That’s our boy,’ Simeon replied. ‘The good looks come from his mother’s side.’
    ‘He seems to like the water.’
    ‘You can say that again. He’s studying marine biology at Portsmouth University. You can’t keep him out of the sea. In fact, he’s just spent two weeks cage diving with great white sharks in New Zealand. Completely mad, but he won’t be stopped once he’s set on something.’ Simeon sighed. ‘At least he still has all his arms and legs, as far as I know. That’s the main thing. Let me get you a drink, Ben. Single malt, no ice?’
    ‘You remembered,’ Ben said.
    As Simeon busied himself fetching glasses and a bottle from a cabinet at the far end of the room, Michaela emerged from the kitchen carrying a tray of mince pies. Setting the tray down on a table, she smiled at Ben and shot a sideways glance at her husband. ‘I’m so pleased you’re here,’ she whispered. ‘It’ll cheer him up no end. He’s been very down and upset the last few days.’
    Simeon was too busy pottering about pouring drinks and putting on a CD of Gregorian chants to hear what she was saying. Lowering her voice further, Michaela added, ‘We recently had the most awful news about one of his colleagues … well, more of a close acquaintance, in the south of France.’
    Ben winced sympathetically. ‘Illness?’
    ‘
Suicide
.’ Michaela only mouthed the unmentionable word, drawing a straight finger like a knife across her throat for emphasis.
    Now Ben understood why Simeon looked so uncharacteristically gaunt. Before he could muster a reply, the vicar was returning from the drinks cabinet holding two generously filled whisky glasses. He pressed one into Ben’s hand and clinked his own against it.
    ‘Here’s to old friends,’ said Simeon Arundel. ‘Welcome to our