2- Grey Skies
She turned off the water, and reached for the thick white cotton towel hanging on the wall. The steam from the still hot water hung in the air, making the room feel like a sauna. She stepped out of the huge shower with luxuriously transparent walls. There was also a cabinet with two mottled black marble basins and gold-plated faucets. The asymmetrical mirrors hanging above were just as luxurious, as was everything else in the suite. She was used to small, simple rooms in hotels that sometimes looked more than a little uninviting, but she could hardly hide her surprise when she saw the imposing new, modern building in the middle of the business district of Windhoek, the Namibian capital. The maitre d'hotel who had taken charge of her had indeed had a hard time hiding his surprise when he discovered this smiling young woman covered with mud and scratches who had presented herself at the reception counter. And it is not without a certain doubtful glance that he had accompanied her until here, not sure about how to feel about this apparently guest of mark.
She wrung out her long wet hair, and then wrapped the towel around herself. Her gaze wandered once more over this strange space, both large and surprisingly empty, simple but equally sophisticated, which she could not quite get used to, before settling on the backpack full of dust and dirt that lay on the bed, strategically placed so that she could see it wherever she was in the room.
Her footsteps made no sound on the marble floor. She went to open her bag, unable to help but check once again that the gemstone was still inside. She lifted the object with one hand, admired it for a moment, turned it one way and then the other. Its color, much deeper than the usual rubies, intrigued the Englishwoman -a corner of her brain noted this detail and saved it somewhere.
Something vibrated in her bag. She gently put the stone down, which sank into the soft comforter, and rummaged around to pull out the old-fashioned phone she had been entrusted with - or at least the one she had received by parcel post a few days before, with no explanatory note except a small business card with the letters KJK on it. Within seconds of receiving this strange package, a notification on her personal cellphone told her that a transfer of several hundred thousand pounds had been made to her current account.
In the minutes and days that followed, she received several emails with a host of instructions to follow, starting with texts about a strange red stone that had been located in the Namibian desert. Then, without further explanation, she was sent an itinerary to follow and the precise GPS coordinates of where she was to go.
And here she was. The stone was recovered, but she knew no more about what she was supposed to do with it now or this mysterious KJK. She had not received any other message for several days, she had not heard from this secret employer. So she imagined that she would just have to wait for further instructions. It was like a treasure hunt, and despite all the mystery, she had to admit that her curiosity was piqued.
She threw a last doubtful glance at the mysterious phone, and seeing that it did not react any more, finally left it aside. She sat down on the bed and let out a long, deep breath. She reached into her bag again and grabbed her personal phone this time. The device glowed brightly as the screen lit up, and it was with some surprise that she discovered the dozens of missed calls. Her eyebrows furrowed a little more as the notifications scrolled before her eyes. She quickly dialed the number and called back, but no one answered immediately. She called back several times, until finally there was a click on the other end of the line.
"Lara, my child," she heard before she could say anything. "I'm sorry..."
"Don't be, Father Dunstan. I'm the one who has to be sorry, I haven't had access to my phone in several hours. You know me..."
He didn't answer, and a very heavy silence suddenly fell between them. She heard Dunstan breathing heavily, as if he was searching for his breath, or perhaps his words. And even as she was about to ask him the question, she understood.
"Lara... it's Winston," he said half-heartedly.
—
The icy wind suddenly picked up and swept through the garden. The great oaks bent under its weight and their branches waved strangely over her head. She shivered, and tucked her neck a little more into the collar of her coat. Her gaze remained lost in the void, focused on this strange rectangle of still freshly turned earth right at her feet.
Everything was extremely simple and sober, exactly as the butler had wished. He wanted something that looked like him, and in complete privacy. There were only a few wreaths of flowers and some messages left by old acquaintances of the old man, or distant friends of the family who apologized for not being able to make the trip -which suited her well, in a way as she didn't feel like having to face all these people she only knew by name or very vaguely. She didn't pay any attention to the last guests, who more by courtesy than by real compassion towards her -she didn't know them either, from memory- had greeted her with a movement of the head before leaving with a silent step, sheltered under their big umbrella.
The wind blew again in a penetrating way, and it is only at this moment that Lara became aware of the silence which reigned all around her. She barely felt Father Dunstan's hand rest gently on her shoulder in a gesture that was meant to be comforting. She did not turn her head, though she felt his concerned gaze looking at her carefully. She prayed with all her might he would not say anything. Perhaps he heard this silent prayer, for the cleric finally withdrew his hand and turned away without uttering a word.
The young woman felt a wave of relief when she heard his footsteps move away and disappear into the whistling wind. For long seconds -or maybe was it for long minutes, she couldn't tell- she just kept on staring at this strange square of earth and mud in front of her. Then, she looked up for a moment at the sky: it was as gray and sad as this day. A few drops of water fell on her hair and cheek. Rain was imminent.
The big trees around her had already lost most of their beautiful foliage, which gave the place and the garden a dull look. The big oak tree, where the grave had been dug, was holding its own, and the few camellia bushes the old man cherished so much were strangely shining with their beautiful colors. A few petals fluttered out as the wind blew again, and the rain began to fall in earnest.
He had never told her precisely, but by the way he liked to walk under the shade of the trees in the summer, or to retire to rest whenever he had the opportunity, she had understand this was one of Winston's favorite place in the Manor. She observed the white wooden bench that she had ordered and installed here especially for him, at the foot of the colorful shrubs. He had always taken great care of the camellias, his favorite flowers, sometimes for hours on end, walking around the garden with his basket full of gardening tools.
It was the perfect place for him, yes. It was a perfect in-between place to look out over the green expanse of the Sussex plains and countryside that could be seen beyond the perimeter wall, and to gaze out over the manor's huge gardens and flowering trees. This way, he would always have an eye on the mansion, wherever he was, and the thought made her smile softly as if she found some comfort in that idea.
Lara came out of her stillness, and approached one of the shrubs. She grabbed the knife she kept in her pocket, and with a precise gesture, exactly as he had taught her, sliced one of the dark pink flowers' stem at its base. She then turned around and knelt down on the ground, before gently placing the flower on it. Her fingers brushed the cold earth.
"Good bye, my forever friend. And thank you for letting me be part of your journey."
When she finally sat up, the rain was falling heavily. The lights were on in Croft Manor. She did not hurry, however, as she walked silently up the large green lawn without looking back.
—
She dropped her soaked coat on one of the chairs in her large office, and took a few steps before stopping near the large window, arms crossed against her chest. The sky had darkened seriously outside, the wind was blowing a little harder, and the storm was rumbling in the distance. The room itself was plunged into a semi-darkness of a terrible coldness.
She shivered slightly, seized by the cold and the sinister look of Croft Manor. From where she stood, she could see the white wreaths at the foot of the great oak and camellia trees, and the piece of earth under which her friend now lay.
The door behind her creaked. Through the pouring rain she heard footsteps approaching tentatively.
"It was a lovely ceremony. I think he would have been pleased to see the place you chose for him, and to see that it was a small ceremony. God rest his soul."
An unusual, mournful silence, which Lara was not familiar with at Croft Manor, but which she would have to get used to by now, fell. Several times since her return the day before she had thought she recognized the wobbly walk of the butler approaching, and the crystalline tinkling of the porcelain cups on his tray. But each time, she understood that it was only her imagination, and this thought made her heart twist in a quite violent and uncontrollable way.
"Jean Yves told me to tell you that he apologizes again for not being able to be here today. His plane was delayed tremendously, but he still wants to stop by and see you as soon as he can."
She didn't respond, staring off into space somewhere. He stood there for several long minutes, during which the man simply stood there, also unmoving and silent, his hands folded in front of him ceremoniously.
"Lara, I-"
She suddenly raised her hand to interrupt him.
"This was bound to happen sometime. It's in the order of things, that's all."
He took a deep breath, distraught at her bitterness.
"He'd been in a lot of pain lately, his aches and pains had become particularly difficult to manage..." Father Dunstan replied in a barely audible voice. "There wasn't much left to relieve him unfortunately."
She knew that, indeed. Although the butler had done his best to hide it and make her believe he was holding on, she had understand he was struggling to walk, and that the pain in his arm made him writhe in pain at night or whenever her back was turned. Even though he had continued to work in the manor, he had been struggling to walk for several weeks and often stopped to catch his breath. She had also seen all the medications he was taking, which seemed to have no effect on him. Before she left for Namibia she had seen the sad look on his face when he had watched her leave. But her mind preferred not to dwell too much on that thought.
"He wasn't young anymore. And it was incredible enough that he survived what Svendsen's men did to him," the young woman retorted, but her mind was elsewhere.
Behind her back, the cleric shrugged a shoulder, but said nothing, not knowing what to say to the young woman once again. Still, he tried an approach, choosing his words carefully.
"I'm obviously used to doing this kind of ceremony... I mean, it's part of my job to accompany families in these kinds of moments, although today is a very special day of course..."
He paused briefly, and cleared his throat before continuing.
"I think we can take comfort in the fact that our dear friend is resting in a distant and soothing place now, with our Almighty Father, who will take great care of him, I am sure. He has richly deserved it. A new life, a second life begins for him with the Almighty. He is no longer of this earth but his memory will live on in us, his light will live on in us and he will continue to watch over us alongside our Good Lord. I am confident that whenever we feel the need to look up to the Heavens for comfort or solace, we will find him. God, in his Light and Goodness has taught us that death, for Winston as for anyone else, is just a passage to our second life form. And I believe we can also rejoice in this day in that. As the book of Revelation says, 'He will destroy death forever; the Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces; He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, and there will be no more mourning, nor crying, nor pain'."
"No offense, Father, but I think you already know how I feel about that kind of thing."
A shy smile finally appeared on his lips, he seemed to relax a little, which also seemed to be the case of the Englishwoman, at least for a short second.
"What I'm trying to tell you Lara, is that my job is also to provide answers to some questions, to help people understand better... beyond their pain, I'm used to dealing with people's questions. I'm just saying that I'd be happy to enlighten her, and to talk about these things with her... If you allow me, of course. She's still little, but she'll probably ask questions," he said carefully as he watched the young woman's reaction.
Lara frowned slightly. To tell the truth, her mind had been occupied with so many things in the last few hours that she hadn't thought about... that. Yes, she could perfectly imagine she would be surprised not to see the old man anymore. She would look for him, blinded by the innocence of children her age. Winston had had the greatest affection for her, of that of a great father for his little daughter. Yes, it was more than likely that she would ask the fateful question.
Lara shook her head gently.
"I may be busy for a few more days on an assignment, I'll think about it in due course. The best thing is for both of us to talk about it when she gets back to Croft Manor."
Father Dunstan nodded slowly in agreement.
"By the way, thinking about it, have you told K-"
"That will be done in due course too."
He understood his awkwardness by the extremely firm tone in which she had just answered him, and by the penetrating look she gave him as she turned around.
"I'm sorry, I-"
"Now, I'd like to be alone for a while if you don't mind."
Her words left no room for a response. Dunstan opened his mouth with the intention of saying something, but finally thought better of it. He tugged mechanically on the collar of his cassock to readjust it, then gave the young woman a brief nod that she did not see. He turned on his heels, and disappeared without another word through the door that had been left open.
Without waiting for the man to disappear completely, the adventuress turned around and went straight to the large bookcase that sat behind the desk, in a dark corner of the room. She let her hand wander over one of the shelves before stopping in front of a small book with a red cover. She grabbed it gently before returning to the large desk and moving around it to sit down. She left the little book for a moment and gathered all the papers and other documents scattered all over the place in front of her to put them aside.
She reached out to turn on the large desk lamp, whose yellow light illuminated the room. She concentrated again on the book with the red cover, and slid the pages out one by one, looking through it absent-mindedly. She remembered for a moment Jean Yves, from whom she had subtly stolen it when she was still a student, during an internship on one of the French excavation sites. It was a banal little dictionary of precious stones and minerals, but it had already helped her at the time - of course she had never admitted to him that it was thanks to it she had been able to identify certain priceless stones found on objects, and thus to shine, admittedly with a certain arrogance, in the eyes of her other classmates. And then, it had also served her more than once on other missions, she had to admit it.
The pages went by, but nothing interesting stood out. She didn't linger on any of the stones she saw pass before her eyes, not even the potassium and its blue color or that of the sulfide, which reminded her of her return to the Great Pyramid of Giza almost four years earlier. For a fraction of a second, certain images of the events that had ensued since then came to mind. A lot had happened since then indeed, but she forced herself to stay focused and concentrated on the little book she held in her hands. This was not the time. She was not in the mood for nostalgia, let alone melancholy.
Lara closed the little book with a sharp blow, and dropped it on the desk with an impatient gesture. She let herself go backwards in the big armchair. She rubbed her face with both hands, and sighed in frustration. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, searching for answers, or rather explanations. In fact, she didn't know what she was looking for.
She suddenly stood up and retrieved her backpack, which had been kept in the office safe since her return to Croft Manor. She entered the code to unlock the door, opened it and grabbed the brown bag. She walked back to the desk, and put it on top. She undid the straps to take out the small phone that served as a link with her mysterious employer, which she put in a corner. Then she took out the enormous red stone. Holding it firmly between her two hands, she turned it on one side, then on the other, raised it to better observe its reflections and its so particular color.
Something was titillating her deep in her mind. Something was calling out to her about this stone, though she couldn't determine what.
She had been contacted to retrieve it, and her mission technically ended there. At least for the moment. As long as she hadn't heard from this unknown employer, she technically had nothing else to do but wait. She didn't have to look for or bother with such details. She knew she wasn't supposed to worry about that. But this stone was trying to tell her something. And she knew her mind wouldn't leave her alone until she found out what was titillating her.
No indeed, she didn't have to waste time researching. But to tell the truth, the busier her mind was, the better it suited her. The greyness, the rain, the silence around her and this particular day were making her feel blue. She really needed to focus on something else. And in any case, Winston would have absolutely forbidden her to feel sorry for herself and sit around doing nothing.
She frowned slightly, more and more focused on the graceful ribs of the stone.
She was not at all an expert in this field -and she was not ashamed to admit it to herself, as long as she remained one of the recognized experts in archaeology in the world-, but she knew how to recognize an object of inestimable value when she saw one. Its size, of course, was extremely impressive, and undoubtedly ranked it among the most valuable stones ever discovered in the world. And she was pretty sure that the color of the object made it even more priceless and rare. It was clearly not the kind of stone that could be found anywhere.
She put the gem back on the desk, and walked around it again to the computer this time. The screen lit up with a bright light. She surfed for a long time on the net, looking for clues that could have helped her to untie the knot that was forming in spite of her in her mind. And it is after a good hour of relentlessness that she finally found what she was looking for.
Pigeon blood ruby
Funny name for a stone, she could not help thinking. But she recognized it without hesitation. The one in the photo was much smaller than the one she had, but the deep red color and the dark reflections were similar in every way. And it was suddenly clear to her what had been nagging at her all along.
Rubies are some of the most famous and sought after stones in the world, which are only mined in certain areas of the globe. Afghanistan, Pakistan, East Africa, Kenya, Tanzania in particular. South Asia for the most common rubies. But this type of ruby is part of a very specific category of stones, which can only be found in a very specific area, and in a very specific country: Myanmar
And not in West Africa, where she had been sent to find this stone. The stone she had recovered did not come from the sanctuary from which she had taken it, but from the other side of the world.
The Englishwoman suddenly frowned.
What would a Burmese stone be doing in an African desert?
Suddenly, the little phone she had left in a corner lit up and vibrated with a thud against the desk's wood. She was startled, but immediately reached for it. There was a message. Not surprisingly, it was the same number that had been her link to the stranger who had been communicating with her since the beginning of this strange mission. A foreign number.
As she opened the message, she discovered a single line, barely written in its entirety:
No. 9/1, Sayar San Rd, Yangon 11421
An address then
There was another ring, this time on her personal cellphone. It was a notification from her bank: another transfer of several hundred thousand pounds had been made to her account. She frowned even more, and stared at the screen of the small cell phone, intrigued.
They probably know my value
But nothing surprising in itself. She was not so naive as to not know that her name was widely known in the world of archaeology -maybe even the most famous-, and in the world at large. Many people knew her, even indirectly. Quite a lot of information about her, more or less true, could be found just by entering her name in the internet search bar. Although it was more rare now, she also regularly attended public events, not to mention the collateral damage during several of her missions that had brought her name to the forefront despite herself. So technically, it could be just about anyone, just like a fanatical fan for instance. A fanatical fan who knew exactly who they were dealing with, for a very precise mission. But not just anybody could afford this kind of services.
She was still in deep thoughts when she realized the device she was still holding in her hand had darkened and returned to its silence. She put it down, and did a quick search on the net. She found what she was looking for with disconcerting ease. She discovered that the address she had been given was located in... Myanmar.
Lara remained for a short while with her eyes fixed on her computer screen, her chin resting on her hands crossed in reflection. Then, when she finally decided to stand up, she did so slowly, in deep thought. She didn't really know what to think about the whole situation at that moment.
She put the gem back in her backpack, before placing it back into the safe. Then, she walked towards the door with a silent step. Before leaving the room, she took one last look out the window. Outside, a curtain of rain obscured the view of the garden, though she could vaguely make out the small white wooden bench.
Here she was again. Barely there, but already ready to leave. Not really there, and yet already far away. As it had always been in her life. She realized she couldn't wait to leave again, as all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together one by one. She was looking forward to finding out and knowing everything. She would soon know more about this mysterious employer and his intentions. But she felt a slight touch of guilt at feeling this particular adrenaline rushing through her veins, and that she could not control at all. She had just buried her closest friend, and she was about to pack her bag to go to the other side of the world. But she couldn't help it. And suddenly, the image of the old butler, clear and precise, imposed itself on her: she could clearly imagine him standing in the doorway, observing her in silence before ironically pointing out she definitely did not have a minute to herself and that she really did not know how to rest. She no longer counted all the times he had tried to stop her from leaving. But in this particular moment, she knew he would also have been the first to encourage her to leave, to go on and not to look back.
And this thought made her smile softly.