Читать книгу No One Is Sacrosanct - David Balaam - Страница 4

2002

The small 16th century stone chapel in the Gloucestershire village of Pennsylvania was unusually quiet for a funeral. Just two elderly women mourners sat close together holding hands - heads bowed in respect. The organist was playing something by Mozart, not that Barbara would know the name of it, but she thought it very appropriate, him being from Austria as well.

She had tried to contact Isabel and Charlie but they were out of the country on a photo assignment - well, Isabel was, Charlie was probably along for the ride. Rosa wiped away another tear and rested her head on Barbara’s shoulder. What will their lives be like now, with him gone, she thought. In truth, the two women had been without him for two years since his sudden departure to France, where he had found a new family - his son, with wife, and grandchildren. Marcus had requested to be cremated, quietly, without fuss, but Barbara and Rosa, against his wishes, had arranged a burial in the grounds of this small remote sanctuary. The women had talked at length about going against his wishes, but they could not live with the thought of him being burned - they wanted a grave - somewhere they could visit occasionally and reflect in quiet contemplation their past lives together.

Marcus’s son, Henri, with his wife, had said their goodbyes in France where he had died and decided not to travel to England for the funeral. He had only known his father for a couple of years and was still confused about his relationship with his mother, Simone, who had died ten years previous of a broken heart.

The priest had finished the funeral rites and the pall-bearers carried the coffin out into the bright sunshine where they passed one other mourner, dressed soberly in black, head bowed and motionless. Barbara and Rosa followed the coffin to the burial plot unaware of the stranger who was now observing them from the shadows of the chapel entrance.

Standing over the sunken coffin Barbara and Rosa each dropped a red rose, taken from the cottage rose garden, on to the polished wood sarcophagus and wiped away another tear. “Goodbye, my love. Sleep in Peace. We will never forget.” Barbara turned towards the chapel entrance.

“Did you see someone there, Rosa?”

“No,” Rosa whispered. Barbara dismissed the thought immediately, but the stranger had left, having seemingly paid their respects and witnessing the passing of an old friend.