The Hidden Abbey by Jodine Turner

Author:Jodine Turner [Turner, Jodine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-9970952-5-8
Publisher: Indie Author Project

32

Glastonbury, England

Present Day

Sophie jogged the steep lane up Wearyall Hill, to the B&B to retrieve the handwritten pages from her desk where she’d left them. She took a brief moment to pause by her sink and splash cold water on her face. Patting it dry, she observed the dark circles under her eyes. Her uprooted sense of reality, her tired and hungry body, and her unexpected reaction to Daniel’s nearness, had all left her feeling bruised and shattered.

Once she passed through the large oak door of the Abbey Lodge where she had arranged to meet Daniel, her determination and resolve strengthened. He was waiting for her in the expansive foyer, leaning against the mahogany stair rail, his satchel looped over one shoulder.

“Hello again,” he drawled, eyes riveted on her.

Still uncomfortable with the feelings he, and Michael, had aroused at the Mary Chapel, she avoided the direct eye contact. Instead, she looked past him, up the staircase. A series of timeworn oil paintings lined the walls, all depicting several of the more illustrious abbots of the Glastonbury monastery, including the last abbot, the ill-fated Abbot Whiting. Her attention snapped back to Daniel when he held up a brown bag of Indian carryout. Her stomach growled at the aroma of spiced curry.

He studied her face for a moment in his disconcerting way, his gaze an almost tender caress.

“What?” she pushed aside a few strands of hair, tucking them behind her ear.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Barry is waiting for us with the key to the library room, and a thermos of coffee.” He offered his crooked smile. “It looks like we both could use some caffeine.”

She smirked. “Yeah, well I probably couldn’t sleep even if I tried. Too wound up. Plus, I’ve got this to keep me up.” She patted her canvas bag holding the pages she’d brought with her.

“Well then, onward,” he said, motioning her forward. “Follow me.”

He led her to the back wing of the lodge, past two large sitting rooms fashioned with luxuriant woolen rugs and cushy sofas, and down a well-lit hallway. At its end, in front of a thick mahogany door, stood Barry, softly whistling. A grandfather clock opposite the door chimed eight p.m.

“Sophie, good to see you again,” Barry said. He offered his hand. She gave him a quick hug instead, turning his forehead crimson but bringing a shy grin to his craggy face.

He took an ancient-looking barrel key out of his front shirt pocket, a swirl of brass in an ornate pattern. “Guests can use this library room on request, but I’ll make sure no one bothers you tonight.”

He fit the key bit into the lock and when it clicked open, he ushered them into a modest chamber lined with glass-covered bookcases along three walls. Sophie was glad for the privacy, but hesitated, suddenly loath to step into any new discovery lest it prove as unsettling as her unconscious writing bout or Michael’s ghost. She set her jaw, called on the resolve she’d felt earlier, and strode deliberately through the doorway.

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