A Finer End

chapter meeting.’
    Jack studied her with the intense gaze she still found disconcerting. ‘I can tell. You’ve that strained look about the eyes.’
    She took a sip of the wine already waiting, let it linger on her tongue, then nodded towards his briefcase. ‘Working?’
    ‘Mmmmm,’ he answered non-committally. ‘Hungry?’
    ‘Ravenous. All that fresh air.’
    ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come on that dreadful bike?’ he asked, grinning.
    ‘No, more’s the pity. It would have been a lovely day for it, but I had to go too far afield.’ They had an ongoing disagreement about her bike, which he considered a threat to life and limb. But she loved the old thing, and after her London parish she cherished the freedom she felt as she made her daily rounds on it. There were times, however, when the weather or the distance of her calls forced her to use the serviceable Fiat that had come with the job. She narrowed her eyes, giving him a mock glare. ‘I’ve no intention of giving it up, you know, no matter how much you nag me.’
    ‘Then we had better build up your strength,’ he replied wryly as the waitress arrived at their table.
    Over dinner, they chatted companionably about their respective days, but Winnie soon sensed that in spite of his solicitousness, Jack was distracted. As he waited for her to finish eating, he lapsed into silence, and she was seized by a sudden fear that he had tired of her and couldn’t quite bring himself to say so.
    Well, if that was the case, there was no point putting it off, she scolded herself. Gripping the stem of her wine glass tightly between her fingers, she asked, ‘Jack, is something wrong?’
    He gave her a startled glance; his gaze strayed to the briefcase he’d left on the table. He frowned. After a moment’s hesitation, he said, ‘No. Yes. I don’t know. There’s something I haven’t told you.’
    Winnie’s heart sank, and she braced herself for bad news.
    Jack, however, seemed unaware of her discomfort. ‘Something very odd has been happening to me these past few months, Winnie, and I don’t know what to make of it. I haven’t said anything because... well, I was afraid you’d think I was a bit mad. And because it seemed somehow that telling you would give it a credence I wasn’t willing to acknowledge.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ Winnie asked, now utterly baffled.
    ‘I suppose you hear all sorts of odd things...’
    ‘Mostly ordinary things, really. People worried about their families, illness, debt... Jack, are you in some sort of trouble?’
    ‘Nothing like that. Although that might be easier.’ He hesitated a moment longer, then reached for his briefcase and removed a sheet of paper. ‘Read this.’
    She took it curiously. It was an ordinary sheet of foolscap. On it a few Latin phrases had been penned in a small, square hand. Beneath that were parts of sentences scrawled in English, in a hand she recognized instantly as Jack’s.
    At night the candles shone forth from the windows of the Great Church as stars from the heavens... Our voices rang round roof and cloister ... the gargoyles shouted praises to Our Lord. This you know... That which was hidden will... out. Out of a thought will come truth. Fear not...
    What is this?’ she asked, looking up at Jack. ‘Are you translating something?’
    ‘You might say that. Only, I wrote it. Both parts.’
    ‘You wrote the Latin? But that’s not your handwriting. I don’t understand.’
    ‘Neither do I.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the table, pushing his wine glass aside. ‘The first few times it happened I had no awareness of it at all — just had to assume I’d written it because there was no other explanation. I had a few stiff drinks after that, I can tell you.
    ‘But now... especially today — with this one’ — he touched the page with his fingertip — ‘it’s like I’m watching myself from a distance, but I feel disconnected from what’s happening.’
    ‘But you understand what you’re writing—’
    ‘No. Not until afterwards. And then I struggle a good bit with the translation.’
    Winnie stared at him. ‘But surely you can control it if you want—’
    ‘It doesn’t occur to me. You do think I’m daft, don’t you? I can see it in your face.’
    She made an effort to collect herself. ‘No, I... of course I don’t. But you should see a doctor, have a check-up. Maybe there’s something—’
    ‘A brain tumour?’ He shook his head. ‘No other symptoms.