Page 67 of These Old Lies
“This photograph was taken the week before I left, although Frank is such a beanpole at the moment he is probably already a foot taller.”
Ned held the photo gingerly, cradling it in his hand. “Good God, they look just like you.”
People said so all the time, but this was the first time the comment made Charlie blush. “They have my hair for sure, but Frank has his mother’s brown eyes. Both turn into bright red tomatoes in the sun the way I do. It's not the looks that get to me, though, it's their personalities. Ellie put her hands on her hips and glared at me like a miniature version of her grandfather when I tried to put her to bed the other night. Frank has a way of cocking his head to the left when he’s thinking that is all his mother.”
“What do they have of you?” Ned’s way of focusing his attention on Charlie, as if nothing could be more important than what he was saying, always had him spilling more than he would to anyone else.
“There’s lots of little things, what they like to eat, the books they enjoy, but also I think Ellie's brave like me? Or maybe it's stubbornness. In any case, ever since she was a baby, if she saw something she wanted to do, she went and did it, damn the consequences. Frank, well, he likes people the way I do.” Charlie glanced over at the photograph in Ned’s hands. “Will you be joining the parental ranks anytime soon?”
“My parents make the obligatory annual nag about carrying on the family name, but I think even they have given up at this point. Plus, my cousin has been salivating over the prospect of inheriting the title for the past decade, and it might kill him if the situation changes.”
Charlie laughed because that was what Ned wanted him to do, but he felt a twinge of sadness. Ned was a generous, loving man. He would have made a good father. Charlie cleared his throat and changed the subject.
“Betty made me promise that I was not to get too drunk, or in any way behave like an eighteen-year-old again.”
Ned gestured to the borrowed motor that was speeding them away from their responsibilities for the day. The light caught the shine in his black hair as his fingers elegantly pointed towards the road.
“Don’t look at me,” Ned said. “As if I could stop you from doing anything.”
???
Amiens Cathedral, with its gigantic size, history, and strength, was like nothing else Charlie had seen. He stood at its entrance in awe, trying to memorise the details of every figure that arched up and around the door.
“This should help.” Ned thrust a thin printed booklet in front of Charlie’s face. “I remember how much you liked to read all the plaques when we used to go to the museums in London.”
Flipping open to the descriptions, Charlie followed Ned into the cathedral’s cavernous space, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of filtered colours streaming through stained-glass windows. “The book says this is the largest cathedral in France.”
“One could argue they were compensating for something.”
Apparently Ned still hadn’t come around to the joys of mediaeval art. Charlie shrugged mentally to himself. No one was perfect.
“What on earth is that?” Ned pointed to the floor, where a geometric zigzag of black and white marble lines took up the majority of the space. “Looks like some sort of occult symbol.”
This was why explanations were important. “According to the guide, it’s a labyrinth. Deciphering it was to be a pilgrimage for those who couldn’t travel to the Holy Land.”
Ned was barely listening, one hand under his chin, the other tracing lines in the air, trying to solve the puzzle. Smiling to himself, Charlie left Ned to it and wandered in and out of the pillars, delighting at the stained-glass windows and carved statues.
After their tour, Ned and Charlie sat side by side on a stone bench on the edges of the cathedral square, enjoying an improvised picnic of bread and cheese purchased by Ned in an impressive display of fluent French. The bread was the perfect balance of crusty outside and buttery soft inside. Charlie had been sceptical of the cheese, but Ned had picked one that was smooth and creamy. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and around them chimed the sing-song notes of French as people bustled and meandered down the streets.
It was the best moment Charlie had ever spent in France.
“That labyrinth,” Ned broke the silence as he tore off another chunk of bread.
“Still trying to figure it out?” Charlie smirked.
“As I told you, I did decipher it. I just didn’t want to ruin it for you by showing you.”
Charlie quirked his eyebrow, which he knew Ned found grating and very occasionally charming.
“In any case, it made me feel peaceful. Hard to believe that it is hundreds of years old.”
Charlie nodded, because that tension between the ancient and new was exactly why he liked the cathedral and mediaeval art in general.
Passing him an extra bit of the cheese, which Charlie was really going to need to get the name of, Ned said, “Do you know that both Villiers and Pinsent are French names?”
“You’ve met my family. Have you seen any frogs?” Charlie’s family was London-born and bred as far back as anyone cared to look.
“Neither of our ancestral trees have been French for a very long time, but once they were both Normans.”