The Revelations (14 page)

Neil had come to sit beside Marcus. He leaned forward to listen to the Earl, his mouth hanging slightly open.

‘People don’t grasp the meaning of the story about the camel and the eye of the needle,’ the Earl continued. ‘They think it means that it is impossible for a rich man to enter heaven; it doesn’t. What Jesus is saying is that we will be held to higher standards. If we have gained wealth and power during our days on Earth, then we need to make sure that we behave impeccably. To those who have, more will be given. But only if we use our gifts correctly. Fitting a camel through the eye of a needle is child’s play for God. Indeed it may be that the verse is just a mistranslation, that the “needle” referred to a gate in the walls of Jerusalem through which it was perfectly possible to drive a camel. Whichever, there’s nothing to stop you being a good Christian and rich.’

Neil was nodding. David came to stand behind the Earl.

‘The Course has been so successful in the City because it doesn’t seek to judge people on how they behave in the office. It would be ridiculous to expect people to live like saints in a world that is as dog-eat-dog as ours. Christians would quickly be wiped off the map. So we ask people to come to the Course and ask God’s forgiveness when they have done wrong, and to use their money where they can to help further the Course’s good work.’

David looked hard at Neil.

‘You know,’ David said, raising his voice so the other members would hear, ‘the Bible is clever enough to know that the pursuit of wealth presents major problems for Christians. You should use it to guide you. There are twice as many verses in the Bible about money as there are about how to pray. Did you know that? Almost half of Jesus’s parables deal with cash. It isn’t easy to be rich and godly, but look to the Bible and you won’t go far wrong. And then, when you’re spectacularly rich, remember to give a good lot of it back to the church. Christians can’t afford to be squeamish about wealth – it is, as the Earl says, a horribly competitive world.’

After dinner, the Earl and the Nightingales left the Course members to drink and talk in the dinner hall. Some of the girls from Marcus and Abby’s group made their excuses and went up to bed at the same time. Marcus waved at them as they said goodnight and opened more bottles of wine, passing along the tables and filling empty glasses, smiling and chatting to the Course members. Someone found an ancient stereo with a pile of old CDs and the twins pulled Neil and Philip up to dance, singing misremembered lyrics in raucous voices. It grew darker in the hall as the boys blew out candles while moving tables to the side of the room to clear space for the dancers. Only the fire illuminated the dancing figures. Abby and Lee swung each other around energetically; Abby’s hands seemed huge on Lee’s frail body. Mouse and Marcus walked out into the garden for a cigarette, closing the heavy wooden doors behind them.

The night was clear and cold, the noise of the motorway loud in the still air. Marcus followed Mouse up a winding spiral stair whose steps were carved into the stone of the wall. At the top they made their way through an archway and onto the grassy roof of the dining hall. Mouse’s face was surprised by the flame of the lighter; seemingly about to speak, he drew back from Marcus, his eyebrows raised, the cigarette slack in the corner of his mouth. He then moved towards the flame. Marcus lit his own cigarette, and two red coals glowed in the darkness. They leaned on the metal rail that ran around the edge of the lawn and looked over towards the shimmer of the motorway that sat above the pines.

‘He was good tonight,’ said Mouse.

‘Pretty good. It’s a wonderful song. It’s the best song for the tongues.’ Marcus exhaled a long stream of smoke. He had been smoking too much recently. His lungs felt like old plastic bags. Abby was always complaining about his smoking, asking how one who was so scared of death could smoke. He had tried to explain to her once. How smoking was something he did because he was young. As soon as he gave up smoking, it would be a recognition of the fact that he was ageing, that he had left behind the eternity of adolescence. She had rolled her eyes the way she always did when he tried to explain the way he rationalised things she didn’t agree with.

‘I need to quit these things.’ He also liked to talk about quitting and had done for as long as he could remember. He coughed and spat into the bushes below. A sad moon rose over the trees, slowly ripping itself free from the motorway lights.

‘Imagine how he must have felt when they built the road. Imagine how peaceful it would have been before. I suppose motorways have to go somewhere, but it seems strange that they’d put it here, among all this.’ Marcus swung his cigarette hand out over the invisible view. The flashing ember left traces across his retinas.

‘The Earl hasn’t been here that long,’ said Mouse. ‘I did some research on Lancing Manor in the library. He bought it in, I don’t know, 1992 or something. He made an awful lot of money in one of the privatisations. Electricity, perhaps. It was when he bought his title. I looked it all up.’

‘Really? But what about the pictures, the photographs? It felt like his family had been living here for generations. It seems a bit fraudulent.’

Mouse paused. ‘I don’t think it’s fraudulent. Or no more fraudulent than the building itself, you know? The Earl just wanted to get the whole thing right. Because his family couldn’t have lived here for that many generations. Lancing Manor was only built in 1890. None of it is older than that. It’s why it manages to feel so authentic. It’s new enough to be convincing.’

‘I always find him a bit sinister. I know he does amazing things for the Course, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s only in it for the money, that all the talk of building the Course into a global franchise is just so that he can somehow make more cash out of it. I’m sure he gets backhanders from the hedge funds we use for the Course’s investments. I can never understand why we stick with some of the funds that are clearly going down. Except that the managers are Course members.’

‘But that’s it, isn’t it? The Earl is sending out a message that he’ll stick with people as long as they keep attending the Course. I think he wants to make it so that you can’t get anywhere in the City unless you’re a Course member. You’ve seen how the bankers all get together after services. They look after each other. Anyway, the Earl doesn’t need money.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I heard him talking to Neil earlier. He’s just made twenty million pounds on his Chinese stamp collection.’

‘What?’

‘When everyone else was buying up the Chinese stock market, the Earl sat down and tried to work out what else would rise in value when the economy took off there. He settled on stamps. Stamp collecting is a very middle-class hobby there, as it was here, I suppose. The Earl realised that as the middle class grew, stamps would rise in value. He bought up some major private stamp collections in the late nineties. Sold them at Sotheby’s in Hong Kong last week.’

‘That’s amazing.’

They smoked in silence for a while. Mouse put his arm around Marcus’s shoulder and spoke softly in his ear.

‘Will you speak to Lee? I’m so worried about her at the moment. She’s worse than ever. I can barely look at her.’

‘I’ve tried. It’s hard to get through to her. She seems so distant.’

‘It’s not just her promiscuity. Although have you noticed how that side of things always flares up when she’s in one of her slumps? Sometimes when I see her face the sadness just swamps me. The poor thing needs help.’

‘Should we tell David?’

‘I think he’s already spoken to her. He knows everything.’

‘Of course he does, he’s David.’

‘Will you try again? We all look up to you. You know that, don’t you, sport?’

‘That’s . . . that’s really sweet. Thanks.’

Mouse squeezed Marcus’s shoulder and then let his hand fall to his side. Someone coughed in the darkness.

‘Marcus? Mouse? Are you up there?’

It was Maki. She walked across the grass and leaned between Marcus and Mouse on the metal rail. Drawing out a packet of thin menthol cigarettes, she lit one as Mouse sent his own spinning down into the shrubbery.

‘My friends told me that the Course would be a good way to meet real English people.’

Marcus liked the softness of her voice, the kindness in her dark eyes.

‘But I hadn’t realised quite what a small world it would be. I feel very foreign among so many girls who look alike.’

‘It’s not surprising though, is it? Given where the church is, where it draws its followers from?’ Marcus tried to read her face in the dim light as he spoke. ‘The church is supposed to represent its local community, and even though people come from all over London to join the Course, to worship at St Botolph’s, the place necessarily attracts a type of person who feels comfortable in that square among those high, disapproving houses.’

‘Or wants to feel comfortable there,’ Mouse said, fiddling with his signet ring. ‘When I first joined the Course, I found it very intimidating. It was like being at university again, all of these rituals that everyone else seemed to know inside out. But I wanted to be part of that world. It was glamorous and the people were so grand-looking.’

‘Don’t you find it a bit claustrophobic, though?’ said Maki. ‘I do wonder how effective the Course can be when it draws from such a narrow group of people.’

‘St Botolph’s is just the beginning,’ said Mouse, lighting another cigarette. ‘It’s the base for our global expansion. And at the moment we do need people who are able to finance this evangelism, who can work for free or very little while we get the thing established. Remember that St Botolph was the patron saint of travellers and missionaries. We won’t be stuck in Chelsea for ever – we’re getting out into the world and spreading the word.’

‘I suppose so . . .’ She stared out into the darkness.

‘You’re part of our family now,’ Mouse said quietly. He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘We’re incredibly fond of you. I really don’t know what we’d do if you left.’

‘I didn’t say I was leaving. Just that I don’t feel totally comfortable yet.’

‘You will, though. Because we love you, and we want you always to be one of us.’

‘That’s really sweet. Thank you.’

Marcus and Mouse waited for Maki to finish her cigarette and then the three of them made their way back down the spiral stairway and into the dining hall. Abby and Lee were standing in front of the open doors of the armoire. The twins were only visible from the waist downwards as they burrowed among the dark shapes hanging in the cupboard. Marcus saw Abby running her hands over one of the shapes and realised that it was a long fur jacket. Maki walked over to join the girls and the twins emerged, fox stoles wrapped around their throats.

‘Let’s put them on,’ said Mouse, running over to the
cupboard
. ‘Why don’t we get dressed up and go and find the motorway?’ His words tumbled out as he pulled down a rabbit-skin jacket and wrapped it around himself, seized a bottle of red wine and threw open the doors of the hall, turning around with a laugh. He dragged a chair over to the cupboard and rummaged along the top shelf until he found a blue three-pointed hat.

‘I’m going to be Napoleon,’ he said, pulling it down over his head. It was far too big for him and covered his ears. His eyes bulged from the shadow cast by the brim.

Invigorated by Mouse’s enthusiasm, the other Course members jostled to find coats that fitted them. Only Abby hung back for a moment.

‘Should we really be taking these? It seems rude, without asking.’

‘We won’t damage them. Come on, Abby, no one will know.’ Mouse was shouting now, already down the steps and pointing towards the haze of synthetic light that hung over the pine trees.

There were enough jackets for all of the members, although Philip’s was too short and meant that he held out his arms like a zombie as he walked. The twins had to hitch up the long tails of their own jackets, making their way daintily down the steps of the dining hall and onto a path that ran between thickly planted pine trees downhill to the lake. Mouse used his lighter to illuminate the path as he scuttled wheezing ahead, past the lake and the boathouse whose roof was brushed by pine branches. The earth at their feet was red; Marcus drew in a breath, savouring the scent of the soil and the pines and, faintly, woodsmoke. Or the woodsmoke might have been a scent-memory, a smell that had at some previous time existed strongly for him alongside the smell of the earth and the pines and was therefore repeated here.

The hill steepened as they descended. Ferns trembled in damp clumps above clusters of mossy rocks. Marcus slowed to help Abby climb over the knotted roots that spread from the bases of the trees. Then down into a gully where the ferns grew very thickly, and without the light of the bright moon that fell between the trees they would have surely had to turn back. Mouse roared ahead with the twins following closely in his wake, fur coats flying like capes behind them. Mouse had one hand pressed down on his head to keep the hat in place. Marcus felt Abby slip her arm inside his jacket and about his waist. Lee had her camera around her neck and was taking photographs of the group, the flash pausing time for a moment, freezing them as they made their way down the hill. Neil brought up the rear with Philip. Looking back, Marcus laughed at Philip’s horizontal arms, at the expression of dignified discomfort on his face as Lee took his picture. The roar of the road was now very loud in their ears and seemed to quiver in the needles of the pines.

Without warning they came out of the wood and were standing at the top of an escarpment that led down to the motorway. The road was cut deep into the hillside, so that they looked down onto the bright street lights. Marcus could see that Mouse was already heading towards a footbridge that crossed the road half a mile to the south. His stout frame was outlined against the ridge of the hill, purposefully striding, his cap like a ship atop his head. The twins still followed behind him, although they were finding it hard to keep up with his bounding steps. The motorway below them was six lanes across, busy despite the late hour with articulated lorries thundering freight through the night. He turned and followed Mouse along the escarpment, Abby still clutched close against him.