Page 55 of The Prize
She was warning me her phone was either bugged or she suspected it was because it had been her that had flown off to Tunisia without me back in our college days. I’d been fine with it because I had exams. She’d ridden on a camel in the desert and snogged an Arabic Berber with bright blue eyes.
“I’m fine,” I reassured her.
“Where are you?”
“Let me call you back. It’s a bad line.” I hated lying to her.
Tobias read my confliction and gestured for me to end the call.
“I’ll come to you,” she said.
My gaze shot to Tobias.
“Clara, I have to go. I love you.”
She sighed heavily. “I love you. Be careful. Call again soon.”
I hung up and dropped my phone into Tobias’s outstretched hand. I couldn’t work out if I felt better for having spoken with her. At least she knew I was thinking of her and I was safe.
“You okay?” Tobias tucked the phone away.
“It went as expected.” I pushed myself to my feet. “Actually, I feel a little sick.”
“Can I do anything?”
“I’m okay.”
He gave me a sympathetic smile. “I get it.”
Trying to calm my anxiety from just having called home, I blew out a wary breath. Hearing Clara’s voice was yet another reminder of how far out of my comfort zone I’d come.
I followed Tobias along the well-worn pathway with its uneven tiles. We continued down a sprawling archway with stone pillars to our left and it gave this place the flair of a cathedral.
“Why are we here?” I managed to keep up with his purposeful strides.
“There’s someone I need to talk with.”
“You’re not seriously dragging a church into this?”
“Monastery.”
“I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever you’re up to.”
“Go wait in the car, then.”
I followed him through the door and we were greeted by the scent of incense and melting candle wax. This small chapel reminded me of the days when I’d gone to church with my dad. There was a bucket at the front to catch the leaks from the imminent rain.
This place was no less holy for its dilapidated state, and I broke away from Tobias to lean on a pew and genuflect toward the nave. Bowing my head in respect I whispered a small prayer. When I rose and turned to look at Tobias, he was bathed in the morning light streaming in from the stained-glass windows and he was gazing up at the frescoed ceiling.
I crossed the space between us and followed his gaze, admiring the fading fresco detailing monks in prayer with Christ in the center offering his blessing. There was a sacredness to this place; a humility. From the look of the images above someone had begun to restore the artwork and had brightened the colors and lovingly tried to repair the damage.
“Let’s just go.” I reached up to adjust his scarf.
He replied in a language I’d never heard before and it sounded lyrically complex and caused the fine hairs on my forearms to prickle.
