The Lost Testament

112

In the train on the way back to Sevenoaks, Bronson and Angela sat in the half-empty carriage in virtual silence, both still shell-shocked by the events of the day. As the train accelerated away from Orpington, Angela finally stirred herself.

‘What can we do, Chris?’ she asked. ‘I’ve known Charles Westman for years. He was the last person I would ever have suspected of being involved with any organization more dangerous than the local Rotary Club. And he turns out to be the head of a group that rivals the Mafia for its ruthlessness. If you can’t trust somebody like him, who the hell can we trust?’

‘I know. It seems completely unbelievable.’

‘So what can we do?’ she asked again. ‘I don’t want to spend the rest of my life jumping at shadows, but we could end up doing that if we make this public.’

‘I suppose it all depends on how important the truth is,’ Bronson said. ‘I know your opinion of the parchment, but so far nobody else knows what you’ve found. That does provide us with a couple of options.’

‘What options?’ Angela asked, a puzzled frown on her face.

‘Well, you might not like it, but I did have one idea.’