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A Christmas Message: A Novel - Hardcover

Buch 14 von 21: The Christmas Stories

Perry, Anne

 
9781101886380: A Christmas Message: A Novel
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1101886382 ISBN 13: 9781101886380
Verlag: Ballantine Books, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

In the spirit of the season, New York Times bestselling author Anne Perry presents readers with the gift of another holiday mystery, taking them to the Holy Land for an intriguing and miraculous journey of discovery.
 
The year is 1900, and Victor Narraway is giving his wife, Vespasia, an unforgettable Christmas present—a trip to Jerusalem. Vespasia is enchanted by the exotic landscape of Palestine, and charmed by a fellow traveler the Narraways meet at their hotel in Jaffa. But when the man is murdered over a torn piece of ancient parchment he was taking to Jerusalem, Victor and Vespasia risk their lives to finish his mission and deliver the puzzling document to its home. Pursued by a shadowy figure with evil intent, they embark on a dangerous yet ultimately enlightening pilgrimage to the holy city, where the mysterious message on the parchment may finally be revealed.
 
Rich in suspense and wonder, A Christmas Message is at once a breathtaking adventure story and a poignant meditation on faith and spirituality.

Praise for A Christmas Message

“A strangely intriguing mystery handled neatly by the wonderfully capable Victor [Narraway] and [his new wife, Lady] Vespasia.”—Library Journal

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Anne Perry is the bestselling author of thirteen earlier holiday novels, as well as the William Monk series and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt series set in Victorian England, five World War I novels, and a work of historical fiction, The Sheen on the Silk. Anne Perry lives in Scotland and Los Angeles.

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Vespasia stood at the long, open window of her hotel bedroom and gazed across the rooftops of the city toward the western sky. The sun was sinking into

the Mediterranean, as if it were bleeding crimson into the water. The light was fading quickly. The air was already cooler, but it was mid-­December. Even here in Jaffa, on the coast of Palestine, the winters were cold.

Still smiling, she pulled her shawl around her shoulders. This journey to Jerusalem was the most cherished Christmas gift she had ever been given. She knew all the great cities of Europe, but she had never come farther east. Was it her imagination that this land was so very different from the places she knew? How much is any place seen through the lens of one’s imagination, colored by the dreams one has of it and of the events that have happened there?

In Paris, does one hear the laughter and music, and see the ghosts of the Revolution and the Terror? In Rome, does the tramp of the legions sound on the stones? Does one see Caesar with the laurels on his brow, and the world at his feet?

Who does one see in this land, holy to Muslim, Jew, and Christian alike?

She should close the window and go in, keep the room warm. And yet she wanted to watch the sky darken until there was only the blaze of stars to see.

Vespasia had known Victor Narraway for many years in connection with Thomas Pitt and the cases he had solved, and in which they had assisted one way or another, but in spite of her silver hair and the refinement of many years in her face, this year of 1900 was only the second of their marriage. Narraway’s gift of a journey to Jerusalem had surprised her. There was a spiritual resonance to it she would not have expected from him. She knew his ethical beliefs very well. She could not have married a man whose driving forces she did not know, but he had never framed them in terms of religion. But then perhaps she had not either. One could kneel in church among scores of people who used the same words as you did, many long familiar, and yet the meanings they each took from them were probably worlds apart.

There was so much to discover, even in those you knew best. She hoped it would always be so. One should be growing, changing, learning forever. Ideas in the mind were like blood in the veins. The heart that does not beat is dying.

She heard movement behind her and turned.

Narraway was standing in the middle of the room, smiling. In the soft candlelight he looked very dark, and the usual lines of anxiety were eased away, as if he had left all responsibilities behind.

“You’ll get cold,” he warned her.

“Yes, I know,” she admitted. “I was waiting for the stars.” She pulled the windows closed and fastened the lock. “It’s too early for dinner. If I take a cloak, we could go for a walk. Perhaps toward the sea? It’s only half a mile or so.”

“No,” he said a trifle too quickly. “It would be unwise to walk in the streets after dark.” A flicker of concern crossed his face. “In fact, it might be better not to go toward the dockside even in daylight.”

“I know there’s unrest,” she replied. “But isn’t that a little . . . ?”

“No, it isn’t,” he answered, his face somber. “There’s always unease in Palestine, but this time of the year it’s worse. Thousands of Christian pilgrims come here on their way to Jerusalem, or Bethlehem. Jews come to the Western Wall, and Muslims to the Dome of the Rock. Feelings are high.” He gave a slight shrug, just the lifting of one shoulder. “God knows, too often we have little respect for one another’s religions or customs, especially if they conflict with our own, and we don’t understand them. We don’t even try to.”

She heard the sharpness in his voice, and might have mistaken it for temper had she not known the depth of his knowledge. In all the experiences they had shared, very often in connection with matters of importance and danger, she had never seen his nerve fail him. Once he had been head of Special Branch, that arm of the police service responsible for the detection of treason and threats to the safety of the state from within, as opposed to those who defend from armed attack by other nations. In all her long and frequently interesting life, Vespasia had never known anyone less likely to fear unreasonably.

He offered her his arm. “We’ll walk in the garden. It’s small, but it’s very pleasant, even at this time of the year.”

At the door, he put her cloak around her and she felt his touch linger a moment longer than necessary. The pressure of his fingers was light, but she was aware of its warmth, and it pleased her.

The garden was indeed small, little more than a wide-­open courtyard with a few vines on the supporting pillars of the extended roof. A couple of cypress trees rose like black flames beside the fountain, which flowed with slight sound into the stone pool. The four hanging lanterns were too dim to detract from the blaze of stars across the open center.

“There’s hardly room to walk,” he said with regret. “But at least there’s no one here to disturb.” The moment he said it, she saw that he was mistaken. A shadow detached itself from one of the farther pillars, was visible for a moment, then melted into the hollow of the arcade and disappeared. She felt his hand tighten on her arm, and she stopped.

“Possibly a servant,” she said quietly. It was ridiculous to be distressed by it.

“Or someone keeping an assignation,” Narraway suggested, beginning to move again.

Vespasia looked upward at the sweep of stars, now that the darker sky made them brilliant. “I imagine they’ll be even better out in the desert, when we take the train to Jerusalem. The stars seem so much farther away in London; here they look almost close enough to touch—­just stretch a little more, stand on tiptoe. I wonder if that is why Christ was born in a place like this.”

“For the stars?” he said with disbelief.

“Well, the wise men could hardly follow the star on a winter night in London,” she said reasonably.

“Do you believe that, about the star?” he asked with interest, and perhaps a shadow of amusement. He was standing a little behind her, close enough to keep the faint breeze from chilling her. “If they could see it, why couldn’t everyone else? Why couldn’t Herod, for a start? Didn’t he ask them where it led, and to come back and tell him?”

She was silent for a moment. She had not considered it before. Indeed, why had the frightened, jealous Herod not seen the star himself? Why did he need the wise men to return and tell him where it had guided them?

“I don’t know,” she said at last. “Perhaps you only recognize what you are looking for.”

“But he was looking for it,” Narraway pointed out.

She thought for a moment longer. “He was looking for a rival king, in order to kill him while he was still an infant. The wise men were looking for a different kind of king, one to whom they brought gifts, symbolic of who he was.”

“Really?” His voice lifted with mild curiosity.

“Gold for the king, frankincense for the priest, and myrrh for the sacrifice,” she told him.

“I didn’t know that was what they meant,” he admitted. “Do you want to walk out into the next courtyard? It goes beyond the archway there.”

“What a good idea,” she agreed....

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Verlag
Ballantine Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2016
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1101886382
ISBN 13 
9781101886380
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
176
Kontakt zum Hersteller
SC
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/

CL MODESTO LAFUENTE 41
Madrid
Madrid
Spanien

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