Suspicious goings on

It's been three months now since I left the Canal for the Cathedral. 

I look out over the cathedral square and onto the back door leading straight into the Chapelle St Maurice.  Depending on where I have to go in town, I often take a short cut through the cathedral, giving a nod to the very Moorish icon of our town's patron saint and lighting a candle for whoever comes to mind at the moment, before tugging the heavy main door open and stepping out into the light.  

For the past three months I have sat at the Juliette balcony and watched the market set up on Monday mornings, I've seen a whole fairground fold itself up into lorries and drive off in the night, I've watched my children and all their straggly lot noisily cross the square, their faces lifted, waving up to me.  Père David crosses from the presbytery next door and disappears into the tiny St Maurice door; he looks like a thin black crow since his illness but his dark beauty and other-worldliness still takes my breath away.  

The summer is over, the children have all gone,  Even Père David has left, taking up his new post as the exorcist of the Ariège.  The jackdaws rustle about high in the plane trees, letting the fruits drop to the ground and then swooping down to squabble over them.   The plane leaves blow in eddies in front of St Maurice's door.

But there has been one constant.  The evening meetings of Andrew and Bruno.  Bruno arrives just before 7 in the evening.  He wheels his bike into the cathedral and waits for Andrew.  Andrew arrives, the door shuts and half an hour later they both leave and Andrew locks the door.   I'm sadly intrigued......