Baudet stood outside the main doors to Saint Laurent church in front of the seven steps whose religious significance Father Philippe had explained the other day. He realised he was far too early for the Christmas Eve mass but he intended to find the best place within. Shortly, the doors swung open for a young priest he did not recognise to welcome him. “Good evening, friend. Our best wishes of the season to you.”
“And to you, Father.” He entered, dipped two fingers into the holy water of the stone stoup, crossed himself and then walked down the nave. He turned into the fifth pew from the rear and sat down at the end nearest the buttressed wall.
“As I thought. From here, I have an unimpeded view of all parts of the church that the congregation will soon occupy.”
“As I thought. From here,
