‘He raised Himself up and said to them, “He who is without sin among you, let him throw a stone at her first.” And again He stooped down and wrote on the ground. Then those who heard it, being convicted by their conscience, went out one by one, beginning with the oldest even to the last. And Jesus was left alone, and the woman standing in the midst. When Jesus had raised Himself up and saw no one but the woman, He said to her, “Woman, where are those accusers of yours? Has no one condemned you?”
And Jesus said to her, “Neither do I condemn you; go and sin no more”.’ – I cast my eyes over a leaflet left in the back seat of the cab that is driving me through the snow-powdered landscape of Surrey.
He forgave her … in terror … humiliated and confronted by those who would soon be crushing her head. It seemed like eternity … passing the golf courses, luxurious country estates and pristine landscaped gardens.
It feels like I am having a seizure … and probably developing a fever. I am sweating in my lightweight jacket. It might well be flu, but I didn’t feel like this during the flight … the flight, which felt like an eternity.
But it is only when I catch sight of Akbar’s neo-Palladian mansion on fire that I really get the chills. Richard is nowhere to be seen.
Flames are ravaging the front portico, shattering the glass of the high sash windows. There is no gunfire, just the creak of burning wood.
The smell is so intense that my eyes tear up.
She opens her eyes and looks around. They are all gone! She makes no accusations against the men … ready to face the consequences without blaming anyone for the choices she made.
‘It’s too smoggy ahead. I can’t drive you any further,’ says the cab driver, stopping by an ornamental pool. Without thinking twice, I get out and hobble towards the mansion, leaning on the crutch with one hand and covering my nose with my other elbow, to avoid inhaling the acidic smoke.
I sneeze, chilled to the bone … the main thing is to find Richard and make sure he gets out alive. What if he has dislocated his shoulder again?
This is not happening - not happening!
With every yard I advance, my instinct tells me ‘this is the end’. I can’t even look at the fire without feeling an extraordinary physical pain. This isn’t happening, it just isn’t happening … how can this be happening?
She stands at the foot of the cross, looking at the Person who has brought her into freedom and a new life.
Such a stupid end. So silly … But I just know that I can never live without him, ever again. I don’t want to. It’s as simple as that. I will find him, no matter what. … wash and anoint his feet.
The snow is turning into drizzle. Chirimiri – such a funny word …
I limp across the sleety lawn in my wet loafers towards the right wing of the house, which the flames have not yet possessed completely, though they are slowly getting there. Meanwhile, the left wing has already been devoured by the hungry jaws of the fire - chewed up as if it were made of paper, and spat out as embers and rubble.
Suddenly, the sharp, powerful sound of breaking glass makes me look up. I immediately recognize the silhouette in the dormer window: it is Him. In an instant, everything starts to make sense. Even the cold rain feels like a blessing now.
The next moment there is a loud crack from the roof, and the flames slowly start crawling towards Richard from both inside and outside the attic. He leaps onto a narrow ledge and precariously grabs hold of a rickety window frame.
‘Richard!’ I shout at the top of my voice. ‘Richard!’ I shout even louder, yearning for him to see me here … supporting him in this final terrifying moment.
‘Katya!’ I can barely hear him above the roar of the flames and the crash of breaking glass, but I know he has seen me. I can feel his smile.
It all happens so quickly: he bends his knees, spreads his arms like wings, braces himself and jumps.
Casting my crutch aside, feeling no pain whatsoever, I run towards him as fast as I possibly can.
Before crashing onto the lawn, his chest strikes a drainpipe. He obviously couldn’t have seen it from the window …
‘Katya,’ he whispers, rising on his shaking legs, covering his bloodied mouth with his hand.
‘Richard!’ I weep, catching him as he stumbles and falls.
People rush towards us from all directions … apparently they were so close …
Biarritz, 2016