Book 2 - The Oxford Order ⁽²⁾

Daniel de Jager arrived in Oxford before the morning traffic settled into its usual rhythms. The early light moved slowly across the honey coloured stone of the colleges that gave the city its aura of intellectual permanence. Oxford had always carried a particular weight for him; his grandmother had studied theology at Merton College during the 1930's, returning to the Netherlands in 1935 imbued with a scholarly fervour not shared by the bakers, clock makers and carpenters of Groningen; eventually settling for a secretarial position at the local parish, a stone's throw from the street she grew up on. She spoke regularly of the misogyny of the city's intellectuals without revealing…

The telephone rang once, stopped, then rang again. Daniel de Jager let it ring a third time before answering; the office line was not widely circulated and those who had it tended to use it sparingly. “De Jager Antiques.” he said. “Daniel,” Croker replied. His voice was clear and unhurried. “Good afternoon.” “Afternoon, you caught me between . . . things.” “I apologise,” Croker said. “Did you receive the email I sent this morning?” “I saw it come in, I haven't opened it yet.” “Would you mind doing so now?” Daniel rolled his chair back from the desk and reached for the mouse. The computer took a moment to wake. Daniel…