by Jenny Frame
“Yes, a few times.” Bridge thought of Finn in the church, feeling such grief and sadness, and her heart ached.
“Does she have family here?”
“No, she has no one. From what I gather from the newspapers, it was just her and her sister, and the sister died of cancer. I think Finn is here to hide from the press and everyone that wants a piece of her in London.”
“How awful,” Martha said, “to be a young person with no one else in the world.”
Bridge stared off into the distance. “Yes, she’s sad and very alone. I think I was a bit much for her at the beginning.”
“I bet you were, Vicar. I’ve seen her on the television a few times. So boyishly handsome in her top hat and ringmaster outfit.”
“Yes, she is.” Bridge thought of her standing in the living room of the cottage with ripped jeans and bare feet, covered in paint splashes, that interesting blond fringe of hers tied back into a topknot, and felt her heart thud.
She shook away the feeling quickly. She’s not my type.
“I was in love with a magician once,” Martha said out of nowhere.
Bridge snapped her head to the side. “What?”
“Before I met Mr. Castle, you understand. I was eighteen and a kitchen maid at Axedale. In those days, a travelling fair used to come to the village green once a year. You know, coconut shy, hook a duck, palm reading, that sort of thing.”
Bridge nodded and smiled, enjoying hearing about old Axedale and Martha’s younger days.
“And? Who was he?”
“A young magician had a tent where he would put on shows, and you paid a penny to watch. He wore a top hat too, only more traditional, and had a European accent, very mysterious, and so attractive.”
“He sounds like quite a dish,” Bridget said.
“Oh, he was. We became close and I fell in love. He asked me to run away with him, and I nearly did, but Cook got ahold of me and knocked some sense into me. Said he was a flash Harry, who would use me and drop me as soon as he was tired of me, but when you’re young, you love so fiercely.”
Bridge put her hand over Martha’s. “That’s so sad.”
Martha laughed. “Not really. Cook was proved quite right, of course. When the fair came back the next year, they told us he had been put in jail for robbery, leaving his wife and child with no one to support them.”
“The scoundrel was married while he was courting you?”
“Yes, but around about then Mr. Castle joined the Axedale staff as footman, and I had the most wonderful life with him.”
“God guides us to those who will love us best.” Bridge told so many of her congregation that very thing. Trust that God will guide you to the right person. But somewhere deep down, she was frightened that was not true for her.
They were interrupted by the roar of a motorbike as it drove through the village. Bridge’s breathing hitched and her pulse increased, knowing there was only one person with a bike.
Finn.
To her surprise the bike stopped by the side of the road next to them, and Finn got off.
“Is that your lost sheep, Vicar?” Martha asked.
Bridge couldn’t take her eyes off Finn as she pulled off her helmet and that blond fringe flopped down.
“Yes, that’s the magician.”
“My, what interesting hair,” Martha said.
Finn approached with helmet in hand. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Vicar. I wondered if I could ask you something.”
“Of course, Finn. This is Mrs. Castle, part of Lady Harry’s family.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Castle.” Finn shook her hand, and Bridge was a bit surprised at how polite and open Finn was being. She hadn’t seen Finn since she gave her the painting, but something was different. Instead of running away, she was coming to her.
“I’ve seen you on the television, Ms. Kane,” Martha said smiling. “You are very good.”
Finn smiled bashfully. “Thank you, Mrs. Castle.”
Martha turned to Bridge and said, “Vicar, who was the magician in the Bible? I forget his name.”
“Simon—”
Before she got the chance to finish, Finn said, “Acts 8:9. But there was a certain man, called Simon, which beforetime in the same city used sorcery, and bewitched the people of Samaria, giving out that himself was some great one.”
Again Bridge was surprised at Finn’s biblical knowledge. She obviously knew her Bible very well, unusually well, especially considering she had no faith. She was sure there was so much more in Finn’s history than she knew.
“Indeed. Simon the sorcerer. How can I help you, Finn?”
Finn looked down at her boots, almost resembling a little lost boy. Lost. That’s exactly what she saw in Finn. Whether she was displaying her cocky arrogant side, or this, beneath it all she was lost. If only Finn would let Bridge help her find her way.
“I wondered if I would be able to set my painting things up in the churchyard. I’d like to paint the church.”
Bridget was more than a little lost for words. Finn had spent her whole career lampooning the Church, and she wanted to paint one? “The…church. You want to paint the church?”
“Yes, its medieval architecture is beautiful. I think it would make a nice subject.”
“I thought you were painting abstracts at the moment.”
Finn ran her hand through her hair, sweeping it back. “I think I need something more than that now.”
“Why do you need my permission anyway? The churchyard is only locked up last thing at night.”
The corners of Finn’s mouth threatened to rise into a ghost of a smile. “I think after everything, I need your permission, Vicar.”
The way Finn had said need was shooting off all sorts of bodily responses. Don’t even go there. That’s all in the past.
She took a deep breath and said, “Then you have my permission, Finn.”
Finn’s eyes dropped down to Bridge’s legs, as they had every time they had met. “Thank you.” Finn said goodbye to Martha, and then said to her, “I’ll see you around the churchyard then, Vicar.”
As Bridget and Finn regarded each other, there was a fresh new energy between them, something Bridge couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was there, hanging between them with intensity.
“Yes, I’ll see you around, Magician.”
She was sure she saw a sparkle in Finn’s eyes when she said that, and when Finn walked back over to her bike there was a confident swagger in her step. Bridget watched with envy as Finn sat astride her big Harley-Davidson, and almost wished she was on it too, holding on to Finn’s waist.
“Vicar? Are you listening?”
“What?” Bridge had almost forgotten Martha was sitting next to her. “Sorry, I was miles away.”
“I can see that, Vicar.” Martha gave a knowing smile. “She’s a very intense young woman, isn’t she?”
Bridge nodded. “Intense, complicated, confused, lost, all of the above.”
Martha patted her knee. “You are just the woman to sort her out, Vicar.”
* * *
As it happened, Bridge wasn’t in the church for the next couple of days. One day a week she drove around to visit some of the more remote farms and houses just beyond the village of Axedale. It was difficult for them to get to church, so she went to them. Then the next day was her monthly interfaith meeting in the local town.
In a way it was a good thing she wasn’t near the church, as she was determined not to overwhelm Finn, and frighten her away, as she had done when they first met.
Bridge arrived bright and early to catch up on all the emails and paperwork that had built up in her absence. There was no sign of Finn at that time in the morning, but she hoped she might see her later in the day.
After spending the morning getting caught up, she was finally nearing the end of her correspondence when Jan knocked and came in.
“Sorry to bother you, Vicar, but Mr. Winchester is here to see you, and he’s a little
steamed up.”
Bridget sighed. “Of course he is.”
Mr. Winchester had a huge chip on his shoulder and did not like women in positions of power. To him having a woman vicar was bad enough—but having a lesbian vicar was beyond the pale. He just about kept his loathing under control while Harry was there as head church warden and chair of the church council, but on his own he was obnoxious and problematic.
In fact, Bridge was sure Mr. Winchester was the one who’d told the bishop about her wedding service for Harry and Annie, in the church. No one else would have had a motive.
“Let him in then, Jan, and we’ll see what he has to moan about today.”
A few moments later Mr. Winchester strode into her office like a whirlwind, took off his hat, and threw it down on the desk.
“Good morning, Mr.—”
She didn’t have a chance to complete her greeting as he immediately launched into a tirade.
“What do you think you’re playing at, Vicar?”
Bridget clasped her hands and forced a smile on her face. “It depends on what game you’re talking about, Mr. Winchester.”
He placed his hands on her desk and leaned over in a threatening manner. “I’m talking about the bloody ungodly heathen sitting in my churchyard, painting.”
Bridget did not let anyone dominate her, especially a little weasel like Winchester. She stood up and looked him right in the eyes. “Sit down, Mr. Winchester. Now.”
Her eyes never left his until he dropped his gaze and took a seat.
“Now maybe we can talk more civilly.” Bridge sat back down.
“That bloody woman is a scourge to our faith, a demon sent to confuse and make people distrust their faith. Tell her to leave the churchyard.”
“Don’t be so melodramatic, Winchester. She’s a magician who calls out those who try to deceive or gain money in God’s name, and our church is open to everyone. Every faith, creed, sexuality”—she saw Mr. Winchester flinch at that word—“and to atheists. How else are we to spread God’s word if we only allow those who think the same as ourselves in the church?”
“You’re a fool, Vicar.” He stood up and put his hat on. “This will come back to haunt you. You can be sure your sins will find you out.”
He stormed out, and Bridge said under her breath, “Bloody idiot.”
Jan popped her head around the door. “Everything all right, Vicar?”
She sighed and said, “Just his usual bluster. Nothing to worry about.”
“Okay, would you like tea and cakes? I went to the baker this morning.”
Bridge had a thought. “Thank you. Could you make enough for two? I have some missionary work to do.”
* * *
Finn was sitting in the churchyard, which was filled with the graves of all the former residents of Axedale. She had set her easel up by a bench next to some of the oldest graves. It gave her a good angle of the front architecture of the church and some of the atmosphere of the graveyard. She had spent the first few days sketching out her painting and now was starting it in earnest. Finn found it very peaceful in these surrounds, much better than to be cooped up in her summer house. Although she was disappointed not to have seen Bridge again. After their brief chat by the river, she had thought maybe they could start again, but perhaps she had just pushed her away too much and now the vicar was avoiding her.
Finn felt herself shiver, and was compelled to look up. It’s her.
Bridge came walking across the churchyard towards her, and Finn stopped breathing for a few seconds. Bridget was a beautiful, striking woman, and those legs and heels did things to Finn. The vicar’s garb had at first annoyed her, and was everything that she thought she hated, but now it only added to her sexiness. Everything about Bridget Claremont was so wrong, but oh so right.
Finn hadn’t felt excited by a woman in such a long, long time, and she guessed that was because Bridget didn’t want to please her, but somewhere deep down inside, Finn wanted to please Bridge. She was different to any femme she had ever met, and she excited her so much.
“Hello, Finn. How is the painting coming?” Bridge said.
“Early stages. I’ve just sketched the outline, and starting on paint today.”
“Excellent. I brought you tea and cakes. I remembered that you forget to eat when you’re painting.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
Bridge laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not psychic or anything, Magician. When we met on the hill, the first time, you’d forgotten to eat.”
“You remembered that from our conversation?”
“Of course.” Bridge handed her tea.
“Thanks. I always lose myself when I paint. My sister—” Finn stopped suddenly. Why was she talking about Carrie? She did not want to talk about her to anyone.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about her, and I’m not going to minister to you about grief.”
But somehow this time, Finn wanted to tell Bridge. Her heart told her that she was safe with Bridge. “It’s okay, I was just going to say that Carrie always made sure I ate, when I was painting.”
“Did you two live together?” Bridge asked.
“Yeah, I bought us a nice house in London, once I made enough money, and we looked after each other.” Finn was frightened of any other questions about her sister, but surprisingly Bridge didn’t delve any deeper.
“Here, eat your cake then.”
“Tea and cakes with the vicar? My manager would never believe it,” Finn joked.
Bridge chuckled and took a sip of tea. “My deputy church warden thinks I’m letting the enemy in through the church gates.”
Finn’s eyes followed Bridge’s stockinged legs as she sat back and crossed her legs. “Do you think I’m the enemy, Vicar?”
To her surprise, Bridge put her manicured fingernail under Finn’s chin and lifted her head up to meet Bridge’s eyes away from her legs. “You know what they say, Magician? Keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer.”
Finn was embarrassed to have been caught looking, but she couldn’t not look. Then she remembered what Bridge had said to her at the cottage.
You’re not my type, Magician.
That had hurt Finn’s ego. She was always a woman’s type, and women always wanted her, but this vicar didn’t.
Finn noticed that Bridge was focused intently on her hair. “What? Is there something wrong?”
This morning Finn had decided to walk down to the church with her backpack and canvas, rather than bring the bike, so she had elaborately styled her blond fringe into almost a Mohawk on top of her head.
Bridge’s gaze felt like a caress. “Nothing wrong, your hair is just so—interesting, and different every time I see you.”
Finn laughed. “I like to keep things interesting. When you wear a helmet, it kind of limits your hair self-expression, but I left it at the cottage today.”
“Your bike is gorgeous. A Harley-Davidson?”
“You like bikes?” Finn said.
“Bikes, leather, buckles, you don’t know the half of it, Magician,” Bridge said with a seductive tinge to her voice, and Finn was instantly turned on, so much so that she knocked over the forgotten cup of water that she’d set for her brushes next to her foot, and water sloshed over Bridge’s shoes.
Bridget gasped, and Finn jumped up immediately. “Fuck! I’m so sorry.”
Finn grabbed her painting rag and went down on her knees to try to dry up the puddle she had made on Bridge’s shoes.
“It’s okay, Finn. It’s just water,” she heard Bridge say, but she was determined to fix her mess.
Luckily the water didn’t seem to have splashed onto Bridge’s stockings, just her shoes. Finn slowed and deliberately dried every drop of water from them. She held Bridge’s ankle gently and realized her fingers were caressing Bridge’s calf. Finn looked up and was met with what she could only describe as a hot, smouldering look that made her burn.
Finn’s mind
was already imagining caressing and kissing all the way up Bridge’s beautiful legs, and those legs wrapped around her head as she kissed Bridget more intimately.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Bridge pulling her foot away and standing up quickly. “That’s fine, Finn. No harm done. I…I need to go back in to work.”
Before Finn got a chance to reply, Bridge’s heels were clattering on the pavement as she hurried away.
Finn stood and let out a long breath. “Jesus Christ.”
She’d had lots of sex in her life, and lots of beautiful women, but nothing had turned her on as much as kneeling at Bridge’s feet and touching her. Finn put her face in her hands and rubbed it vigorously. After a few warning shots, her libido was back with a bang. She felt immediately guilty, because she wasn’t supposed to be feeling good and enjoying life while Carrie wasn’t. She was grieving.
She started to pick up her things and pack them away. She needed to get away from this church and take a long ride on her bike.
“A vicar? Why a bloody vicar, of all the things in the world,” Finn said with frustration.
Despite her confusion about her feelings and what they should be, there was one thing she was clear about. The vicar Bridget Claremont felt the attraction too. When their eyes met, she knew Bridget was feeling the same sorts of things she was.
Finn laughed to herself. I knew I was your type, Vicar. You know it, and I know it.
* * *
Bridge’s day went from the confusing to the ridiculous, when her bishop telephoned her. Bridge tried in vain to massage her temples with her fingers to dissipate her stress, but it wasn’t working.
“Yes, My Lord. I fully understand, but there is no harm being done here.”
“There is harm being done. It is upsetting your parishioners, and they are unhappy about it, and I received a phone call today from a concerned parishioner,” Bishop Sprat said.
Bridge sighed audibly. “And I can just guess who. Ms. Kane is here in Axedale to try to recover from a personal tragedy. She is not here to cause trouble, and if it brings her comfort to paint the church, then I will let her.”
Bishop Sprat retorted, “I understand your village is on the liberal fringes, Claremont, but letting an atheist run amok in your church is a step too far.”
