by Jenny Frame
“Run amok? She’s painting at an easel, for pity’s sake.” Bridget was on the verge of losing her temper.
“You would do well to remember who you are talking to, Claremont. I’m not Bishop Lovejoy, and your well-connected family won’t protect you forever. One day they will not be able to save you.”
“Is that a threat, My Lord?” Bridget knew full well Sprat would do anything to get rid of her.
“Simply a statement of facts. I will be watching, Claremont. Make no mistake about that.”
“I’m sure. Good day, My Lord.” Bridget slammed the telephone down. “Bloody old fool!”
She got up and started to pace. Today had been a roller coaster of emotions. Earlier in the churchyard, Finn brought out yearnings, longings that were usually well under control, but the sight of Finn at her feet set her body on fire. Putting out that fire was impossible for her, so it would have been better if Finn wasn’t going to be there in her churchyard every day.
Bridge should be keeping her distance, giving Finn a huge wide berth. Instead she was protecting her, no matter the cost to herself. Her predictable, safe world was becoming chaotic, and Bridge didn’t like it.
* * *
The early evening gloom was descending onto Axedale House, as Sam McQuade drove her Land Rover out of the stable block and onto the main driveway. As she drove, she noticed the vicar standing over at the Roman villa site on the grounds. She parked up and walked over.
“Bridge, what are you doing up here?”
“Oh, I was just checking on Willow and thought I’d have a walk through the grounds.”
Quade was sure she could sense something was wrong. Bridge was always laughing and joking, up for a good conversation, but tonight she appeared pensive and tense.
“Is everything all right?”
Bridge put her hands into her biker jacket pockets and forced a smile onto her face. “Of course. Tip-top as usual, Quade.”
Quade decided to let her off the hook for the moment, walked onto the Perspex that covered the Roman villa floor, and stood beside her friend. “Beautiful, isn’t it? It’s amazing something like this has been under our feet all this time, and we never knew.”
“I think it was meant to come to the surface when it did. It was Harry’s sign,” Bridge said.
“Her sign? How so?” Quade asked.
Bridget sighed and kicked some gravel off the Perspex surface with her shoe. “I once told Harry, To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. God sends us what we need, when we need it. Harry was at a crossroads. Inside she knew something had to change in her life. She needed her Goddess of love, and God sent her Annie.”
Bridge indicated the Roman ruins. “This was the proverbial kick up the backside to make her realize that.”
Quade smiled. “Annie certainly weaved her magic on this village, so I quite believe she is a Goddess. What about you, Vicar?”
Bridge snapped her head around. “What do you mean?”
“What’s your sign? Is there a time for you to find someone, and me?”
“I’m sure God has his plans for you, Quade. A handsome butch needs to win the heart of a pretty lady.”
Quade noticed that Bridge hadn’t answered her question. “And you?”
“No. No signs for me,” Bridge said rather too quickly. “It’s hard enough being gay, with a homophobic bishop breathing down my neck, without having a relationship to complicate matters. My career is too important to me.”
Quade was not convinced by that answer. When they’d talked in the church hall, after Harry and Annie’s party, she’d sounded like she had hope that there was someone out there for her, but now she sounded defensive, worried, and tense.
Changing the subject completely, Quade said, “How’s your lost sheep coming on, Bridge?”
“She’s not mine. I barely talk to her.”
That quick and blasé comment made Quade’s ears prick up. “Oh? I heard at the pub that she was painting at the church.”
“Yes, she asked if she could. Why an atheist wants to paint a church I’ll never know. Anyway, can you give me a lift back to the vicarage?”
There was something, some sort of tension, going on between them, and Quade was going to find out what.
“Your carriage awaits, Vicar.”
* * *
Finn sat at her dining table, a half-eaten sandwich discarded at the setting opposite her chair.
She held her sister’s dousing crystal by the chain and watched it spin. Carrie, unlike her, believed in everything about the spiritual world, up until the end, at least. She was heavily into New Age beliefs in crystals, auras, and angels. They jokingly bickered, but Finn never made too much of their different perceptions. That was Carrie’s way of coping with a difficult childhood. They were both brought up in the strict Charismatic Christian world. Finn was pushed towards atheism and Carrie to the New Age movement.
Finn kept her eyes on the swinging crystal and said, “I’m sorry I made you doubt your beliefs. I’m sorry I made you scared.”
She felt tears threatening to spill out of her, and she hated to cry. “I should have just performed my magic and kept my big mouth shut. There’s this woman, Carrie, a vicar of all things, and she made me feel something other than sadness.”
The crystal started to noticeably spin faster. “It felt good, like this big load was lifted off me, but then I remembered you, and how scared you were, and I felt so guilty.”
Finn sat bolt upright when the crystal started to spin even faster. It was unnerving. She started to look around the room quickly.
“Carrie? Carrie? Are you here?”
There was a loud knock at the door and Finn jumped in fright. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
She dropped the crystal in the middle of the table and tried to calm her hammering heart.
Whoever was at the door knocked again. Finn quickly pulled herself together and walked over to the door to open it.
It was Sam McQuade. “Evening, mate.”
“Hi.”
“I was just wondering if you’d like to come to the pub quiz on Saturday night. My team is short on numbers with Harry and Annie out of the country.”
Everything inside Finn was screaming no, but she tried to say it politely because Quade was a nice person. “I’m sorry, Quade. I don’t think I’m up to socializing yet,” Finn said.
“Come on, mate. It would do you good. It’s just me and Bridge. Everyone else will be too occupied with their own teams to bother with you.”
Finn’s ears pricked up at the mention of Bridge’s name. “The vicar?”
Quade nodded, and Finn had a hot flashback from today. The sizzling look that was shared between them made Finn want to prove to Bridge she was her type. She shook the thought away and told herself she had more to be worried about than some deviant fantasies about a vicar.
“I’m sorry, Quade. I can’t—”
“Oh, go on. Just for a little while? I’m on my own too, mate. I know how lonely life can get, how you can start to go crazy looking at four walls all weekend.”
Finn leaned against the door and sighed. “Okay, just for a while. I’m not good company at the moment.”
“Great! I’ll see you at seven thirty at the pub. Night, Finn.”
Finn shut the door and rested her forehead against it. “Why did I agree to that?”
It was so hard to keep up the distant façade when people like Quade were so nice and welcoming, and she didn’t want to think too deeply about the excitement she felt when Bridge’s name was mentioned.
She walked back to the dining table to pick up her sister’s crystal and put it away safely, but panic gripped her heart when she couldn’t find it where she’d left it.
“No, no, don’t tell me I’ve lost it,” Finn said to herself frantically.
She looked under the table and then back on top, and spotted it at last. It was over at the other end of the table, lying on her sketch pad.
&nb
sp; “How the hell did it get over there?”
When Finn picked it up, she realized just how much weirder it was. It was sitting on top of her sketch of the church.
Are you trying to tell me something, Carrie?
Chapter Eight
Bridge was on her way to the pub. Quiz night was always something she enjoyed. There was laughter, good company, and good cheer, exactly what she needed after a disconcerting week. And the most unsettling thing was the way her body had reacted to Finn. The passion she had felt surge through her while Finn knelt at her feet had shocked her in its intensity and was something she thought she had left far behind her in the past. The bishop’s phone call only served to remind her how difficult it would be to ever experience that with someone again. Her faith and her vocation were too important to her, and she wouldn’t ask a lover to sneak around or openly defy her bishop.
Bridge had kept away from Finn as much as she could the rest of the week, and sent Jan out to her with tea and cakes.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Butterstone calling after her, “Vicar? Could I have a word?”
“Of course. How can I help?”
Mr. Butterstone was a slightly flamboyant gentleman, never without his bow tie and highly polished shoes.
“We had our first planning meeting for the winter show last night, and—well, to say we were short on ideas is an understatement.”
“You know I always pitch in with painting and moving sets, but I’m not big on theatrical ideas, Mr. Butterstone.”
He started to rub his hands together nervously. “Well, we thought that since Ms. Kane is warming up to you that—”
“Who said she is warming up to me?” Bridget said far too sharply. “I’m sorry, but why do you get that impression?”
“Everyone says she’s painting at the church every day, and we just assumed…anyway, we thought she might be more open to helping with the show. Have you had the chance to ask her yet?”
Bridget sighed. She’d completely forgotten about her promise to the church council. “I don’t know whether she is warming up to me or the village or not, but I do know she doesn’t want to do magic or perform again.”
Mr. Butterstone looked down sadly. “Oh well, it was worth a try.”
Bridget started to feel guilty now. “If I feel the time is right, I’ll ask her, but I won’t make any promises.”
Mr. Butterstone grabbed her suddenly and gave her a big kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Vicar.”
They walked into the pub together, and Bridge looked around to see where Quade had gotten them a table. Her eyes met someone else first—it was Finn sitting beside Quade in the corner.
What was she doing here?
She never thought Finn would want to spend time at a noisy quiz night. Bridge almost considered walking back out, as she did the first time she saw Finn in here, but she couldn’t. It wasn’t Finn’s fault that she was so obviously attracted to her, and she shouldn’t be. Finn is not your type.
Despite that fact, Bridge couldn’t deny the hooded checked shirt, ripped designer jeans, and that infuriating hair made her look boyishly handsome. She walked over to the table and both Quade and Finn stood. “Look how polite you both are.”
“Evening, Vicar. I persuaded Finn to come and make up our numbers, otherwise our winning streak would be over.”
Bridge smiled. “Nice to see you, Finn.”
“You too.”
There was an awkward tension hanging between them.
“I’ll get the drinks in,” Quade said, breaking the ice. “Usual, Vicar?”
“Yes. Thanks, Quade.”
Once she left, Bridge put her leather jacket over the chair and sat down.
“I haven’t seen you much at the church this week,” Finn said.
Bridget tapped her fingers on the table, considering her answer. She had thought maybe she was blowing everything she had felt all out of proportion, but now back in Finn’s company, she couldn’t deny there was something there. An energy between them.
“No, I’ve been quite busy. Church issues, paperwork, you know the sort of thing.”
Finn gave her a suspicious look. “You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?”
Bridget quickly bit back with, “I think it’s you who have been desperately avoiding me since you got here.”
Finn opened her mouth to reply, but Quade arrived back with the tray of drinks, a sheet of paper, and some pens.
“I got us signed up for the quiz.” Quade handed Finn a pint of lager and a pen.
“And a Campari, gin, and vermouth for you, Vicar.”
“Thanks.” Bridget took a sip to calm the unsettling feelings.
She tapped her fingernails on the side of the glass and caught Finn watching. “Is there something wrong, Magician?”
“Nothing wrong with me,” Finn said defensively.
Quade looked back and forth between them, clearly sensing the tension. “I’m glad we’ve got you, Finn. Usually with Harry and Annie, our team has a good balance. A Cambridge don, a food and baking expert, and of course Bridge is our religious expert as well as an old Cambridge grad.”
Finn laughed and shook her head. “You went to Cambridge, Vicar? Straight from boarding school, I bet. Cambridge and Campari. Why am I not surprised?”
Bridget was really getting annoyed now. “What’s wrong with that? Are you an inverted snob, Magician?”
Luckily the pub quiz MC began to talk and started the quiz. Bridge grabbed her pen and the answer paper.
“I’ll write the answers—that’s if you provide any, Magician.”
Bridget knew she was being a bitch, but there was something about Finn, her attitude and very presence, that was getting under her skin.
“Don’t worry, despite my inferior education I’m sure I can provide some answers you can’t.”
Finn reached in the top pocket of her shirt and pulled out and started to shuffle her cards.
Even though Bridge didn’t return her look, she could feel Finn’s eyes on her. Since the last time they spoke, Finn had regained some of her arrogance, but again not when speaking with Quade. Just her.
Keeping her focus on the answer paper, Bridge said, “Are you going to show us a trick, or pull a rabbit out of a hat? I thought you didn’t perform magic any more.”
“For you I’d be willing to make an exception, and maybe saw you in half.”
Bridge’s head sprang up, then she leaned over and said, “I’d rather chain you up, lock you in a sack, and see if you could escape.”
“Okay, everyone”—Quinn’s voice halted their taunts—“the first question’s coming. Get ready.”
* * *
Quade sat back and watched Bridget and Finn bicker over a question. It had become a bit of a competition between them, and Quade found it more amusing to stay silent and let them slug it out. She’d had a hunch there was some sort of spark between them when she spoke to Bridge at Axedale, and she’d been proven correct.
They behaved differently around each other. Finn was not the grieving, lonely, sad person she’d had a pint with, or the person she had persuaded to come out from the safety of her cottage to quiz night. She was full of energy, confident, and revelling in her verbal tussles with Bridge. Finn reminded Quade of a little schoolboy pulling a girl’s pigtails to try to get her attention. Bridge, on the other hand, was assertive to the point of being haughty and dismissive. That wasn’t the Bridge she knew.
At the break, Finn excused herself to go to the bathroom, and further annoyed Bridge when she bumped into the back of her chair.
Quade shook her head, and once Finn was away said, “What’s going on, Bridge?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem really pissed off with Finn. Did she say something to you?” Quade asked, knowing she probably wouldn’t get a truthful answer.
“No. Nothing at all. Well, apart from being an arrogant little brat,” Bridge said.
Quade was now sure there was some sort
of chemistry going on. “Why do you say that? She seems a nice enough person to me.”
Bridge closed her eyes and let out a breath. “You’re right. I’ve just had a difficult week. I’ll go and get another round in.” Bridge lifted her handbag to get her purse, and found nothing there. “My purse is missing. I—”
Bridge then looked down at her wrist. “And my watch—that bloody magician.”
Just then Finn appeared back from the bathroom and dangled Bridge’s watch and purse over Bridge’s shoulders. “Looking for these?”
Bridge grabbed for them. “Keep your little trickster hands off my things, Magician.” Then she walked off angrily to the bar.
Finn sat back down beside Quade and laughed. “She hates it when I do that.”
“I see that, mate. It’s maybe not the best idea to rile Bridge. She can be scary,” Quade warned.
“That’s what makes it so fun.”
This was the first time Quade saw Finn smiling and light-hearted and it was all centred on the vicar.
Interesting.
* * *
At the end of the evening, Finn held open the door and Bridge walked outside. As Finn went to follow her, Bridge said, “Why are you following me, Magician?”
“Quade asked me to walk you safely home.”
“I don’t need to be walked home like a damsel in distress. I’m a thirty-six-year-old woman and perfectly capable of walking myself home.” Bridge stopped and turned to look at Finn. “How old are you anyway, Magician?”
“Twenty-seven.”
Bridge laughed. “No more than a boy. I’ve got a whip at home older than you.”
Finn gulped hard. She’d never met anyone that could turn her on with just her words. Bridge was elegant and beautiful, and the more dismissive she was to Finn, the more she turned her on.
“May I walk you home, Bridge? I promise not to steal anything from you. Can we call a truce?”
Bridge started to walk off and said, “Keep up, boy.”
