Charming the Vicar

by Jenny Frame

  “Seduce, yes, not fall in love. You want Ellen to love you, and that’s never going to happen, Bridge.”

  Bridge picked up what was left of her drink and downed it. “I can’t move on. She’s the perfect woman for me, and I love her. No one has ever made me feel so hot and out of control. She’s all I’ve ever wanted, Harry.”

  “Bridge, you’re beautiful. Look around you.”

  She did and she saw eyes from all over the club on her.

  “You’re so busy concentrating on one woman who can never love you that you’re missing all the ones who would give their right arm to be kneeling by your knee-high boots. Go and live your life, Mistress Black. Ellen will always be your friend.”

  Just as Harry’s words were starting to make sense, her phone beeped with a text. “It’s Ellen—she wants me to meet her upstairs. I’m going to tell her how I feel tonight. I’m going to tell her I love her.”

  “Bridge—”

  Bridge set off upstairs to the bar, full of excitement and determined to finally tell Ellen what was in her heart. She spotted Ellen, who wasn’t dressed in her usual PVC outfit. Ellen ran over to her excitedly, throwing her arms around her.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Bridge, but I have an excuse, and super-exciting news.”

  Bridge smiled and tenderly brushed the hair from Ellen’s face. “Don’t worry about it, darling. You’re here now. Tell me your news, and then I’d like to talk to you about something important.”

  “You know I was staying at Mummy and Daddy’s?”

  Bridget nodded and a small knot of worry started to form inside her. She grasped Ellen’s hands, and her stomach sank when she felt a ring that hadn’t been there before.

  Ellen carried on, overflowing with excitement. “Well, they invited Miles to one of their dinner parties and—”

  As soon as Ellen said Miles, her stomach dropped. He was an ex of Ellen’s who had driven her to cry on Bridge’s shoulder more than once, but whom Ellen’s parents were in love with.

  Ellen lifted her hand and revealed an ostentatious diamond ring that completely summed up Miles.

  “I’m getting married!” Ellen squealed.

  Bridge felt like all the air had been stolen from her lungs as she struggled to keep the tears from her eyes.

  Ellen must have noticed her shock, because she said, “Bridge? You are happy for me? I know Miles and I have had our ups and downs, but I think he’s changed, and I think it’s time to settle down.”

  Bridge managed to croak through the crushing pain in her chest, “Of course I’m pleased for you, darling, if that’s what you want.”

  “I do. I love him so much, I always have.”

  There was a long silence, because Bridge just couldn’t verbalize anything positive when her heart was being crushed.

  “I can’t stay, Bridge. We’re going over to his parents’ house. I just wanted to stop by and tell you my news.”

  Ellen kissed her on the cheek and said, “Bye, Bridge. Tell Harry my news and give me a call during the week.”

  “Goodbye, darling.” Bridge knew inside that this truly was goodbye. She couldn’t bear to be around Ellen when she was excitedly planning for a wedding.

  Ellen ran off, leaving Bridge’s heart broken. Then Harry’s arms were around her, comforting her. “Let’s go downstairs. This was always going to happen. You deserve someone to worship you, not someone who gives you scraps of attention between boyfriends.”

  She turned around and found Harry wasn’t there any more. Instead she was in Finnian Kane’s arms.

  Finn didn’t say anything, but led her downstairs and on to the dance floor. They were dancing slowly, seductively, and Bridge was getting hotter by the second. Then Finn looked her straight in the eye and smiled. “You want me, Mistress. Let me worship you, Mistress.”

  Bridget woke from her sleep gasping and covered in a light sheen of sweat. She hadn’t dreamt about Ellen for such a long time. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and grasped for the bottle of water on her bedside cabinet. She took a long drink and her heart started to calm.

  “Why now?” Bridge said out loud, and why was it different?

  Her nightmare always ended with Harry trying to comfort her and keep her from running to confess her love to Ellen, but tonight it had been Finn, and her hurt had changed to wanting and hunger for Finn on the dance floor.

  Bridge looked at her bedside clock and saw the date. October 2. The anniversary of Ellen’s death. She felt immediately guilty that she hadn’t remembered until now.

  Bridge had been so caught up with helping her little lost sheep that she had forgotten about her long-standing pain. Last night Bridge had her fun putting Finn in her place, but their evening did more than that—it unlocked that passionate part of herself that she had vowed to keep locked inside since that fateful night. She had vowed never to let someone close to her heart, because Ellen had very nearly destroyed her.

  Finn had been right. Bridge did want her, and last night it had been so hard not to act, as she had walked around Finn. The old passionate lustful side of herself had always been relatively easy to keep locked down, but there was something about Finn that made it so hard.

  When she’d first met Finn, she assumed their energies would clash, but instead of that they appeared to not only mesh, but reacted to each other and heightened her sexual needs and wants. Mistress Black, her former persona, was closer to the surface of her being than she had been in years, and she had to do something about it. Bridge could not afford to let that genie out of the bottle, not in her religious life.

  She went over to the wardrobe and took out her box of pictures, and held the picture of Harry, Ellen, and herself. It had been four years since Bridge found out Ellen had died on this very day, and it always brought back the bad memories and hurt.

  “I’ll never forget you, darling.”

  Prayer, Bridge thought. Prayer was what she needed and what always soothed her soul.

  Just as she stood, her phone rang. It was Harry.

  “Hello, Harry? Is everything all right?”

  “Hello. Yes, everything’s fine. Are you all right, Bridge? You sound a little upset.”

  Bridge closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m absolutely tip-top. You know me, Harry.”

  “Yes, I do know you, and I also know what day it is. I wanted to call and check you were all right.”

  Harry never forgot the day. Despite her own struggles dealing with emotions, she always understood Bridge’s love and the broken heart that Bridge still carried to this day.

  “I’m okay.”

  “Bridge—”

  “No, honestly, I’m fine. I’ve been really busy with the church and the village.”

  “Martha says you have a celebrity in the village. A handsome young thing, with extraordinary hair, in her words. I called her last night.”

  Bridge laughed softly. “Finn, Finnian Kane, yes.”

  “Riley is unhappy she missed her. She loves her shows.”

  “Finn’s not really the magician you’re used to seeing on TV. She’s recently lost her sister, and come to the country to recuperate. A little lost sheep in need of guidance.”

  “And you are just the vicar to do it.”

  “What? No. I hardly see her,” Bridge said defensively.

  There were a few seconds of silence before Harry said, “Are you sure everything is okay, Bridge? You—”

  “Believe me, I’m absolutely okay. How are Annie and Riley?”

  “Wonderful. They are loving visiting Italy. Riley has her field notebook with her everywhere we go. It’s wonderful sharing it with them.”

  “You’re one lucky countess, Harry,” Bridge joked. “And the dig?”

  “Not going quite so well. The weather has been dreadful, and it’s made everything slow up. We’re thinking about shutting down and waiting till next season.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Yes and no. It’s given me much more time wit
h Annie and Riley.”

  “My, you have changed, your ladyship.”

  Right on cue she heard Annie say to Harry, “Tell Bridge we love her.”

  Bridge heard a little sigh, and then Harry said, “Apparently we love you, Bridge.”

  Bridge laughed and played along, teasing and making Harry feel more uncomfortable. “Love you too, honey bunny.”

  “Grow up, Vicar. Seriously, keep your chin up today. Oh, and I sent you something. You should receive them soon.”

  “Thanks, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your stay. Bye.”

  When she hung up the phone, Bridget heard the crunch of gravel in the driveway. She looked out and saw a florist’s van pulling in.

  “Oh, Harry.”

  * * *

  Finn’s feet pounded the road as she ran through the village. She passed the vicarage and saw Bridge standing by her front door receiving a big bunch of flowers from a delivery driver.

  Who is sending you flowers? Finn thought enviously. Did Bridge have someone in her life?

  She put her head down and ran up and out of the village. On both sides of her were fields filled with cattle and sheep. She had been running for about forty-five minutes now, music pumping in her wireless headphones.

  She’d had a fitful sleep last night, and had awoken with an intense ache and hunger, deep inside her, and not even painting would soothe it. Last night Bridge had pulled the rug from under her world. She had beaten her physically and mentally, and wound her up so tight that she was ready to fall at her feet.

  Finn had never experienced that before meeting Bridge. She had always done the running, been the one to seduce a woman into bed and take control. Bridge had been right in what she said—women had been too easy, but Bridge was not, and Finn found that intoxicating.

  Finn pushed herself as she ran uphill, hoping to release some of this energy she felt. She took Bridge home last night and was left burning for her, and the touch of her own hand was never going to make her feel better.

  Despite her physical discomfort, there was one thing that was inescapable. In Bridge’s company she didn’t feel the depths of grief that had been tearing at her heart. No, Bridge possessed some quality that brought calm to her soul, and made her feel alive after so many months of feeling dead and angry inside.

  This morning colours were brighter, sounds were sharper, and she didn’t feel as guilty for feeling better about the world.

  Up ahead she noticed Quade by the fence, in the field on the right. She was wrestling a broken post out of the ground single-handed.

  Bridge was right. You really are rugged.

  She ran over to her and pulled her earphones out. “Hey, Quade. Having trouble?”

  Quade threw the broken post to the ground and wiped her brow on the back of her heavy work gloves. “Morning, Finn. It’s just part of the never-ending battle to keep the fence in one piece. Either the animals break it or, like this one, a fallen tree takes it down. You’re up and about early.”

  “Yeah, I felt like a run. Can I give you a hand?”

  “If you don’t have anything better to do, sure. Thanks, mate.”

  Finn jumped over the fence and said, “What can I do?”

  “Can you get me a new post from the back of my truck?”

  Quade’s pickup truck sat behind them. “No problem.”

  Finn carried the post over to Quade and helped her fit it. She helped with a few more posts, enjoying the physical labour. Half an hour later they were finished, and Quade invited her back to the farmhouse for a cup of tea.

  Quade took her into a warm, cosy farm kitchen. “Take a seat and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “Thanks, how are your animals?”

  Quade brought over a packet of biscuits and two big mugs of tea. “Much better, thanks. I hate to lose any of my animals, but thankfully I got to them in time. Thanks for helping Bridge with the Witch’s Night stuff for me.”

  Finn put sugar into her tea and stirred. “No problem. I was happy to help. You’ve all been so kind to me since I’ve come to Axedale, despite how hard I’ve tried to keep everyone away.”

  “It’s not surprising, mate. You’ve been through hell.”

  Finn looked deep into her cup of tea, and said, “The whole world has been black and grey for so long, but here in Axedale I’ve started to see colour again.”

  “Are you going to stay with us or—”

  “I haven’t been able to think that far ahead, but I can’t see how I can go back to my old life. Who knows how long it’ll be till the press find where I am, anyway.”

  Quade patted her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, mate. We’ll keep them away as long as possible.”

  “How long have you lived here, Quade?” Finn asked.

  “Since I was seven. My mother died and my aunt and uncle took me in.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother.” Finn saw clear emotion on the tough farmer’s face, and Quade gulped hard.

  “Thanks, I know how it feels to lose everything and start a new life. The pain never goes, but if you just keep working hard, you get through it, if you have the right people around you.”

  Finn immediately thought of Bridge. “Did you?”

  “Yeah, my aunt and uncle were like a mother and father to me. I lost them a few years ago, but everyone in Axedale has been a great support to me.”

  “Has Bridge?” Finn asked gently.

  “Oh yes, Bridge is a wonderful woman—frightens the life out of me sometimes though,” Quade joked.

  Finn smiled. “I can imagine. I’ve never met a woman like her, and I’ve met a lot of women. Has there been anyone in her life?”

  Quade blew out a breath. “Not as far as I know. I know she finds it quite difficult with her new bishop. Her old one was really gay-friendly, but this one is not and would love nothing more than an excuse to get shot of her, but Bridge has powerful friends.”

  “Like Lady Harry?” Finn asked.

  “Amongst others. Her family is very well connected, and in fact her aunt is a bishop, but she’s still under a lot of pressure.”

  Finn wondered if that was why Bridge pulled back from her when they connected passionately.

  Quade continued, “She gave Lady Harry and Annie a blessing in the church for their wedding, and she’s had hell to pay with him.”

  It sounded like Bridge was under more pressure than she was showing, and all the time she was feeling it, Finn was pushing her away and being dismissive.

  There was one thing she’d known for certain this morning when she woke up. She wanted to know Bridge better—no, she needed to know Bridge better, and to prove to her that despite her protestations, Finn was her type.

  Chapter Twelve

  Finn left Quade’s farmhouse, ran home, and got showered and changed quickly, eager to get on with her day and see Bridge again. She stood styling her hair in the living room of the cottage, and realized it was the first time since Carrie died that she cared what she looked like. The first time that she wanted to look good for someone.

  The top hat that she performed in caught her eye on the coat hook. She lifted it down and ran her fingers along the brim. The steampunk hat represented the character she presented to the world, Finnian Kane, the confident ladies’ woman who was in control of every person and situation she was in.

  As she held it in her hands, she didn’t believe she could ever return to that life. How could she, when she felt like a hypocrite? She had arrogantly smashed down other people’s beliefs, and now she had her own doubts. The truth was that deep inside her soul, she did believe that Carrie was looking down on her, and that reinforced what a lie her life had been.

  Finn put the hat back and could only think of one thing to help her confusion—Bridge. She got her painting equipment and began walking down to the church. Finn stopped off at the village bakery to pick up some sandwiches and cakes to—she hoped—share with the vicar. As she was waiting to be served, she noticed a little boy and girl in school uniforms, pullin
g at their mother, whispering and pointing to her.

  She heard the mother say, “No, you’ve heard what your friends said, she doesn’t do magic any more.”

  Great. She had successfully frightened off little kids now.

  Once she was served, she added two candy lollipops from the sweets selection. As she went to leave, the two kids were eyeballing her, no doubt somewhat fearful and somewhat in awe of the magician they had seen on TV.

  Finn stopped dead and looked down at them, gave them a quizzical look, then knelt.

  She said to the little girl, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but notice you had something stuck in your ear.”

  Both children looked up at their mother nervously. Finn gave their mother a quick wink and put her purchases down on the ground. She held up her two empty hands in front of them and waved them around, mystically, before pulling a lollipop from the back of the girl’s ear.

  “See, I told you. Must have been the fairies that left it there for you.”

  Both kids gawped at her open-mouthed, astounded at magic.

  She turned to the little boy. “Do you think they left one for you—what’s your name?”

  “Josh,” he said in a small voice.

  Again, she showed her empty hands, but this time she said, “You have to say the magic words, Josh. Say I believe in magic.”

  “I believe in magic.”

  Again, she pulled a lollipop from behind his ear. “See? You’ve got to watch those fairies.”

  “Say thank you to Ms. Kane,” their mother prodded them.

  “Call me Finn.”

  “Thank you, Finn!” they squealed.

  Finn smiled and stood with her bags. “No problem. See you around.”

  When she walked out of the bakery, she experienced the feeling she had when she showed Bridge her magic. The joy of a simple magic trick, and the look of wonder in the children’s eyes. It was the kind of magic she had done in restaurants and the pubs and clubs of London. As her shows had gotten bigger and more spectacular, somehow she had left the joy of simple face-to-face magic behind, and instead got her kicks from exposing frauds and fakers.