by Deryn Lake
‘The ghost? What do you know about him?’
The man looked surprised. ‘I didn’t even think he was real. I thought it was just a story.’
‘It probably is,’ Nick answered enigmatically as he ordered himself a pint.
Somebody came up behind him and said, ‘Reverend Lawrence?’
He turned and gazed into a pair of eyes that were full of fun and could only belong to the owner of that lovely laugh.
‘Miss Beauchamp?’ he responded.
‘Call me Olivia,’ she said and held out her hand.
Nick took it and could hardly speak as he felt its warmth.
‘Call me Nick,’ he managed, then recovered himself. ‘Shall we sit over there?’ He motioned towards a table for two. ‘And what would you like to drink?’
‘I’ll have a glass of rosé, please.’
‘You go and sit down and I’ll bring it over.’
‘Whatever you say, Vicar.’
She was absolutely stunning, Nick thought, with her great tumbling mass of curling black hair, light green eyes and smiling mouth. In fact he was so knocked out by her presence that it took a great effort of self control to maintain his dignity and carry the glasses over to the table.
‘Well now, Olivia, it’s nice to meet you.’
Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘And you, Nick. How are you getting on with the move?’
He winced. ‘Slowly, I think is the right answer.’
‘But do you like the vicarage?’
‘I love it. I’m very lucky to get such a delightful parish.’
He was longing to say with such delightful people in it but thought he would sound too smooth if he said any such thing. Instead he asked, ‘Now what about this recital?’
‘You know that I am a violinist?’
‘Yes, the churchwarden mentioned something.’
‘Well, the Reverend Simpkins was always asking when I would give a concert in aid of the steeple fund. And, as I told you on the phone, at last I’ve got a free slot. Do you still want me to go ahead?’
‘Of course. How kind of you. Where would you play?’
‘We thought in the church.’
‘I see. I believe it is used a great deal for that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, a great deal.’ She laughed her captivating laugh. ‘Why, don’t you approve?’
‘One doesn’t have to pray to worship,’ Nick answered solemnly. ‘One can do so in a million different ways.’
‘So you’ve no objection to the music festival taking place?’
‘None at all.’
Bishop Claude had mentioned to him at the time of his application that Lakehurst had a music festival that was quite famous and that some of the concerts were held in the church.
‘Tell me about you,’ said Nick, who couldn’t stop staring at her. ‘When did you start playing?’
‘When I was four. I had a toy violin I used to scrape on and then my parents bought me a miniature one for my fifth birthday. After that there was no holding me.’
‘Who do you most admire of the current players?’
‘I’ve got a bit of a thing for Joshua Bell,’ Olivia answered, ‘and Anne-Sophie Mutter.’
At that moment Nick became aware of someone standing at their table and looking up saw that the handsome man had left his place and was patiently waiting for a lull in their conversation in order to get a word in.
Olivia glanced in his direction.
‘Oh hello, Kasper. How are you?’
‘I am well, thank you.’
He had a foreign accent and the vicar, regarding him closely, decided that the brilliant looks could only belong to someone from central Europe.
‘Nick, allow me to introduce Dr Kasper Rudniski, one of the village doctors. Kasper, this is the Reverend Nick Lawrence, the new vicar.’
‘I am delighted to meet you, sir.’
Definitely European, Nick decided, his manners were far too good for him to be anything else.
‘A pleasure, Doctor.’
‘May I join you?’
‘Of course,’ said Nick, pulling a chair over from another table. ‘Please sit down.’
He was very slightly annoyed that he would no longer have Olivia to himself but had to make the best of it.
‘I’m afraid I am the least popular of the doctors, for my sins,’ Kasper said with a sad smile.
‘Oh, why’s that?’ asked Nick.
‘Because I am a “bloody foreigner”. I don’t have many patients.’
‘Oh surely it’s building up by now,’ put in Olivia.
‘A little maybe. But in general they go to see Dr Macey or old Dr Haskell.’
‘But he must be getting on for retirement.’
‘He is staying to supervise my arrival.’
‘So you are new to the village?’ asked Nick.
Kasper gave the most eloquent shrug. ‘If you can call six months new, then yes.’
The vicar changed the subject. ‘What can I get you to drink, Doctor?’
‘I’ll have a glass of vodka, if you please.’
His speech was careful, almost punctilious, and Nick smiled as he stood at the bar. But turning his head he saw something that wiped the grin away. Dr Rudniski had placed one of his hands over one of Olivia’s and was whispering close to her ear.
Damn, thought Nick. But then he thought that he wouldn’t have a chance in a million with such a beautiful and talented girl as she was. He resignedly carried the drinks back to the table.
‘I hear that Olivia is giving a concert in the church. I shall buy a ticket,’ Kasper announced cheerfully.
‘I hope that plenty of people will,’ she answered, raising her glass to the vicar.
‘Let’s hope it is a sell out,’ Nick said somewhat lamely.
‘Well there goes one who won’t be there,’ said Olivia, glancing at the door.
Nick looked and saw Jack Boggis sweeping out clutching his paper.
‘Doesn’t he support local events?’
‘Not he. He prefers to go home and watch television and drink beer from tins.’
‘One day he will have trouble with his liver,’ Kasper announced in sepulchral tones.
‘Is he married?’ asked Nick.
‘She died of cancer a few years ago. Smoked herself to death I’m afraid.’
‘Poor fellow.’
‘Poor both of them.’
Kasper stood up. ‘I must be getting back. Goodbye, Olivia, I’ll see you soon no doubt.’ He turned to Nick and held out his hand. ‘Goodbye, Reverend, it has been a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Goodbye, Doctor. I’ll register with you as soon as I’ve settled in.’
‘How kind. Goodnight.’
He went out and Nick said, ‘Handsome fellow.’
‘I think he’s divine looking. Every girl in the village is after him. Even potty old Ceinwen.’
‘You know her?’
‘Not ’arf. She tried to get me to join her poetry group.’
‘And did you?’
‘No fear. I made an excuse about my busy career.’
‘And is it? Are you very busy?’
‘Completely and utterly. But I often come to Lakehurst at weekends.’
‘Do you go to church?’
‘Sometimes,’ answered Olivia, and laughed her wonderful laugh.
‘Well, I’ll have to make do with that,’ Nick answered boldly, then changed the subject.
He left The Great House half an hour later, Olivia having fixed the date of the recital with him and then saying she had to go. He had offered to walk her home but she told him she had her car in the car park.
‘I live near Speckled Wood. It would take you ages to get there.’
‘Well one day I’ll drive out. When I’m doing my parish visits.’
‘I look forward to that. Goodbye, Nick.’ She held out her hand.
‘Goodbye, Olivia.’
And she was gone in a flash of blue Vauxhall. The vicar, sighing
a little, came out of the car park and turned right, going up the High Street to a small supermarket he had noticed on the corner. It was one of those open-all-hours affairs and purported to sell everything – at a price. Nick wandered round the somewhat cramped aisles and got himself some rather tired-looking pork chops and a listless cauliflower. He then added a packet of Lapsang Souchong teabags and a jar of instant coffee, some biscuits – chocolate, not the pallid shade so loved by Mrs Cox and Ceinwen – and one or two things that he felt were generally needed. He went to pay. A very round Pakistani man greeted him with a broad grin.
‘Good evening, Vicar. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ali and I will always be happy to serve you.’
‘Good evening, Ali. I take it you are the owner?’
‘Yes, indeed I am. We stock everything here as you may have noticed.’
‘I was very impressed that you had china teas.’
‘We stock those for Mr Riddell down West Street. He won’t drink anything else.’
The vicar felt immediately that he was in rather odd company but merely smiled.
‘I do hope you enjoy it here, good sir,’ Ali continued. ‘I personally am a Muslim but I applaud all men of religion. My wife does too. She is upstairs at the moment but I can fetch her down if it is your wish to meet her.’
‘No, please don’t disturb her on my account. I am sure she will be preparing your evening meal.’
‘Oh yes indeed. Perhaps you will honour us with your presence one night. Do you like curry?’
‘I’m afraid that it upsets my stomach. Very weak of me, I know.’
Ali pulled a face. ‘One cannot help the way one is constituted. But the invitation still is there. My wife can cook something else.’
‘Thank you. I’ll look in my diary.’
Ali placed his palms together and bowed. ‘It will be our pleasure to await you.’
Even with his bags of shopping, Nick felt compelled to go into the church, realizing that it ought to be locked for the night, something he should have done earlier.
Yet again, switching on the lights that were situated behind the oak door, its beauty and calmness overwhelmed him though he still half expected that person to be present, muttering audible prayers in a sinister manner. Nick walked down the centre aisle staring into the pews. There was nobody there but he could hear a rustling sound coming from the stalls on the right hand side. Assuming an air of authority – an emotion he was very far from feeling – the vicar marched over and peered into them. A pair of emerald eyes met his and he realized that it was an animal of some kind. And then a large ginger cat stood up, arched its back, stretched, and sat down again.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Nick asked. ‘Go on, out you go.’
The cat did not reply but it got up, minced down the side aisle and out through the oak door.
‘Lakehurst is a truly strange place,’ said Nick.
He went to the altar, knelt in prayer for a few minutes, then got up and checking that the church was truly empty, put out the lights and turned the key in the great lock.
He had hoped for a quiet night in, watching the television, but this was to be short-lived. No sooner had he sat down and switched on Have I Got News For You, than the front door bell rang loudly. A woman stood there, half hidden by the darkness of the street outside.
‘Oh hello, Reverend Lawrence,’ she said in highly refined tones. ‘Excuse the lateness of the hour. I just called to see if you needed anything and if I could be of any assistance.’
‘Come in,’ Nick answered reluctantly.
She rolled past him in a hip-gyrating walk and settled herself in the living room.
‘Oh, I watch this programme too,’ she said. ‘I think it’s so funny. Of course I utterly adore Ian Hislop.’
Then why don’t you watch him in your own house? Nick thought in a highly unchristian manner.
‘But I’m disturbing you,’ she added.
‘Not at all,’ he said, and switched the television off.
She smiled up at him archly and he observed that she had a heavily lined face and somewhat small eyes, that is what he could see of them beneath her layers of make-up.
‘Allow me to introduce myself,’ she said, ‘I am Sonia Tate.’
‘Just call me Father Nick,’ Nick replied somewhat pompously.
‘Oh.’ Sonia looked slightly put out. ‘Very well. Now Father Nick –’ she emphasized the words as she said them – ‘I expect you probably have heard things about me.’
He looked blank and shook his head.
‘I’m afraid that in the past I fell out with Mrs Cox, your churchwarden, and I thought she might have mentioned something to you.’
‘No. Not a word.’
‘I’m relieved. It is not my habit to gossip so I’ll say no more about it except that it involved Alfred.’
‘Alfred?’ the vicar repeated, nonplussed.
‘Alfred Cox, Mavis’s husband. The poor fellow fell madly in love with me. Went off his head with it. It was quite the most horrible situation.’
‘What happened?’ Nick asked, interested despite himself.
‘I met someone else,’ Sonia replied brightly. ‘But for evermore the man gave me dirty looks when we passed in the street.’ She smiled up at him, her eyes shining. ‘But that’s just silly old me. Always landing myself in scrapes.’
The vicar had a sinking feeling, fearing that she was going to tell him her life story. He stood up resolutely.
‘It was very kind of you to call, Mrs Tate, but I really think I can manage quite well. If I feel desperate I shall announce it from the pulpit on Sunday.’
‘I shall be there.’ She too stood up. ‘Well thank you for your hospitality,’ she said rather pointedly.
Nick immediately worried that he had offered her nothing. ‘I shall be giving a welcoming party as soon as I am organized,’ he said. ‘You must come to it.’
Her manner changed completely. ‘I’d love to,’ she gushed. ‘It will be so lovely to see the old vicarage full of life once more.’ She went out into the hall and turned to face him, extending her hand. For the briefest of seconds Nick wondered whether she intended him to kiss it. He shook it instead.
‘Goodbye, Mrs Tate. So kind of you to call.’
‘Anytime, Father Nick.’ She gave him a dazzling smile. ‘And I mean that.’ Then, moving swiftly, she was through the door and out into the street.
‘Whew,’ Nick muttered, as he closed it again.
Suddenly tired, he cooked his meal quickly and had it on a tray in front of the television. Then he went upstairs.
It was quiet in the upper part of the vicarage and Nick felt more than ready for bed. He prayed very briefly that he would like Lakehurst and that the village – or at least the majority of it – would like him in return. Then he got into the very beautiful four-poster, left to him by his mother.
He woke in the middle of the night feeling a presence in the room, a presence which was warm and friendly and did not frighten him in the least.
‘Is that you William?’ he said.
There was no answer but he distinctly heard his bedroom door close very gently as something went out.
FOUR
Lakehurst was really quite a large village, Nick decided, having taken a day off from parish duties and walked round the entire perimeter. To the east it had a large meadow which opened out into what must surely be one of the finest views in Europe, displaying distant hills and lovely lush fields on which cattle grazed in serene contentment. The ground, sloping gently downwards to a lively brook, rose again on the other side to a faraway ring of trees. Nick, shading his eyes as he looked at it, wondered if it had any magical associations.
Before him the view stretched on, behind him was a little path which led to the Remembrance Hall. He had thought as he walked past it what a particularly ugly building it was, but now the vicar made his way there. The doors were open and there was the sound of conversation from within. Boldly, he steppe
d inside.
A tall, gawky woman with a face like a parrot regarded him with an unfriendly stare. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked frostily.
Nick put on his most charming smile. ‘Excuse me bursting in like this. I just wanted to have a look round.’
‘Well, the place is booked for a private function. It’s the WI meeting this afternoon.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t realize. I’m the new vicar and I’m just making an assessment of my parish.’
Her whole attitude changed. ‘Ah, Vicar, how nice to meet you. I am Ivy Bagshot and I’m the Chairman of the Women’s Institute.’
She came forward with hand extended and gave him a gushing smile displaying a brilliant set of false teeth. Her grasp was dry and slightly masculine, Nick thought.
‘How kind of you to look in,’ she continued, staring at him from behind thick pebble glasses which magnified her eyes to an enormous size. They were a nondescript shade of grey and had a tendency to meet in the middle, he noticed.
‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.’
‘Not at all, Vicar. Not at all. We’re just getting the sandwiches out on to plates. Do come in and have a nose round.’
It truly was a depressing building with a stage at one end and a large empty space at the other. It had been erected in the late forties, Nick guessed, and had all the architectural genius of the period. In other words, none.
But Mrs Bagshot, in her role as unofficial guide, was ushering him within and explaining that the chairs which were stacked round the side were pulled out for performances and set in serried rows.
‘So who appears here?’ asked Nick, assuming an interested expression.
‘Well, the WI do a pantomime every year. We’re rehearsing Cinderella at the moment. You must come and see it. It will be part of your parochial duties.’
She waved a waggish finger at him. Nick gulped.
‘Of course. I shall be delighted.’
‘I am playing Principal Boy. I’m the only one with long enough legs, you see.’
‘Ah,’ Nick replied, uncertain of what else to say.
Two other women popped their heads out of the kitchen area. Ivy turned to them with a brilliant smile.
‘May I introduce two of our other girls; Mrs Emms and Mrs Sargent. Ladies, this is the new vicar.’
