She had a couple of visits to make to parishioners just outside the village itself and thought that, by then, she’d probably be ready for her lunch. In the afternoon, she’d have to get the tables and chairs set out ready for the food and the party-goers later, and she’d have to be there to receive the twins with their equipment for the evening’s music, then she’d have to remember to pick up Lettice before people arrived so that she could greet everyone personally. It was going to be a busy day.
In the shower, she boomed out a loop of the Hallelujah Chorus. Unable to progress through the piece, she was quite happy just to make a joyous circle of it, while she soaped and rinsed and shampooed and conditioned. Dried and dressed in her everyday chasuble, she descended the stairs and threw together a huge heap of scrambled eggs to accompany the three slices of toast that she had just removed from the grill. A girl with such a busy life needed a hearty breakfast, she thought, and a hearty lunch, and an equally hearty supper.
The weather was as fair today as it had been the day before, as she trotted off to St Bernard’s, a stout canvas bag in her right hand; a suitable receptacle for un-inflated balloons and paper streamers. There was no need to take her ancient car on such a glorious day and with such a short distance between the two buildings, and walking was certainly a lot healthier than driving.
As expected, the church was devoid of other human habitation, and she settled to her prayers in solitary state, as she had expected to. Although it made her feel a little guilty, this lack of company did mean she could gabble the words a bit, and gain a few more minutes in the day than she would have had had someone else turned up, and for this she was grateful.
A little later, as she entered the hall, she concurred with her own opinion of the day before. The balloons did look pathetic, as if only a half-hearted attempt had been made to brighten the place up, and that would never do. She was happy in her work and wanted to show her happiness to her parishioners with as much of a show as she could.
The stepladder was where she had left it the day before, and she settled herself on one of the stacking chairs and began to huff and puff to increase the festive look as much as possible. Every now and again she took a rest and put up some paper streamers, to relieve her labouring lungs, then returned to the balloons again.
Not a soul turned up to see if she needed any help, but then that would probably not have crossed their minds, as the previous elderly incumbent was too feeble even to attempt any parish activity like this, and they were unused to being asked to contribute a little time and effort in preparation for anything of the sort.
By a quarter to eleven, she knew that she had done all she could to brighten up the place, and strolled back to The Rectory to collect her travelling communion set, in preparation for her morning visits. Neither of the two elderly people she was visiting was ‘high’ enough to consider fasting before the wafer and wine had been received, so she need feel no guilt that they would waste away at her late arrival.
At twelve-thirty, Toby Lattimer emerged from the bar of The Druid’s Head into the pub garden, a pint pot in one hand and a carrier bag in the other, to see his friend and neighbour Julius Twelvetrees already sitting out there at the table they had frequented the previous day. At his feet sat two carrier bags; one with a well-known supermarket chain’s logo on it, the other plain.
‘Ah, I see you and I had the same idea, then: buy something for this blessed party rather than have to rustle up something,’ chortled Toby, settling himself at the table and unburdening himself of the full carrier bag. ‘I got my lot in the general store – such a Godsend they have a licence to sell alcohol, I always think. So handy if one runs out of anything outside regular opening hours, and they are open all hours; that’s one thing that can be said for them.’
‘I split my bit of shopping,’ replied Julius. ‘Got some cheap hooch in the “general” then popped over to the other one, where I know the snacks are a bit cheaper. How on earth we didn’t run into each other I don’t know.’
‘Accident of timing, I expect,’ mused Toby, ‘rather like one of those old-fashioned Whitehall farce thingies: people going in and out of doors and all over the place, but never bumping into any of the others.’
‘That’s the ticket,’ agreed Julius and took a long swallow of his beer. ‘So we’ve both been conscripted to turn up to this ‘do’ tonight, then?’
‘Looks like it. I shan’t stay late, myself; just pop in, deliver the goodies, as it were, then get off home about an hour later.’
‘Couldn’t agree more. Don’t intend to make a late night of it, either. Just look in for form’s sake, speak to a few people, then back to my armchair and a bit of telly.’
‘Get you another one, old man?’ queried Toby who had already drained his glass. ‘Hot day and all that.’
‘Delighted, sir. You are a gentleman,’ accepted Julius, passing his glass across the table and smiling happily at not being the first one to get in a round. It must be his lucky day. Good thing he’d got here first and had only to buy his own pint, and he’d get himself off after this one, and avoid having to put his hand in his own pocket for any drinks other than his first. And he’d saved a bit by buying his snacks at the garage shop. No point in paying more for anything if one didn’t have to, was there?
In several of the other houses in Shepford St Bernard there were preparations being made for the party. Krystal Yaxley, in particular, was in a bit of a tizzy, with so many things to fit into just one day. She had her lemon meringue and Victoria sponge to make in the morning, then her appointment with Wanda in the afternoon, followed by an early start for the party. The vicar had decided that it would commence at six o’clock, to allow those with young children to come along without worrying about bedtime.
Although Wanda felt stressed, she did spare a thought for Rev. Florrie. These things needed a lot of thankless arranging and work, and her decision to make such an early start proved that she recognised the fact that any children attending and therefore going to bed late would not be expected by their parents to be up with the lark on Sunday, as no doubt very few of them would be contemplating the early service that the vicar had to conduct, whether there were any others present or not.
The thought didn’t last long, however, as her mind was drawn inexorably to what would happen when she kept her appointment with Wanda. Would she have anything promising to tell her? Was the future all doom and gloom? Or was there something brighter on the horizon for her, after her family’s disastrous start to the year? She didn’t really know whether she believed in divination, but was willing to give it a try, and just hoped the twins had no inkling that her sixty minute session was going to cost her forty pounds when she’d been so hard on them when they’d asked her for money.
What on earth was she doing, anyway, blowing forty pounds on the dubious reputation of a white witch and tarot reader? She could have put some petrol in the car, got in a bit of food, and treated herself to a cheap bottle of wine for that amount of money. Still, she’d always been one for her facials, manicures, and pedicures before Kenneth left. This was just a little treat for her, and might even yield some sound advice. She needed something to cheer her up, after all she’d been through in the last couple of months.
Slipping the lemon meringue pie into the oven and leaving the ready-filled sponge-tins on the side to go in next, her ears were suddenly assaulted by the familiar ‘thump, thump, thump’ from her sons, trying out their equipment for later, before they transported it over to the hall and, as usual, the strip light in the kitchen began to vibrate against the ceiling.
The noise had always irritated her in the past, but at least it probably meant that the boys were adjusting better than she was, to their new and unwelcome deserted way of life. If only Kenneth would get in touch, or put some money into the bank account. If nothing else, it would at least prove that he hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth and was still living and breathing, even if it wasn’t in what she had always consid
ered their dream house.
She had convinced him to change the name to ‘Sweet Dreams’ when they had first moved in, considering that it was the perfect house for them to finish raising the boys then settle down to growing old together, and now here she was, suddenly a single parent – her dreams for the future completely shattered, her financial position uncomfortably precarious. For a moment, a wave of utter despair rolled over her, but she fought to free herself from it, biting back bitter tears of self-pity and resentment.
With a shake of her head at these negative thoughts, she put on the oven timer to alert her when the pie was ready, and went off to the bedroom to start getting ready for her reading. She needed to keep up appearances at all costs, and her nails badly needed doing, even if she wasn’t used to doing them herself, her hair could do with some attention, and she didn’t have even a lick of make-up on her face.
As she sat, totally absorbed in the creation of the camouflage with which she faced the outside world, in the bedroom across the landing Kevin and Keith were compiling the music they intended to offer the party-goers later that day.
They realised that they would have to use a lot of stuff that they considered should have been consigned to the musical dustbin thirty or more years ago, but there were a couple of numbers that they were going to slip in towards the end of the evening, when the old folks were a little more relaxed and had had a drink or two. ‘The Real Slim Shady’ was one of them, and Keith was still not sure whether or not this particular track would get them in hot water.
‘Look, bro,’ Kevin said, with a determined stare at his twin, ‘if we’re going to be spinning the tunes, then let’s at least put something in that’ll make some people prick up their ears; then, as it’s such old hat now, we can claim that we chose it at random and didn’t know what it was like till we started playing it. That way we can have a giggle and shock the old dears, without being busted for it. Mum’s been a pushover since Dad left, and we might as well take advantage of that.’
‘And you don’t think that’s taking the piss?’ queried Keith.
‘No way, bro. We’ve got to get our fun somewhere, and there’s precious little of it in this house at the moment. Just think of their faces, as the words start to sink in.’
‘OK, you’ve convinced me,’ agreed Keith, always the weaker of the two. ‘But if we get grounded, I’m going to tell Mum it was your idea and you bullied me into it.’
‘Wuss!’ replied his brother, not taking his gaze off the music he was putting in order for later.
Maude Asquith was in Khartoum’s antiquated kitchen, the jam tarts already cooling on a large wire cooling tray, the madeleines now taking up her attention as she prepared to construct the outer coating, as her mother had taught her when she was young. None of those tiddly little French biscuits for her.
To her, a madeleine was a little tower of sponge cake, covered in apricot jam, then rolled in coconut. On the table, beside the tray of already cool cakes, were a bowl of warmed apricot jam and her baking slab, a small area of which was covered in desiccated coconut. No one had ever failed to be delighted with these little cakes when she had produced them, and there was another batch in the oven already, for she needed to bring enough to satisfy all-comers.
As she coated and rolled, she turned her thoughts to dear Lettice, and how she had been sucking up to her recently – not that she put it quite that way, herself. The two of them had been united in their disapproval of their new lady vicar, but the young woman hadn’t given up, and had visited Lettice at least once a week since she arrived – as Lettice had, at that point, stopped attending Sunday service, as had Maude. Maude herself had rebuffed the young woman’s advances on her first visit to Khartoum, and requested that she didn’t waste any more time in calling again.
For a week or two, Maude had tried to revert Lettice’s opinion back to disapproval, but something about the young cleric must have moved her, and suddenly she was back in her usual pew on a Sunday morning, joining in with a fervour she hadn’t shown for years, as some of the congregation had been only too eager to tell Maude.
What else could she do but capitulate, and start going again herself, making sure that when she schmoozed the vicar, she did it in Lettice’s full sight. There was no point in going out of her way to suck up to somebody she disapproved of so much, and not have the object of her real attention not notice what she was doing.
Rev. Florrie really brought out the worst in her, and she’d happily have spat in her face, had circumstances been different, but she just had to keep in with Lettice. An elderly spinster in possession of her own property and a fortune in jewellery and stones, which she had inherited from her mother, was not someone to get on the wrong side of, and there was always hope that she would be mentioned in the will. She’d certainly worked hard enough at smarming her way into at least a small inheritance.
God knows, she could do with an injection of capital. The interest she received from her investments was pitiful, but she daren’t liquidate any of them, in case interest rates rose again and left her under-invested. Yes, a little bit of bunce would be very nice indeed, and Lettice couldn’t last for ever. The last time she’d worked it out, she had decided that Lettice was eighty-five if she was a day. She had to go some time and, when she did, it would be nice to receive a little of her largesse; posthumously, as it would have to be.
She’d go to the party tonight and be as nice as pie to the two of them, even though she had nothing but contempt for Lettice, who had so much and did nothing with it, and for the vicar, just because she was a woman in what Maude considered was a man’s territory. There seemed to be no end, these days, to the amount of hypocrisy a person had to go through, just to get a little injection of liquid assets.
In Carters Cottage on The Green, Colin Twentymen looked smugly at the three dozen golden scones he had just baked, and wondered what the reaction of his neighbours would be when he turned up with them this evening. He’d seen Lattimer and Twelvetrees stocking up in the village shops, and knew all they would contribute would be crisps, pretzels, and other similar pre-packaged offerings.
He had kept himself very much to himself since he had moved into his present home, and would continue to do so, staying for only a short while tonight. That he was going along at all surprised him, but the vicar had seemed so determined that he, as a relative newcomer, should come along and meet many of his neighbours that, in the end, he hadn’t had the heart to refuse her pleadings.
He’d hand over his scones, looking out for the surprised glances that he hoped they would draw, have a drink, listen to whatever was on offer musically for half an hour or so, nip outside to smoke a pipe, then go back in for another drink – and to say goodnight to everyone, claiming that he had been working so hard in the garden, with the glorious weather, that he needed an early night.
Let ’em carry on guessing, he thought. Whatever he had done in his past, was concerned with in the present, and planned to do in the future, was nobody’s business but his own, and he intended for things to stay that way.
Chapter Four
Saturday afternoon – Shepford St Bernard
At two o’clock, as Krystal Yaxley was knocking nervously at the door of Wanda Warwick’s cottage, the raised voices of Belinda and Jasper Haygarth were making the walls of Three-Ways House ring with their argument. ‘You paid how much for that bacon?’ yelled Jasper, in despair at his wife’s spend-thrift ways.
‘You know damned well I only bought a packet of off-cuts. There simply isn’t anything cheaper,’ shouted back Belinda, in her own defence.
‘And why are you making such a huge quiche? Wouldn’t a little one do?’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous! We’ll get enough to eat there, so there’ll be no need for me to cook a meal tonight. One this size is the least that I could bring along, taking that into consideration.’
‘Well, I’d have made a much smaller one and be done with it,’ her husband stated, his eyes now bulging out of
his head with anger.
‘Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?’ replied Belinda, turning away from him in disgust. They were in difficulties with the way the business was going, but she didn’t see how making a quiche of whatever size was going to save their bacon, she thought, then smiled at her unintentional pun. It was bacon that had started this petty disagreement in the first place.
‘I’ve a good mind not to go at all,’ stated Jasper spitefully.
‘Oh, good idea, Clever Clogs! So you’re going to stay here tonight and do without? Well, make sure you do do without, for there’s no spare food for a meal for you if you’re going to spurn the free food on offer at the hall. Just think about that for a second, will you? If you can’t abide the thought of me taking over such a big quiche, however are you going to get a chance to eat most of it if you don’t even turn up?’
There were a few seconds of silence before he capitulated. ‘You’re perfectly right,’ he agreed. ‘I’m just so damned sensitive about anything to do with spending at the moment. Of course I’ll come, and I’ll stuff my face as heartily as I can. Truce?’
‘Truce,’ replied Belinda, glad of the opportunity to finish what she had been doing before she had been so abruptly and rudely interrupted.
In Robin’s Perch, Bonnie Fletcher was probably the only village resident with her thoughts anywhere but the forthcoming party. She was off out tonight, and she had high hopes of a very good time indeed.
She intended to spend all afternoon on her make-up, nails, and hair, and then in choosing which of her going-out outfits would be the most flattering. It would make a change not to go into Market Darley just to meet up with the girls, and she was looking forward to it eagerly.
Grave Stones (The Falconer Files Book 9) Page 4
