by Kate Charles
In a few minutes they were settled in the drawing room at the vicarage, sipping tea. ‘Have some of this cake, David.’ She pulled a slightly guilty face. ‘If Julia Dawson finds out I’ve been raiding the fête cakes . . .’
‘She won’t hear it from me,’ he assured her. ‘You can consider it advance advertising. It’s absolutely delicious, and when the great day comes I intend to buy one exactly like it.’
‘You’d better get there early, then. The cakes sell out quite quickly.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be there early. Seriously, is there any way I can help on Saturday? I suppose all the stall assignments have been fixed for months, but if there’s anything I can do . . .’
‘Thanks, David. I’m certain that no volunteers will be turned away! If you’d be willing to go where you were needed . . .’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll leave myself entirely in your hands.’ He looked around the drawing room with interest; it was the first time he’d been in there. ‘This is a lovely room,’ he said. ‘Have you decorated it? Or was it like this when you moved in?’
‘No, it was awful when I came – very dark and gloomy. It had been that way for years, I think, and Gabriel hadn’t really been here long enough to do anything about it. But I couldn’t bear it. It was my first try at decorating, with lots of help from Lucy.’
‘I suppose she’s good at that sort of thing?’
‘Very. Wait till you see her place – it’s stunning.’
‘Did I understand correctly that she’s some kind of artist?’
‘Oh, yes. She does watercolours. Didn’t I tell you? But they’re not the sort of thing you’d expect. She’ll show you some of her work tomorrow, if you’re interested. Lucy’s extremely talented. Her things are very much in demand, in certain circles – she makes quite a nice living from it, too.’
He absorbed all this information in silence. ‘Does she live alone?’
‘She’s not married, if that’s what you mean,’ Emily replied with a knowing smile. ‘She was married once, when she was quite young, but I don’t think it lasted very long, and she never talks about it.’
‘Not even to you?’
‘Not even to me. Lucy is a wonderful listener – people are always telling her their problems – but she very rarely talks about herself.’
‘Then she must be in much demand at St Anne’s. There seem to be a great many talkers there, and very few listeners.’
‘She doesn’t spend a great deal of time at St Anne’s, to be honest. She’s very much on the fringe.’
‘Why is that?’
Emily shrugged. ‘I’m not really sure. Her work, I suppose – it keeps her quite busy. And her father was – still is – a Vicar, so maybe she’s all churched out.’
‘Do you think she feels . . . well, would being divorced make any difference, as far as St Anne’s is concerned?’
Emily considered. ‘No, I don’t think the divorce thing really bothers her much. A few of the congregation would mind about it: the Dawsons, for example, wouldn’t approve at all. But Lucy wouldn’t care if they approved or not – she’d think that was their problem, not hers.’
‘It’s easy to cast the first stone, isn’t it?’ David mused. Emily looked at him questioningly, and, afraid he’d betrayed something, he quickly changed the subject. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to our tea tomorrow. I’m going out with Daphne in the morning, and don’t know when I’ll be back. Shall I stop by for you, or just meet you there?’
‘It will be easier for you if you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll tell you how to get to Lucy’s – it’s not far.’
CHAPTER 15
Thou hast loved to speak all words that may do hurt: O thou false tongue.
Psalm 52.5
That evening, David felt a bit unsettled and restless, for no reason he could put his finger on. He tried to read the newspaper, and found it boring; he even attempted to watch television, something he rarely did. Finally he suggested to Daphne that they go out for a meal. ‘Forget about cooking tonight, why don’t you. Let me take you out, Daphne. Do you have a favourite place?’
‘We could get a Chinese take-away, and eat it here,’ she suggested.
He grimaced. ‘No, I’d like to go out. What’s the matter – are you ashamed to be seen with me in public?’
‘Oh, all right. I just thought . . .’
‘Come on, then, Daphne. Where shall we go?’
‘There are several pizza places down along Kensington High Street, if you like. Cheap and cheerful.’
‘It doesn’t have to be cheap and cheerful. I’m quite happy to take you somewhere nice, if you like. You’ve been spoiling me – let me spoil you for a change!’
Daphne pulled a face. ‘Pizza is also quick, and I’ve just remembered that I promised to call and see Mavis Conwell this evening. We could stop there on the way back, if we don’t take too long over our meal.’
‘Mavis Conwell? Whatever for?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘She rang this afternoon, and was quite insistent that I come to see her. Or at least she wanted to see me, and I suggested that I go along there, rather than have her come here. I thought I might never get rid of her if she came here.’
‘Yes, at least we can make a speedy exit. She didn’t give you any idea what it was about?’
‘No. Just said she wanted to see me, and it had to be tonight. Well, we’ll soon find out.’
‘Right, then. Let’s go and have a pizza, and maybe a bottle of wine, to fortify us for the loathsome Mrs Conwell. Perhaps if we’re lucky we’ll have another glimpse of the manly Craig . . .’
*
The Conwells’ house was a small terrace, in a street surprisingly close to St Anne’s and the splendid homes that surrounded the church. Property values in this part of London were so high that it was still worth a considerable amount of money, David surmised; he wondered what the late Mr Conwell had done for a living.
Mavis opened the door to them quickly, almost as if she’d been waiting. Perhaps she’d seen them coming from a window.
‘Oh, Daphne. Thank you for coming. And you’ve brought Mr Middleton-Brown with you.’ She smiled her fierce, false smile at them. ‘You’d better be careful, Daphne. People will start talking about you. You wouldn’t want that, would you? I mean, having a man to stay with you in your flat! Some people might think there was something in it! Of course, if anyone said anything like that to me, I’d set them straight for you.’ She looked back and forth between them speculatively, showing her teeth.
David could feel Daphne tense beside him; she was so furious that she was unable to speak. He had never known her to be at a loss for words, and marvelled at Mavis’s ability to get at her.
‘Good evening, Mrs Conwell,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’m so sorry to come along without being invited, but we’ve just been out for a meal.’
‘Come in,’ she beckoned. ‘Have you been to someone’s house, then? I know you were invited to Lady Constance’s on Monday. Cyril told me. I’m sure that lots of people are jealous of Daphne, having you all to herself.’ She smiled at him again, coyly this time. ‘Especially when there are other eligible women around who are closer to your own age!’
He was repelled by her implication, as she stood there grinning at him, and he felt incensed on Daphne’s behalf. When neither of them spoke, Mavis ushered them into the room on the right of the entrance hall. It was a small sitting room, neat as a pin.
‘Would either of you like a coffee?’ Mavis offered.
David nodded, out of a desire to get rid of her for a few minutes rather than from a need for coffee.
Daphne nearly exploded when she’d left the room. ‘Of all the damn cheek!’ she whispered fiercely.
David put his hands on her shoulders to calm her, and pushed her down into a chair. ‘Down, girl. Consider the source.’
He moved around the room, pretending to examine things, and tactfully allowing Daphne a moment to collect herself.
Craig in the flesh was nowhere in evidence, David noted with regret. He might have provided a diversion from Mavis’s relentless awfulness. And from what David had seen on the previous day, the boy seemed to have a dampening effect on her that couldn’t help but be an improvement.
By the time Mavis returned with the coffee, Daphne had regained a semblance of her usual manner. She still looked a little white around the mouth, but at least she was able to speak. ‘What was it you wanted to see me about, Mavis?’ she asked in her blunt way, unwilling to spend any more time than was necessary with this odious woman.
Mavis tried to look offhand. ‘Oh, it was nothing, really. Nothing important.’
‘What, then?’ Daphne demanded.
‘Well, I just wondered about something. The church books – they’re usually kept in that drawer in the sacristy. But . . . well, they aren’t there now.’
‘No, they’re not,’ agreed Daphne, perversely forcing Mavis to be more direct.
‘Well, where are they then?’ Mavis finally asked. Her attempt at appearing indifferent was not very successful.
‘You know the Quinquennial Inspection is coming up. Gabriel’s asked me to lock them in the safe until then. To make sure they don’t fall into the wrong hands,’ she added with a look at Mavis’s anxious face.
‘But I’m a churchwarden. I have a right to see them,’ Mavis insisted.
‘Of course you do. No one said you didn’t. You know where the safe key is kept, don’t you?’
‘I’m not sure. You showed me once, but . . .’
‘It’s in the vestment cupboard, the one nearest to the safe. On a hook. Would you like me to get the books out for you tomorrow?’
‘Oh, no, thanks. I just wondered. Just in case . . .’ Mavis bit her lip and was silent for a moment, then changed the subject quickly. ‘Did you hear that Norman Newsome has resigned? That’s one way to get that kind of filth out of the Church of England. The News of the World has done us a great service, don’t you agree?’
CHAPTER 16
O sing unto the Lord a new song: for he hath done marvellous things.
Psalm 98.1
Thursday was a day in which bursts of heavy rain had alternated with brief and glorious sunny spells. For once, none of the churches that he and Daphne had visited had been locked, so David was in a rather cheerful mood as he walked in the sunshine to Lucy’s house. She lived in a small mews, just south of Kensington Gardens, and with Emily’s directions he had no difficulty finding it. The narrow house had a minute garden in front, imaginatively laid out and immaculately tended.
‘Hello, David,’ she greeted him, opening the door with a welcoming smile. She was dressed in primrose yellow today, and the effect was an entirely different one from that of Beryl Ball’s yellow ensemble, he noted with approval. She led him into a small sitting room, flooded with the afternoon sun; it seemed to be full of fresh flowers.
‘What a very lovely room,’ he said impulsively. It had none of the grandeur of Lady Constance’s drawing room, or the one in the vicarage, but it was totally in harmony with itself and with its owner, reflecting her sense of gracious serenity in every detail, and he appreciated its warmth and its integrity.
‘I’m glad you like it.’ She smiled. She had a deliciously enigmatic closed-lipped smile which David found enchanting. ‘Please sit wherever you like.’ He chose a small but comfortable armchair covered in flowered chintz. She left him looking around the room and returned a few minutes later with a tea-tray, which she perched on an overstuffed footstool.
‘I hope you don’t mind too much,’ she said, curling into a chair. ‘It seems that it will just be the two of us this afternoon. I suppose I should give you the opportunity to escape, if you want to.’
‘Not at all. But what’s happened to Emily?’
‘She rang me this morning – apparently she’d forgotten she’d promised Julia Dawson that she’d join her in a cake-baking session all afternoon. She was sure we’d understand. It doesn’t do to upset Julia Dawson, after all.’ She rolled her eyes.
‘And I think that Julia Dawson is rather easily upset,’ he observed. ‘Well, it’s Emily’s loss, but I think we can manage without her.’
She poured the tea into antique china cups. ‘It’s Earl Grey. Would you fancy a slice of lemon instead of milk?’
‘That sounds lovely for a change.’
She passed him his tea, then produced a plate of delicious-looking finger sandwiches. ‘These are prawn and avocado, and the others are smoked salmon and cucumber. Rather monotonously fishy, I’m afraid.’
‘They look marvellous. Emily told me that you were a gourmet cook.’
‘Emily flatters me. I just enjoy pottering about in the kitchen, that’s all. And I love good food,’ she added.
He savoured the sandwiches, noting that there were more delicious-looking things on the tea-tray – several sorts of cakes and pastries. ‘I could easily get spoilt by this kind of treatment. I’m usually lucky to get a biscuit out of a tin with my cup of tea.’ He felt vaguely disloyal to Daphne as he spoke, but the feeling was dispelled by Lucy’s warm smile.
‘Maybe it’s about time you were a bit spoilt. I don’t think it will do you any harm at this stage.’
A small marmalade-coloured cat crept from under the sofa and looked hopefully at the sandwiches. ‘Sophie, I don’t think so,’ her mistress said mildly.
He extended his hand tentatively towards the cat, who sniffed it, then, satisfied, jumped on his lap and immediately began purring loudly.
‘Sophie is quite fussy about laps. You should feel very honoured.’
He stroked the cat’s warm fur, eliciting even louder purrs. Her contentment communicated itself to him, and together with the tasty food, the afternoon sun, the cosy room, the smell of fresh flowers, and the congenial company, produced in him a feeling of great well-being. The empty house in Wymondham, the clamour of egos at St Anne’s – they all seemed very far removed.
‘You seem used to cats, David. Have you got one?’
‘No. I always thought I’d like to have one, but Mother would never allow animals in the house. She’s dead now, so I suppose I could get a cat if I wanted to.’
‘Has it been very long since she died?’
‘No, only about two months. I still haven’t got used to living without her.’
‘I don’t know anything at all about you, David. Where do you live?’
‘Wymondham, in Norfolk. It’s a market town, quite near Norwich. A lovely town, really, with a beautiful abbey church.’
‘And what do you do in Wymondham?’
‘Well, I work in Norwich, actually. I’m a solicitor. Nothing special. It’s just a job, and a pretty tedious one at that.’ He sighed.
‘And have you always lived at home . . . with your parents, your mother?’
‘Not always. I read law at the University of London, and my first job was in London. But my father died about ten years ago. I was living and working in Brighton at the time. My mother . . . well, her health wasn’t good. It seemed like the only thing to do at the time, to move back home. It’s a very boring story.’
‘I’m interested,’ she said firmly. ‘You’re an only child?’
‘Yes. My parents married quite late in life. There was only me.’
He found himself talking at length about his childhood, telling her stories only dimly remembe
red and never before shared. She listened intently, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and asking questions to draw him out. When the mantel clock gently chimed six, he looked at it in surprise.
The cat was still on his lap, but the sandwiches and the cakes had all been consumed. He smiled a little self-consciously at Lucy. ‘I seem to have done a lot of talking, and a lot of eating. Look at the time! I really should be leaving you in peace. But you promised to show me your paintings. Will you?’
‘Of course, if you’d like.’ She rose, and he regretfully deposed Sophie and followed Lucy out of the room and up the stairs. ‘I’ve made the second bedroom into a studio,’ she explained. ‘It’s in the back, so it gets the northern sun – when there is any, that is – and I’ve had a skylight put in. This time of year I can work well into the late afternoon in natural light.’
There were several paintings in various stages of completion about the room. The medium was watercolour, but her works were far from the bland impressionistic flower paintings he’d halfway expected. The paintings were stylised and highly individualistic, featuring abstract motifs repeated in clear colours. It was obvious that she had a great deal of talent and skill, and David could see why her work was in demand. ‘Why, they’re brilliant!’
‘Surprised?’ she asked wryly.
‘Not at all. But . . . well, they’re just so unusual. Wherever do you get your ideas?’
‘That’s a well-kept secret, but I think I can trust you!’ She smiled. ‘Most of my inspiration comes from the good old Victoria & Albert. I’ll never run out of ideas as long as the V & A is right around the corner! All those patterns, all those incredible designs.’ She pulled out a sketch book filled with pencil drawings of Egyptian antiquities, Indian textiles, Chinese porcelain.
‘Well, for whatever it’s worth, I’m impressed.’
She led him back downstairs.
‘How long have you lived in this house?’ he asked. ‘You’ve done it up so beautifully.’
‘Oh, about twelve years now. It’s taken most of that time to get it fixed up to suit me.’
