vicarage tea parties and the organ fund.’
‘So what did you say to him?’
‘Bastard had me over a barrel. I say a flat “no”, the cat’s clean out the bag. So, what I said... to my shame, I said, Nick, I could not
think
of letting you hold a service in there. Look at all that mud! Look at those pools of water! Just give us some time – like we’ve only been here days – give us some time to get it cleaned up. How sad was
that
?’
Just like Ellis, she didn’t seem to have been listening. ‘Robin, what kind of service?’
‘He said it would be no big deal – not realizing that any kind of damn service here
now
, was gonna be a big deal far as we’re concerned. And if it’s no big deal, why do it? Guy doesn’t even
like
churches.’
‘What kind of service?’ Betty was at the edge of her chair and her eyes were hard.
‘I don’t know.’ Robin was a little scared, and that made him angry. ‘A short Eucharist? Did he say that? What is that precisely? I’m not too familiar with this Christian sh—’
‘It’s a Mass.’
‘Huh?’
‘An Anglican Mass. And do you know why a Mass is generally performed in a building other than a functioning church?’
He didn’t fully. He could only guess.
‘To cleanse it,’ Betty said. ‘The Eucharist is Christian disinfectant. To cleanse, to purify – to get rid of bacteria.’
‘OK, let me get this...’ Robin pulled his hands down his face, in praying mode. ‘This is the E-word, right?’
Betty nodded.
An exorcism.
9
Visitor
T HE ANSWERING MACHINE sounded quite irritable.
‘Mrs Watkins. Tania Beauman
, Livenight.
I’ve left messages for you all over the place. The programme goes out Friday night, so I really have to know whether it’s yes or no. I’ll be here until seven. Please call me... Thank you.’
‘Sorry.’ Merrily came back into the kitchen, hung up her funeral cloak. ‘I can’t think with that thing bleeping.’
Barbara Buckingham was sitting at the refectory table, unwinding her heavy silk scarf while her eyes compiled a photo-inventory of the room.
‘You’re in demand, Mrs Watkins.’ The slight roll on the ‘r’ and the barely perceptible lengthening of the ‘a’ showed her roots were sunk into mid-border clay. But this would be way back, many southern English summers since.
Walking through black and white timber-framed Ledwardine, across the cobbled square to the sixteenth-century vicarage, the dull day dying around them, the lights in the windows blunting the bite of evening, she’d said, ‘How quaint and cosy it is here. I’d forgotten. And so close.’
Close to what? Merrily had made a point of not asking.
‘Tea?’ She still felt slightly ashamed of the kitchen – must get round to emulsioning it in the spring. ‘Or coffee?’
Barbara would have tea. She took off her gloves.
Like her late sister, she was good-looking, but in a sleekand sharp way, with a turned-up nose which once would have been cute but now seemed haughty.
The sister’s a retired teacher and there’s no arguing with her
, Eileen Cullen had said.
‘I didn’t expect you to be so young, Mrs Watkins.’
‘Going on thirty-seven?’
‘Young for what you’re doing. Young to be the diocesan exorcist.’
‘Diocesan deliverance consultant.’
‘You must have a progressive bishop.’
‘Not any more.’ Merrily filled the kettle.
Mrs Buckingham dropped a short laugh. ‘Of course. That man who couldn’t take the pressure and walked out. Hunt? Hunter? I try to keep up with Church affairs. I was headmistress of a Church school for many years.’
‘In this area? The border?’
‘God no. Got out of there before I was twenty. Couldn’t stand the cold.’
Merrily put the kettle on the stove. ‘We can get bad winters here,’ she agreed.
‘Ah... not simply the climate. My father was a farmer in Radnor Forest. I remember my whole childhood as a kind of perpetual February.’
‘Frugal?’ Merrily tossed tea bags into the
‘So what did you say to him?’
‘Bastard had me over a barrel. I say a flat “no”, the cat’s clean out the bag. So, what I said... to my shame, I said, Nick, I could not
think
of letting you hold a service in there. Look at all that mud! Look at those pools of water! Just give us some time – like we’ve only been here days – give us some time to get it cleaned up. How sad was
that
?’
Just like Ellis, she didn’t seem to have been listening. ‘Robin, what kind of service?’
‘He said it would be no big deal – not realizing that any kind of damn service here
now
, was gonna be a big deal far as we’re concerned. And if it’s no big deal, why do it? Guy doesn’t even
like
churches.’
‘What kind of service?’ Betty was at the edge of her chair and her eyes were hard.
‘I don’t know.’ Robin was a little scared, and that made him angry. ‘A short Eucharist? Did he say that? What is that precisely? I’m not too familiar with this Christian sh—’
‘It’s a Mass.’
‘Huh?’
‘An Anglican Mass. And do you know why a Mass is generally performed in a building other than a functioning church?’
He didn’t fully. He could only guess.
‘To cleanse it,’ Betty said. ‘The Eucharist is Christian disinfectant. To cleanse, to purify – to get rid of bacteria.’
‘OK, let me get this...’ Robin pulled his hands down his face, in praying mode. ‘This is the E-word, right?’
Betty nodded.
An exorcism.
9
Visitor
T HE ANSWERING MACHINE sounded quite irritable.
‘Mrs Watkins. Tania Beauman
, Livenight.
I’ve left messages for you all over the place. The programme goes out Friday night, so I really have to know whether it’s yes or no. I’ll be here until seven. Please call me... Thank you.’
‘Sorry.’ Merrily came back into the kitchen, hung up her funeral cloak. ‘I can’t think with that thing bleeping.’
Barbara Buckingham was sitting at the refectory table, unwinding her heavy silk scarf while her eyes compiled a photo-inventory of the room.
‘You’re in demand, Mrs Watkins.’ The slight roll on the ‘r’ and the barely perceptible lengthening of the ‘a’ showed her roots were sunk into mid-border clay. But this would be way back, many southern English summers since.
Walking through black and white timber-framed Ledwardine, across the cobbled square to the sixteenth-century vicarage, the dull day dying around them, the lights in the windows blunting the bite of evening, she’d said, ‘How quaint and cosy it is here. I’d forgotten. And so close.’
Close to what? Merrily had made a point of not asking.
‘Tea?’ She still felt slightly ashamed of the kitchen – must get round to emulsioning it in the spring. ‘Or coffee?’
Barbara would have tea. She took off her gloves.
Like her late sister, she was good-looking, but in a sleekand sharp way, with a turned-up nose which once would have been cute but now seemed haughty.
The sister’s a retired teacher and there’s no arguing with her
, Eileen Cullen had said.
‘I didn’t expect you to be so young, Mrs Watkins.’
‘Going on thirty-seven?’
‘Young for what you’re doing. Young to be the diocesan exorcist.’
‘Diocesan deliverance consultant.’
‘You must have a progressive bishop.’
‘Not any more.’ Merrily filled the kettle.
Mrs Buckingham dropped a short laugh. ‘Of course. That man who couldn’t take the pressure and walked out. Hunt? Hunter? I try to keep up with Church affairs. I was headmistress of a Church school for many years.’
‘In this area? The border?’
‘God no. Got out of there before I was twenty. Couldn’t stand the cold.’
Merrily put the kettle on the stove. ‘We can get bad winters here,’ she agreed.
‘Ah... not simply the climate. My father was a farmer in Radnor Forest. I remember my whole childhood as a kind of perpetual February.’
‘Frugal?’ Merrily tossed tea bags into the
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