Bones in the Belfry by Suzette Hill Page A

exclaimed, wondering what sort of hussy would choose to live in Molehill of all places!
    ‘In fact that’s the chief problem. She’s far from discreet, and despite our friendship, unless she can be persuaded to silence I’m afraid I shall have to forgo our little sessions – which would be a great pity.’
    ‘Well,’ I ventured diffidently, ‘that might be a blessing in disguise.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘It might give you a chance to … well, to get yourself sorted out.’
    ‘I don’t need sorting out,’ he replied testily, ‘I need your help, Oughterard!’
    The tone had become querulous and I noted the reversion to my surname, and shifted uneasily. Perhaps in answer to his appeal I should suggest that he try being a little more sober and vigilant – though I doubted its efficacy, and in any case, in view of my own worrying transgression of the previous year, such an injunction might be a trifle de trop even for my conscience. However, clearly some such spiritual advice was in order, so I asked him had he considered that the person most likely to be harmed by those engagements was himself.
    ‘Of course I have, Oughterard, which is why I want you to approach Mrs Carruthers and get her to keep it under her hat. She won’t take it from me, we’re too matey. But with an outsider like yourself and not one of our little circle, she might see some sense.’
    I regarded him in dazed wonder. Surely he wasn’t expecting his subordinate to play the part of a pander in his lewd activities! I was incensed. Not of their ‘little circle’ – I should hope not indeed! Had Clinker taken leave ofhis senses?
    Before I could gather my wits he had stood up, looked wistfully at the glasses on the sideboard and said, ‘Don’t suppose you’ve any more of those cocktails, White Ladies, have you, Oughterard?’
    ‘No,’ I snapped. (Blowed if I was going to allow my hard-bought drink near that complacent libertine!) He seemed surprised at the asperity of my tone but said mildly that he would settle for a cup of tea if I didn’t mind. I did mind, but complied with his request, thinking grimly that a spike of bromide wouldn’t have gone amiss!
    As I handed him the cup he returned to the subject of Mrs Carruthers and ‘the circle’.
    ‘Sounds absurd, I know, but I’ve become quite obsessed with the whole thing. Keep waking in the night and devising new methods and positions and wondering how different partners will make out. Makes me quite restless and Gladys gets furious. Ridiculous, isn’t it, to get excited about such a mere pursuit!’
    I maintained a po-face but said pointedly that I was rather surprised that he should deem it so mere a pursuit and that traditionally the Church had always been rather strict on that sort of thing, regarding such practices – especially with the numbers he had mentioned – with a less than tolerant eye. A reference to Sodom and Gomorrah sprang to my lips, but I felt that might be excessive and cause contention. Having to teach moral commonplaces to my superior, even to one such as Clinker, was difficult enough as it was. But clearly the man was going through some sort of crisis and might be grateful for a bit of straight talk. He didn’t appear particularly grateful, in fact stared at me as if I was some sort of congenital idiot.
    ‘What are you babbling about, Oughterard? Don’t know what part of the scriptures you’ve been reading – unless you haven’t been listening at all! I suppose that’s it. I’ve noticed before – your attention span is singularly short, always has been.’ He sighed in exasperation, and somewhere from the distant past there echoed my father’s equally irritable tone.
    ‘I simply ask for a little help in drawing a veil over my rather puerile indulgence in tiddlywinks and you preach me some prissy sermon on Church precepts. Really, it’s enough to try the patience of a saint!’
    And you’re certainly no saint, I thought. ‘Tiddlywinks’!