Bones in the Belfry by Suzette Hill Page B

Is that what he called it! … And then I stared at him aghast.
    ‘I’m, I’m sorry, sir – did you say tiddlywinks ?’
    ‘Yes, Oughterard, that is exactly what I said. For goodness sake concentrate, will you! Now, I’ll give you Mrs Carruthers’ address and you must go round and tactfully explain to her that it won’t do my reputation a jot of good if it gets out that the diocesan bishop wastes his Wednesday afternoons on hands and knees playing childish games which should have been dropped when he was in short pants. I shall be a laughing stock! It besmirches the dignity of the Church. It besmirches my dignity, Oughterard, so kindly do something about it – and quickly!’
    When he eventually left I retired to bed feeling that in such matters oblivion was the only medicine.

16
     

The Vicar’s Version
     
     
    The gaffe itself was bad enough, but now I was faced with the chore of finding Mrs Carruthers and persuading her to keep quiet about the bishop’s absurd antics. Would there be no end to these impositions? Apparently not.
    The address he had given me was within walking distance so with luck the matter need not take up too much time. I debated whether I should telephone first – it would be tiresome if she were out – but thought better of it. Prior warning might lead to evasive action: in such matters surprise was the essence.
    I set out reluctantly but with firm stride and soon found the house. As I had rather imagined, it was a detached residence of mock Tudor design (beloved of Molehill) and with the usual mix of privet and forsythia lining the front drive. But what distinguished it from any other house in the vicinity was the area immediately in front of the gabled porch …
    I stopped in my tracks, gaping in horrified amazement. Arranged in precise and nightmarish circles was an array of stone garden gnomes whose scale and garish variety defied belief. In every shape and posture, they jostled brazenly: winsome, coy, grotesque. I stared transfixed. At least Clinker had the decency to keep his vices under wraps!
    I edged around the creatures and gained what I thought would be the sanctuary of the porch; but even here there were more. Armed with rakes and fishing rods, sitting cross-legged, standing on tiptoe, perched on toadstools, they simpered and beckoned, inviting the hapless visitor to join their merry throng. It was a relief when the door was finally opened and I could make my escape inside.
    Fortunately the interior was normal – decidedly bland in fact, and I concluded that Mrs Carruthers kept the gnomes as some sort of outlet for artistic perversion. She was a small woman probably in her early fifties, plump and greying. Nondescript really, except for gigantic hoop earrings, a scarlet mouth and trousers to match. In between the two, and neutralizing the effect, she wore a grubby gardening jacket, and since she was holding a trowel had clearly been engaged in some sort of horticultural activity in the back garden – which made me wonder if perhaps more of them were there as well.
    I introduced myself and she showed an affable interest. But it was when I mentioned Clinker that she really took off. ‘Oh, he’s a one, he is!’ she cried delightedly. ‘Quite merciless, you know.’ And she laughed with a high and raucous pitch. ‘Things always get better when he comes along!’ I was surprised, never having observed that particular effect before.
    I smiled. ‘In what way better?’
    ‘Oh, he’s such a love – throws his heart and soul into it, really gets us all going. And very bold too – some of those moves, my, my!’ And she laughed again, another jangling shriek to set the mammoth ear hoops dancing.
    ‘What kind of moves?’ I asked suspiciously. ‘I thought tiddlywinks was quite a simple game, or at least it used to be.’
    ‘Not now, it’s not. At least not for us afici … afici, oh, you know the word!’ And rather boldly, I thought, she gave me a prod in the ribs.