unless he fancied her? "I'm happy to spend as long as you wish going over the books." So was it just an excuse to spend time with her? And what did he want—companionship? Or, God forgive her, a relationship?
He'd been married, if the stories were true, and tragically his wife had died. He was young, living alone, probably desperately lonely, sexually frustrated. Priests are not without the same needs and desires as other men. He could easily be telling himself he needed some female company, a friendship, someone to relax with. And more? Surely he couldn't be planning an adulterous affair with her? That would be against the faith he preached.
Fleetingly, sinfully, she cast him in the role of her lover, gripped by such desire for her that he broke his vows or promises, or whatever priests are supposed to live by, and made passionate love to her while Gary was away. It was graphic and easy to picture, this image of him naked as she'd almost seen him once, only this time he was here with her, in this cottage, in her own bed, tender, adoring, passionate and vigorous.
She stood up, hot from her fantasy.
Ridiculous.
She was an adult, a member of the church, a wife. She'd agreed to take on a job for the church, and that was all. He'd recognised her qualities, her calmness under pressure, and seen that she was the right person to manage the accounts. That was reality.
Yet in bed that night she imagined the other thing and heard him saying "Trust me?" so clearly that his head could have been on the pillow beside her.
"Otis," she said. "Otis Joy."
eight
SCANDALS ABOUT THE CLERGY usually break in the Sunday press just before the faithful go to worship. The story headed BISHOP'S LEAP OF SHAME was no exception. The village shop had sold out of the News of the World by nine-thirty, and the sense of shock had turned to a quirkish mood of high spirits and even some amusement by the eleven o'clock service. Bishops have always been figures of fun—from a distance. The Reverend Joy had never shirked an issue yet, so how would he deal with the Bend Over Bishop and Madam Swish's telephone service:
He was on form. "Flagellation," he opened his sermon, and the pews creaked with the clenching of buttocks. "We Christians know plenty about it, or should. 'Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one,' St. Paul tells us. 'Thrice was I beaten with rods.' Our Lord himself was scourged."
No one was amused any more.
"Through all the ages, saints, monks, nuns and penitents have punished themselves, or been punished with whips, canes and birches. It was thought to be cleansing, a penance. So how does a penance become a perversion? When it turns you on. If it's about penitence, okay. If you enjoy it, no, no. Then it's masochism."
The shocking word carried up the old stone walls and sounded off the roof. Joy paused, and lowered his voice. "The papers tell us—and we all believe the papers, don't we?—that Marcus, our bishop, indulged in flagellation. How? On the phone, using a credit card. His actions harmed nobody. And afterwards he was found dead. End of story. Pretty depressing stuff. You wouldn't think so, reading the papers—and, in case you're wondering, I saw them too. They play up every salacious detail, as they always do when the clergy are caught out. Yes, we expect our bishops to be of good character. Marcus strayed from the path, if this report is true. Who has not done a foolish, humiliating thing at some time in his life? I don't mind telling you I have. I try to lead the good life, and sometimes I fail. Let's take a moment now to think about our own moments of weakness and shame." He paused.
No one even cleared his throat.
"And now imagine the worst of all scenarios: not just that your sin is trumpeted to the entire nation, but that all the good things you did in your life are downgraded by this act. Now hear the word of the Lord. 'He that is without sin among you, let him cast first a stone.'"
It was a chastened
He'd been married, if the stories were true, and tragically his wife had died. He was young, living alone, probably desperately lonely, sexually frustrated. Priests are not without the same needs and desires as other men. He could easily be telling himself he needed some female company, a friendship, someone to relax with. And more? Surely he couldn't be planning an adulterous affair with her? That would be against the faith he preached.
Fleetingly, sinfully, she cast him in the role of her lover, gripped by such desire for her that he broke his vows or promises, or whatever priests are supposed to live by, and made passionate love to her while Gary was away. It was graphic and easy to picture, this image of him naked as she'd almost seen him once, only this time he was here with her, in this cottage, in her own bed, tender, adoring, passionate and vigorous.
She stood up, hot from her fantasy.
Ridiculous.
She was an adult, a member of the church, a wife. She'd agreed to take on a job for the church, and that was all. He'd recognised her qualities, her calmness under pressure, and seen that she was the right person to manage the accounts. That was reality.
Yet in bed that night she imagined the other thing and heard him saying "Trust me?" so clearly that his head could have been on the pillow beside her.
"Otis," she said. "Otis Joy."
eight
SCANDALS ABOUT THE CLERGY usually break in the Sunday press just before the faithful go to worship. The story headed BISHOP'S LEAP OF SHAME was no exception. The village shop had sold out of the News of the World by nine-thirty, and the sense of shock had turned to a quirkish mood of high spirits and even some amusement by the eleven o'clock service. Bishops have always been figures of fun—from a distance. The Reverend Joy had never shirked an issue yet, so how would he deal with the Bend Over Bishop and Madam Swish's telephone service:
He was on form. "Flagellation," he opened his sermon, and the pews creaked with the clenching of buttocks. "We Christians know plenty about it, or should. 'Of the Jews five times received I forty stripes save one,' St. Paul tells us. 'Thrice was I beaten with rods.' Our Lord himself was scourged."
No one was amused any more.
"Through all the ages, saints, monks, nuns and penitents have punished themselves, or been punished with whips, canes and birches. It was thought to be cleansing, a penance. So how does a penance become a perversion? When it turns you on. If it's about penitence, okay. If you enjoy it, no, no. Then it's masochism."
The shocking word carried up the old stone walls and sounded off the roof. Joy paused, and lowered his voice. "The papers tell us—and we all believe the papers, don't we?—that Marcus, our bishop, indulged in flagellation. How? On the phone, using a credit card. His actions harmed nobody. And afterwards he was found dead. End of story. Pretty depressing stuff. You wouldn't think so, reading the papers—and, in case you're wondering, I saw them too. They play up every salacious detail, as they always do when the clergy are caught out. Yes, we expect our bishops to be of good character. Marcus strayed from the path, if this report is true. Who has not done a foolish, humiliating thing at some time in his life? I don't mind telling you I have. I try to lead the good life, and sometimes I fail. Let's take a moment now to think about our own moments of weakness and shame." He paused.
No one even cleared his throat.
"And now imagine the worst of all scenarios: not just that your sin is trumpeted to the entire nation, but that all the good things you did in your life are downgraded by this act. Now hear the word of the Lord. 'He that is without sin among you, let him cast first a stone.'"
It was a chastened
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