[Churchminster #3] Wild Things (19 page)

Rafe touched her face. ‘I want to prove to you it’s not just about a one-night stand.’

‘Don’t worry about that!’ she exclaimed.
Don’t you know how long it is since I’ve had sex?
she thought.

Rafe pulled his shirt together. ‘I mean it, Calypso; I want you to know I’m not some sort of bastard. You’re very special to me.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ she said, but she couldn’t keep the pleasure out of her voice.

He carefully pulled her top down, stroking her flat tummy. ‘I’d better call you a cab. I’m over the limit, and if you stay here, I don’t know if I can be trusted to keep my hands off you.’ Kissing Calypso again, he led her back into the kitchen.

Chapter 24

JOYCE BELLOWS FINISHED
her tea and sighed happily, like a wine connoisseur swilling the last sip of a Chateau Latour 1970. She got up from her armchair in the old-fashioned sitting room at the rectory and made her way through to the kitchen. Brian was away on a two-day conference in London – promising to bring back Joyce her favourite lilac creams from Harrods. ‘A decadent choice,’ she always said, ‘but if you couldn’t have one bit of naughtiness, what was life about?’

Today was her day at St Bartholomew’s doing the flower arrangements. After the last Garden Party meeting, Clementine had praised Joyce’s efforts, and the vicar’s wife was determined to keep up the good work. That was what united people, after all. A strong faith and sense of community. She and Brian had moved around so much since they’d married that Joyce had never really felt she’d belonged anywhere. Until she’d come to Churchminster. She felt
good
living here.

Joyce gave herself a cursory look in the hallway
mirror
, applied her only bit of make-up – an old beige lipstick bought from an Avon lady years ago – and opened the front door. Sunlight washed into the house, reflecting against her glasses. After a few grey days, Churchminster had woken to a perfect May morning.

She got her old bicycle out of the garage and, after a wobbly start, turned left out of the rectory and started along the lane. It was wonderfully quiet, no sound apart from the turning of her tinny wheels and the stop-start rattle of birdsong. Clouds dappled the faded blue sky, while splodges of white cow parsley lined the dewy green verges below. Joyce pedalled faster and felt the wind through her hair, a gust of joy within. At the village shop, Brenda Briggs was just opening up.

‘Morning, Brenda!’ Joyce called gaily, as she cycled past. ‘Lovely morning for it!’
I always did wonder
, she thought,
lovely morning for what?
She gave a sudden cackle at the absurdity, leaving a bemused Brenda in her wake.

Slightly breathless, Joyce leant her bicycle on the wall outside the church and pushed open the creaky gate. The churchyard was as serene as ever, the shadow from St Bartholomew’s a cool, comforting blanket. Joyce had been in many churches in her life, but something about St Bartholomew’s always caught her heart. It was so stoic and proud, majestic even in its battle scars and whatever the ravages of time had thrown at it.

The ancient, heavy wooden door was already ajar. Joyce was surprised; it was very early for someone to be in here. In a rare show of force Reverend Bellows
had
insisted the doors be left unlocked, so parishioners could visit the church whenever they felt the need.

Tentatively, she pushed the door open and walked in. Accustomed to the sunlight, her eyes took a few seconds to adjust to the gloom inside. When they did, Joyce blinked once, twice and then again, as if not sure she could believe what she was seeing. Her hands clutched at her cardigan and, uttering the kind of words one would not expect from a vicar’s wife in the house of God, Joyce Bellows ran out.

PC Penny rocked on his heels in what he thought was a superior manner and turned over another page of his notepad. ‘You say the door was ajar when you got here, madam?’

‘Yes,’ said Joyce tearfully, ‘but I just thought someone had left it open from evening prayers. Oh dear, what a dreadful thing to happen!’ She burst into tears again.

Angie Fox-Titt put a comforting arm round her. ‘There, there, darling, don’t let yourself get in a state.’

‘Bloody bad business though,’ Freddie Fox-Titt said. The four of them surveyed the wrecked interior of the church. Flower displays had been pushed over, bibles ripped and shredded, pew cushions scattered. Worse, the vandals had sprayed the words SCUM in red paint along the back wall. Even PC Penny, who worshipped at the altar of
CSI: Miami
, felt a sense of utter sacrilege.

‘At least they haven’t smashed the windows,’ Angie tried to console the others. ‘And all the valuable things are locked up for special occasions.’

‘That may be, Mrs Fox-Titt,’ PC Penny said. ‘But from now on, I suggest the church door is kept locked. You can’t be too careful.’

Angie bit her lip, nodding unhappily. ‘Do you think it’s those gatecrashers from
Churchminster’s Got Talent
?’ Freddie asked. ‘They were a pretty rum lot.’

‘We will be following up all lines of inquiry, don’t you worry about that.’

‘It’s just such awful timing,’ Angie told PC Penny. ‘With Britain’s Best Village coming up, this is the last thing we need.’ She sighed again, making her impressive chest heave. PC Penny averted his eyes hastily.

A scene of crime officer was called down to fingerprint the church, and didn’t hold out much hope of success – ‘Hundreds of people have been in here, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack’ – but he did what he could, packed up his bag and left. That evening, when St Bartholomew’s was declared a free zone again, the Garden Party went down to put it back together. Apart from the bibles, which would have to be replaced, it seemed no real damage had been done.

With a bit of elbow grease, Jack had got rid of the graffiti. He used a special concoction he bought over in a bucket. ‘I’ve worked in enough inner-city pubs to know how to get rid of this stuff,’ he said grimly.

Afterwards, Clementine, Calypso and Brenda walked back over the green towards their own houses. Everyone was tired and depressed at what had happened, but Brenda tried to lift the moment with her chatter. ‘’Ere, I’ve got a bit of gossip for you. My Ted saw all sorts of vans outside Devon Cornwall’s place
when
he went to work the other morning. Ted reckons he’s moving back in!’

‘Last I heard he was in Bangkok,’ Calypso said. ‘Playing to sell-out arenas. I can’t imagine why he’d come back here.’

Brenda sighed, she was a huge fan of the rock star. ‘Fingers and everything else crossed he does, my “Devon is a Dish” T-shirt could do with an airing.’

Three motorbikes in close convoy were driving rather too fast round the other side of the green. The riders were all in full leathers and blacked-out helmets.

‘That’ll be the paparazzi,’ said Brenda knowledgeably. ‘They were in the shop earlier asking if there was another way to get into Clanfield Hall. I said not unless they wanted to risk getting pellets in their bums from his nibs and his air gun!’

The three watched as the bikes zoomed out of sight towards the stately home. Clementine frowned; more photographers had appeared in the village recently. They’d clearly never heard of keeping to the speed limit.

‘Of course, I didn’t tell them he
had
been in,’ said Brenda self-importantly.

Calypso spun round. ‘Who?’

‘Rafe, of course! He was all disguised up in a baseball cap and sunglasses, but I knew it was him from the moment he walked in. I bleedin’ near wet me pants, all me bingo friends are green with jealousy.’

Calypso’s stomach dropped unpleasantly. If Rafe had visited Churchminster, why hadn’t he been to see her? Despite the high octane they’d left on, she hadn’t
heard
from him since. Calypso didn’t like the way she felt so put out.

‘He didn’t stay long, just to buy a box of chocolates and a newspaper,’ Brenda said. She gasped theatrically. ‘I wonder who the chocolates were for?’

Obviously not me
, thought Calypso, hating how disappointed she felt.

At the crossroads Brenda left them and continued on to Hollyoaks Cottage. Calypso studied her grandmother. ‘Are you all right, Granny Clem?’ she said.

Clementine gave a weak smile. ‘I’m fine, really, darling.’ She looked back at the church. ‘Why would someone want to do that? It just seems so
mindless
.’

Calypso shook her head. ‘God knows, probably just some local thug’s idea of a good time. But PC Penny says he’ll step up the patrols in the village, and he’s confident he’ll find out who did it.’

Clementine had dealt with PC Penny before. He reminded her of a dreadful yapping Yorkshire terrier her friend Elizabeth Etherington had once owned. ‘We’ll see,’ she said pessimistically. ‘I really hope that we don’t get any more reporters sniffing around, we can’t afford any negative press in the papers.’

Calypso looked up at the darkening sky. ‘Do you want me to walk you back to Fairoaks?’ she asked.

‘No, you go inside and have some supper. I’ll be fine.’

After bidding her grandmother goodnight, Calypso started towards No. 5. A few moments later, the one person she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about telephoned her.

‘Hey there.’

The line was crackly, Clanfield Hall always did have crap reception.

‘Hey, yourself,’ she responded, trying to quench the sudden feeling of joy. ‘I was beginning to think you’d dropped off a cliff.’

She could hear the smile in Rafe’s voice. ‘Why, have you been missing me?’

‘You should be so lucky,’ she retorted, but a tingle of happiness went through her body.

Rafe chuckled. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch. We’ve been doing fifteen-hour days and I haven’t been good for anything when I’ve got home.’

Calypso didn’t bring it up about Brenda seeing him in the shop; she didn’t want to sound like a stalker. She wondered why he hadn’t mentioned it, though – and who were the mystery chocolates for?

Rafe didn’t notice she’d gone quiet. ‘Anyway, to make the most of my absence, I’d like to take you out again.’

‘Crisp sandwiches again?’ she asked, but the sharp remark seemed to be lost on him. He’d obviously got used to her being a sarcastic cow by now.

‘Are you free this Saturday?’

‘I think so,’ Calypso said, in spite of herself.

‘Great! I’ll pick you up at 9 a.m. Look, I’ve got to go, we’re doing another evening shoot.’

‘Wait!’ she said. ‘What do I wear? Where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise. Wear something pretty. Oh, and bring your passport.’

‘
Passport
?’ she started to stay, but the line crackled again and went dead.

Chapter 25

THE SMELL OF
pork filled the kitchen. Camilla inhaled blissfully; the joint from Daylesford Organic was an extravagance, but it was going to be delicious. She finished pouring the chocolate mousse mixture into glass ramekins and put them in the fridge to chill. Next, she set the kitchen table and filled a vase with flowers hand-picked from the garden. She and Jed always preferred the cosiness of eating in here to the dining room. Camilla had decided on her way to work that morning to surprise him with a special dinner, and had spent the afternoon shopping for all his favourite things. As she put the finishing touches to the dauphinoise potatoes she smiled, looking forward to the evening ahead. Jed had been rather preoccupied the last few days, and Camilla was sure it was to do with work. A nice dinner would take his mind off things.

At 9.15 p.m. Camilla tried Jed’s mobile for the umpteenth time. Still off. She was getting really worried now. Where could he be? Surely if he was working this late he would have phoned to tell her.

It was gone 10 p.m. by the time Jed finally walked through the front door. Camilla came rushing out into the hallway. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Sorry, I got caught up at the Hall.’

Camilla thought of the dinner congealing in the kitchen. Irritation flared up. ‘You could have phoned, darling!’

‘Will you get off my back?’

Camilla looked surprised at his uncharacteristic sharpness.

Jed caught himself. ‘Sorry babe; it’s just been a long day. I should have called.’

‘You’re working too hard at the moment,’ she told him, noticing the dark shadows under his eyes. She followed him through to the kitchen. Jed stopped dead at the sight of the table, all laid out. ‘What’s this?’

‘I thought I’d cook us a nice dinner …’ she trailed off.

Jed sighed. ‘I’ve really fucked it up, haven’t I?’

He looked so tired and rundown that despite the fact dinner was ruined, Camilla felt sorry for him. ‘Look, I can make you something else. What do you fancy?’

‘I’m not that hungry, don’t worry.’

‘Do you want me to run you a bath, then? We can get in together.’

A bath – or rather sex in the bath – was one of Jed’s favourite things.

He shook his head, avoiding eye contact. ‘I don’t think I’m good for anything. I’ll probably just hit the sack.’

‘Jed!’ she said, as he went to walk out.

‘What?’

‘You haven’t even kissed me yet.’