The Snares of Death (18 page)

She touched David's hand, and fixed him again with her cat's eyes. ‘I don't really know why I'm telling you all this, David. But I wanted you to know. When you love someone as much as I love Rhys, you just can't let anything stand in your way.'

‘Yes,' he said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, Fiona. I understand.'

Fiona smiled at him in a knowing way. ‘You love Lucy, don't you?'

‘Yes,' he replied unwillingly.

‘Does she know it? Have you ever told her so?'

‘No.'

‘You must tell her!' Fiona said forcefully. ‘For God's sake, David, tell her!' She paused, putting a hand on his arm for emphasis. ‘Better yet,
do
something about it! Tonight!'

CHAPTER 22

    
My heart was hot within me, and while I was thus musing the fire kindled: and at the last I spake with my tongue . . .

Psalm 39.4

‘Stir-fried tofu!' David shuddered, safely in the car. ‘It was revolting, Lucy.'

She smiled at him affectionately. ‘If it was that bad, why did you have seconds?'

‘I had to be polite, didn't I? But I couldn't look at you – you read my mind too well.'

Lucy laughed. ‘Not always. And what did you think of Rhys?'

‘Oh, he's nice enough, for a fanatic: no meat, no alcohol!'

‘No leather,' she added. ‘But I wouldn't really call him a fanatic. He's quite reasonable about his beliefs. He's just committed, that's all. He's an idealist.'

‘Well, I still don't understand what she sees in him.'

‘What did I tell you?' she smiled.

‘He's nothing at all to look at.'

‘Not my type,' Lucy agreed.

‘But she's crazy about him.'

‘Besotted.'

‘It made me a bit . . . uncomfortable, the way they kept touching each other,' David admitted.

‘I think it's rather sweet.'

‘But they're not teenagers!'

‘No.'

‘And don't you think it's a bit strange?' he asked. ‘Him being so much younger, I mean?'

‘What's so strange about it?' Lucy challenged him.

‘Well, usually . . .'

She frowned. ‘I don't understand why that's such a big issue. If it were the other way round – if he were that much older – no one would think anything of it. Just look at that bimbo that you were talking to today.'

‘Tiffani.'

‘Tiffani?' she echoed, raising an amused eyebrow.

‘Tiffani. With an “i”,' David confirmed.

‘I'll bet she dots the “i” with a little happy face,' Lucy speculated with a wicked smile. ‘Assuming she can write, that is. Anyway, she must be nearly forty years younger than Geoffrey Pickering.'

Geoffrey. She'd brought the subject up, so he could ignore it no longer. ‘Geoffrey Pickering,' he said quietly. ‘I talked to him today. Or more accurately, he talked to me. Why didn't you tell me that you'd been married to him?'

‘But I did, David. Ages ago. Don't you remember? I told you about my marriage, and about . . . about the other two lovers I've had. I haven't kept anything from you.'

‘You told me that you'd been married to someone named Geoffrey. You didn't say that it was Geoffrey Pickering.'

‘I didn't think it was that important.'

‘But I thought . . . I just assumed that Kingsley was your married name!'

‘Good heavens, no. I told you that the marriage only lasted a few months. I went back to my own name as soon as I'd divorced him.'

David absorbed all this in silence for a moment, his eyes on the road, but his brain was clamorous with unanswered questions.

‘I just assumed, when you said that you'd met Geoffrey at art school, that he was your age – another student. Pickering must be nearly sixty!'

‘Oh, he was one of my teachers. Art history. He wasn't so grand in those days.' She turned to face him, sensing his tension. ‘Why are you upset? I didn't lie to you, David. I told you about my marriage, months ago. It's ancient history. Today was the first time I'd seen Geoffrey since the divorce.'

‘I just don't understand,' he said at last. ‘He's so . . . objectionable. He's pompous, overbearing, pretentious . . . '

‘Yes, isn't he?' she laughed.

‘Was he like that when you married him?'

‘Oh, not so bad, of course. The years have intensified his negative qualities.'

‘But how could you have . . . ?'

‘I was young, David. Only eighteen. I've told you all this before.' She spoke quietly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. ‘I was escaping from my churchy upbringing. He was sophisticated, worldly. He knew about wine, about good food, about art, music, the theatre – about the world that I wanted to be a part of. I was naive enough to think that that was the way to achieve it.'

‘But . . . did you love him?' The words were torn out of him, painfully.

‘Oh, no, not really. I convinced myself that I did, of course. I was fascinated by him, and by what he had to offer.'

‘But you married him,' David stated miserably. He wouldn't look at Lucy. They were having their first real row, and now of all times. He knew that he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't help the way he felt.

‘Yes, I married him. It was a big mistake, and it was a long time ago – half a lifetime ago, David. What difference does it make? Why does it matter?' she challenged.

Now was not the time to tell her, here in a moving car, and these were not the circumstances he would have chosen. But he had no choice. ‘Don't you know why it matters? It matters because I love you, Lucy. I love you with all my heart.' The words sounded so clichéd, so trite to his ears; embarrassed, he stared straight ahead at the road. If he had turned his head, he would have seen her smile.

In a few minutes they were home, out of the car, in the house. Now that it had been said, a detached sensation of unreality descended on David: it was as though this were happening to someone else, or perhaps occurring in a dream.

‘Would you like a drink?' he heard himself asking. ‘Brandy?'

‘No, thanks. I'd rather go to bed,' Lucy replied with an enigmatic smile.

Could she mean . . . ? Surely not, he thought. Confused, David listened to himself babbling. ‘Yes, I suppose you're tired. It's been quite a full day. And if you didn't sleep well last night . . . I'm sorry about that. Sorry about the traffic noise. Mother's room is quieter. You can sleep there tonight, if you like.'

Lucy held her breath as she considered how to respond. David's declaration of love gave her the courage – indeed, gave her the right – to make the next move. She came very close to him and put her hands on his shoulders. ‘And where would
you
like me to sleep tonight, my love?' she asked softly.

His heart flip-flopped. Almost unwillingly, he replied, ‘In my room. In my bed. With me.'

‘I'd rather hoped you'd say that,' she murmured, moving even closer and lifting her face to be kissed.

CHAPTER 23

    
Then shall I teach thy ways unto the wicked: and sinners shall be converted unto thee.

Psalm 51.13

It was very quiet in the vicarage on Saturday evening. Bob Dexter had been in his study for most of the day, working on his sermon for the next morning, and Becca was in her room. Elayne, finishing the washing-up from their evening meal, kept her eye on the kitchen clock nervously.

Eight o'clock. She went upstairs to check on her family – to make sure that she wouldn't be missed for a while.

Becca's bedroom door was closed; she wouldn't bother her. The door to Bob's study was ajar so she tapped softly. ‘Yes?' he demanded.

‘Can I get you anything, Bob? Some coffee?'

‘No. I wish you wouldn't interrupt my train of thought, Elayne! This sermon is very important! It will set the tone for Bob Dexter's entire ministry in this place!'

‘Sorry . . .'

‘I'll let you know if I want anything.' His voice was irritated, dismissive; she tiptoed away without another word.

The church key, handed over to Dexter with such ceremony by the Archdeacon on Monday night, was kept on a hook near the back door. Elayne slipped it in her pocket and was gone, pulling the door shut quietly behind her.

Alice, with a key of her own, was already waiting for her in the church.

‘Hello, Miss Barnes,' Elayne greeted her shyly. ‘It's very nice of you to come out like this.'

‘Not at all,' Alice protested gruffly.

‘Miss Vernon hasn't come?'

‘No. Gwen stayed home with Nell and Babs. They were feeling a bit unsettled after their trip in the car this afternoon. They have very delicate constitutions, you know.'

‘Those are your dogs?' Elayne asked. ‘Becca mentioned that you had dogs. They're girls, are they?'

Alice sniffed. ‘Of course. Male dogs are so . . . vulgar, don't you think?'

‘Are they? I don't know. I've never had a dog.' Elayne looked regretful. ‘Bob hates dogs. He'd never let me have one.'

Alice forebore to say what she thought of Bob. It wasn't his wife's fault that the man was so wicked, she reflected – the poor woman was to be pitied rather than blamed. Instead she asked, ‘Well, have you got it?'

‘Yes.' Elayne put her hand in her pocket. ‘It's not a very nice one,' she apologised. ‘But it was the best that I could find in Fakenham.'

With a dismissive snort, Alice took it from her. ‘No, it's not very nice. Plastic. You should have mother-of-pearl, or pink quartz. And it should have double links, so it doesn't break. We must take you to the Shrine shop one day to get a proper one. But this will do for now. Shall we get started?'

‘Can we go in the chapel?' Elayne requested hesitantly. ‘Where . . . she . . . is?'

‘Of course.' Alice marched to the chapel, Elayne following behind. ‘Now,' she said. ‘Kneel down, and repeat after me: “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .” '

Bob Dexter looked up from his sermon. He'd been working so hard that the words were beginning to blur together in front of his eyes; he decided that he could use a break, and a cup of coffee. ‘Elayne!' he called, peremptorily. There was no reply. ‘Elayne!' he repeated. After a moment he frowned and went to investigate.

‘Elayne!' he called again at the top of the stairs. When there was still no answer, he pushed Becca's door open without knocking. She was sprawled on the bed, reading a magazine; her Bible lay unopened beside her. ‘Becca, do you know where your mother is?'

Becca looked up, smiling a bit guiltily as she closed the magazine. She was ready for bed in a pink nightgown, her hair in a plait over her shoulder, and she looked very young. ‘No, Daddy. I haven't seen her since supper.'

‘She was up here bothering me a little while ago, but now she doesn't answer me.'

‘Why did you want her?'

‘I was ready for a break, for some coffee.'

Becca jumped up. ‘I'll make you some coffee, Daddy.'

‘That's very sweet of you, Princess.' He followed her downstairs with a fond smile.

‘How is the sermon coming along, Daddy?'

‘Oh, very well. I want it to be something that will make them all sit up and take notice, you know.'

‘I'm sure they will.'

‘My text,' he expanded, ‘is from the Psalms: “Are your minds set upon righteousness, O ye congregation: and do ye judge the thing that is right, O ye sons of men?” '

Becca filled the kettle and found his ‘Christians aren't perfect, just forgiven' mug. ‘Why don't you tell me about it, Daddy?'

He beamed. ‘Well, Becca, when I finish with them tomorrow morning, they'll know that Bob Dexter is in charge. I can guarantee that. I shall ruthlessly expose their idolatrous practices as hateful to Almighty God. I shall have them –' He broke off as the back door opened and Elayne slipped in. She started guiltily as she realised that she was not alone. ‘Where have you been?' Dexter asked in a hard, quiet voice. When she didn't answer immediately, he repeated in a shout, ‘Where have you been, woman?'

Elayne thought quickly. ‘Oh, I . . . I just went over to the church for a moment. I was in the kitchen, and thought I saw a light on in the chapel. I thought I ought to go over and investigate . . .' It sounded lame, even to her own ears, but Dexter accepted it.

‘Why didn't you tell me?' he demanded. ‘It might have been someone dangerous – someone who'd broken in to steal the silver!'

‘You didn't want to be disturbed,' she reminded him diffidently. ‘It didn't occur to me that there could be any danger. I just thought that perhaps someone had left a light on by mistake – someone who'd been there earlier, or something . . .'

‘And who was it?'

‘Oh, just . . . just that Miss Barnes. Saying her prayers.' That, at least, was not an outright lie, Elayne justified to herself.

‘It won't do, having people wandering round the church at all hours,' he stated, glowering. ‘And it's not necessary! You can pray to God just as well in your own home as in a church!' Dexter stroked his upper lip. ‘Tomorrow I shall insist that anyone who has a key to the church must give it up. I'll have them all back, on the spot. And I'll be sure that I get one from Miss Barnes!'

CHAPTER 24

    
I was glad when they said unto me: We will go into the house of the Lord.

Psalm 122.1

‘Good Lord, Lucy! Look at the time!' David stared at the bedside clock, dismayed. ‘The Mass at Walsingham starts at half past eleven! It's after ten already.'

She opened her eyes reluctantly; like the previous night, if for different reasons, it had not been a night for sound sleep. ‘How long will it take us to get there?'