might be all still very much in the air,but what does that matter? That’s all bollocks anyway, isn’t it, to them? And it’s their case now, and I get disparaged and humiliated, but what’s that matter, there’s a man dead.’
God, she really wanted that cigarette, but no way was the packet coming out now.
Something else had happened.
‘Have you talked to Bernie?’
‘He’s asking the Archdeacon to oversee this matter. For the time being.’
‘Sian.’
Canon Sian Callaghan-Clarke. Ex-barrister. One day she’d be a bishop. Not here, but somewhere, within the next few years. If she was careful.
‘The Bishop thinks she’s probably the best person to help you,’ Sophie said. ‘As he won’t be here when it… I’m to arrange for you two to meet. Soon.’
‘I—’ Merrily spun round in her chair at the sound of a police siren down in Broad Street. In fact it was an ambulance and on its own. ‘We both know what Sian’s going to say.’
‘She’ll suggest you get on with your job.’
‘As Vicar of Ledwardine.’
‘Yes.’
‘Suspending me, in other words, from… this.’
‘That word is unlikely to be used,’ Sophie said.
‘No. Makes sense, obviously.’
‘Merrily…’ Two mugs came down, with unnecessary force, on the dresser. ‘For God’s sake…’ Steam rising around Sophie, her face momentarily as white as her hair. ‘…
stop
saying what makes
sense
. Do you really want to go back to Ledwardine and wait for… for…’
‘Wouldn’t that be the Christian thing to do?’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid.’ Sophie put out an open hand, its nails bluntly manicured. ‘Car keys.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Give me your keys. I’ll move your vehicle down to the public car park near the swimming pool.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m suppose to arrange a meeting between you and Sian Callaghan-Clarke, and I might have difficulty getting in touch with you. If you aren’t answering your phone to avoid the media. Or that’s what I can say to stall Canon Clarke. But if someone tells her they’ve seen your car in the palace yard …’
‘What if she comes in here?’
‘She never comes in here. It’s the one place she doesn’t feel fully confident. When she was chairperson of the Diocesan deliverance panel, that didn’t exactly work out particularly well, did it?’
‘OK.’ Merrily stood up. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Happened?’
‘Jesus, Sophie…’
‘All right.’ Sophie left her hand fall. ‘Two things have happened. Firstly…I discussed it with Andrew.’
Her husband.
It was like a confession. When you worked with Sophie, a whole new depth of meaning attached itself to the phrase
cathedral close
.
‘In his capacity as senior partner of Andrew Hill Associates.’
Architects. Sophie’s husband was semi-retired now, took his golfing shoes to the office.
‘He knows the estate agent who handled the sale of that house. And who sold it more than once. Geoffrey Unsworth of Lang/Copper in Bridge Street.’
‘And?’
‘Mr Geoffrey Unsworth, who’s been there all his working life… knows some history. And will talk to you about it this afternoon. Mr Unsworth hasn’t worked mornings since he turned eighty.’
‘And he’d tell me… what?’
‘Better to hear it from him. You might wish you’d known it before you… Although what difference it would have made I’m not sure. It doesn’t….’ Sophie shook her head in exasperation and bafflement. ‘Sometimes I think these things are not supposed to make to make sense, only to confuse us. Make us realise that we aren’t in control.’
Merrily said nothing. She’d known few people who were more in control than Sophie.
‘The second thing - about half an hour before you came in, I had a call from a woman. Is this the exorcist’s office? I asked her what she wanted. She said she wanted to tell the so-called exorcist that she was a phony and a sham. And should be arrested for the murder of Jonathan
God, she really wanted that cigarette, but no way was the packet coming out now.
Something else had happened.
‘Have you talked to Bernie?’
‘He’s asking the Archdeacon to oversee this matter. For the time being.’
‘Sian.’
Canon Sian Callaghan-Clarke. Ex-barrister. One day she’d be a bishop. Not here, but somewhere, within the next few years. If she was careful.
‘The Bishop thinks she’s probably the best person to help you,’ Sophie said. ‘As he won’t be here when it… I’m to arrange for you two to meet. Soon.’
‘I—’ Merrily spun round in her chair at the sound of a police siren down in Broad Street. In fact it was an ambulance and on its own. ‘We both know what Sian’s going to say.’
‘She’ll suggest you get on with your job.’
‘As Vicar of Ledwardine.’
‘Yes.’
‘Suspending me, in other words, from… this.’
‘That word is unlikely to be used,’ Sophie said.
‘No. Makes sense, obviously.’
‘Merrily…’ Two mugs came down, with unnecessary force, on the dresser. ‘For God’s sake…’ Steam rising around Sophie, her face momentarily as white as her hair. ‘…
stop
saying what makes
sense
. Do you really want to go back to Ledwardine and wait for… for…’
‘Wouldn’t that be the Christian thing to do?’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid.’ Sophie put out an open hand, its nails bluntly manicured. ‘Car keys.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Give me your keys. I’ll move your vehicle down to the public car park near the swimming pool.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m suppose to arrange a meeting between you and Sian Callaghan-Clarke, and I might have difficulty getting in touch with you. If you aren’t answering your phone to avoid the media. Or that’s what I can say to stall Canon Clarke. But if someone tells her they’ve seen your car in the palace yard …’
‘What if she comes in here?’
‘She never comes in here. It’s the one place she doesn’t feel fully confident. When she was chairperson of the Diocesan deliverance panel, that didn’t exactly work out particularly well, did it?’
‘OK.’ Merrily stood up. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Happened?’
‘Jesus, Sophie…’
‘All right.’ Sophie left her hand fall. ‘Two things have happened. Firstly…I discussed it with Andrew.’
Her husband.
It was like a confession. When you worked with Sophie, a whole new depth of meaning attached itself to the phrase
cathedral close
.
‘In his capacity as senior partner of Andrew Hill Associates.’
Architects. Sophie’s husband was semi-retired now, took his golfing shoes to the office.
‘He knows the estate agent who handled the sale of that house. And who sold it more than once. Geoffrey Unsworth of Lang/Copper in Bridge Street.’
‘And?’
‘Mr Geoffrey Unsworth, who’s been there all his working life… knows some history. And will talk to you about it this afternoon. Mr Unsworth hasn’t worked mornings since he turned eighty.’
‘And he’d tell me… what?’
‘Better to hear it from him. You might wish you’d known it before you… Although what difference it would have made I’m not sure. It doesn’t….’ Sophie shook her head in exasperation and bafflement. ‘Sometimes I think these things are not supposed to make to make sense, only to confuse us. Make us realise that we aren’t in control.’
Merrily said nothing. She’d known few people who were more in control than Sophie.
‘The second thing - about half an hour before you came in, I had a call from a woman. Is this the exorcist’s office? I asked her what she wanted. She said she wanted to tell the so-called exorcist that she was a phony and a sham. And should be arrested for the murder of Jonathan
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