Evil Angels Among Them (31 page)

‘Lovely,' agreed Ernest. ‘Though not as good as in Father Fuller's time.'

‘And serving the food in church – that was a disgrace,' Doris put in, her pencilled eyebrows raised to her hairline. ‘Not to mention who prepared it. It's a wonder we didn't all come down with food poisoning, at the very least. Or digitalis poisoning! Just like poor dear Flora!'

‘You're forgetting,' Enid reminded her. ‘Those women
didn't
poison Flora. Or so everyone is saying now.'

‘First I've heard of it.' Ernest frowned. ‘I thought they'd given her foxglove leaves instead of tea.'

‘Oh, you're way behind the times!' Enid said with a condescending smile. ‘Dr McNair told me earlier this week. It was tablets, not foxglove leaves. And I know what that means – I didn't work in a doctor's surgery for all those years for nothing!'

‘What?' demanded Doris. ‘What does it mean?'

Enid laughed coyly. ‘Oh, let's just say that I have an idea or two about it. More to it than meets the eye, at any rate. I don't want to say any more just yet.' She savoured the self-important feeling of knowing more than she was telling – or at least of being able to give that impression. ‘I wouldn't want to say any more than that before I have a chance to discuss my theory with Dr McNair. Or the police.'

‘Enid, you're horrid,' her sister sulked. ‘I think you should tell us.'

‘She's just winding you up,' Ernest growled. ‘You ought to know that by now. She doesn't know anything more about it than we do.'

‘I wouldn't be so sure of that.' Enid looked superior. ‘My medical background gives me certain advantages.'

Seeing that she wasn't going to get any further with her sister, Doris changed the subject. ‘And what about poor Becca Thorncroft? Fred says that she's very upset about those nasty phone calls. He told me all about it when I went in for the ham this afternoon.' In deference to the warm weather, it was to be a salad supper: flabby slices of ham served with cucumber, wedges of hard greenish tomatoes and limp lettuce leaves.

Enid tried to hide her annoyance that Doris had broached that toothsome topic before she judged that it was time. ‘I knew about it
yesterday
,' she said smugly. ‘Fred told me all about it, how she's been getting these horrid calls for
months
. And she never said a word to any of us. I just can't understand it.'

‘Damn sensible, if you ask me,' muttered Ernest.

‘I just don't know what I'd do if someone rang
me
and said nasty things like that!' Doris gave a delicious shudder. ‘I'd be so upset. But I'd send Ernest round to sort them out. You'd sort them out, wouldn't you, Ernest?' A husband was the one thing that she had over Enid, and she never missed an opportunity to rub it in.

‘He'd tell them they wanted their head examined,' Enid said tartly. ‘No one in their right mind would say things like that to
you
, when there's someone like Becca Thorncroft around. Or even that Sally Purdy, and her no better than she should be.'

‘Humph.' Doris knew when she'd been bested; once again she changed the subject. ‘I think it's time to eat, don't you?' They were already at the kitchen table and the ham salads were prepared, so it was only a matter of transferring the plates from the counter to the table.

‘I've been giving some thought to what you said last week, Ernest,' Enid remarked in a conversational tone as she wielded her knife and fork over the ham.

He looked up from his plate. ‘What's that, then?'

‘About the vacancy for churchwarden.' She paused, then went on impressively, ‘I've been giving some thought to standing myself.'

‘You?' he said, in a tone that was far from flattering.

‘Why not? We've just had a woman warden, even if it only was for a few weeks. I think it's a good thing to have the woman's point of view represented, don't you? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you were the one who wanted Flora, weren't you?' she challenged her brother-in-law.

‘But Enid – you re much too busy with the Mothers' Union,' Doris interposed.

‘The Mothers' Union is a big commitment,' her sister admitted. ‘But now that I'm retired from my job, I have plenty of time to give. Perhaps,' she mused, ‘I'll have a word with the Rector about it. See what he thinks.'

‘Speaking of the Rector,' said Ernest, ‘did I tell you what he said to me about the black frontal? Shocking isn't too strong a word for the way he spoke to me. And my back hadn't been turned five minutes before he changed it back to the white set.'

David and Lucy didn't have a chance to compare notes until much later that night, in the privacy of the guest room.

David told Lucy that he had found the organist in the church practising the organ. ‘And I didn't have much trouble getting him to talk.'

‘He admitted the affair, then?' Lucy queried, sitting in front of the dressing-table mirror in her dressing gown, brushing her hair.

‘Oh, he admitted it, all right.' David gave a little laugh. ‘He almost bragged about it, in fact. Sort of a wink, wink, nudge, nudge thing – boys together and all that.'

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. ‘That doesn't sound very nice.'

‘It
wasn't
very nice, quite frankly.' David took the brush from her hand and began pulling it through her hair tenderly, careful not to tangle the red-gold curls; it was something he loved doing, and she found it both relaxing and sensuous.

Lucy leaned back into the regular strokes. ‘You don't think he loves her, then?'

‘Love isn't the word,' he told her. ‘According to him, she's the one who initiated the affair – threw herself at him, practically raped him, to hear him tell it. Not that he's complaining, mind you. He says that she's great in bed: “insatiable and completely uninhibited” were his words, if I recall.'

‘Charming,' Lucy said ironically. ‘Whatever happened to gentlemanly discretion?'

‘And apparently when it started he was particularly vulnerable. Lonely, at any rate, if not brokenhearted – he'd been left at the altar, virtually, by his fiancée, he told me, and he more or less came to Walston to get away from all of that. Diana Mansfield provided physical relief with no emotional ties.'

‘That may be what
he
thinks,' Lucy declared, taking the brush from his hand and turning to him with a frown. ‘But she's in love with him, David. Deeply in love. It will kill her if he dumps her.'

‘I have the distinct feeling that he's growing tired of her already,' David admitted, troubled. ‘He hinted as much.'

‘Oh, poor Diana!' Lucy threw herself into his arms with unaccustomed fierceness; catching her mood, he responded and pulled her towards the bed.

Some time later, unable to sleep, Lucy sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Are you still awake?' she asked gently.

‘Mm.' David turned and smiled at her. ‘That was nice.'

‘Nice isn't the word.'

He stroked her thigh. ‘Aren't you sleepy?'

‘I can't stop thinking about Cyprian Lawrence,' she admitted. ‘He was in the right place at the right time to make that call yesterday. And I'm sure that Diana realises that as well. If you want to know what I think, I think she's terrified that he did it. Remember how she insisted, when she first came to see you yesterday, that the call couldn't possibly have come from Walston Hall?'

‘And,' David added, ‘he lives in a cottage overlooking the Rectory. Of all people, with the possible exception of Harry Gaze, he had the best opportunity to know when Becca was alone.'

‘And if he's getting bored with Diana, maybe he's developed a thing about Becca,' she speculated.

‘Or maybe she reminds him of his fiancée and it's his way of getting back at her for dumping him.'

‘And he's not very nice,' David concluded. He was quiet for a long moment, so long that Lucy thought he'd fallen asleep. Suddenly he spoke, his voice drowsy. ‘But do you know what, Lucy love? Somehow I don't think he did it. In spite of all those things, it just doesn't feel right.'

Lucy sighed. ‘No,' she said. ‘I don't think he did it either.' She hugged her knees. ‘Do you know what I
do
think?' she went on, hesitantly, after a while.

But there was no reply; David's breathing had become deep and regular.

Sighing again, she settled down next to him, pillowing her head on his shoulder, though she knew that sleep was still far away for her. ‘Never mind,' she whispered. ‘Sleep well, my love.'

CHAPTER 23

    
The righteous will consider this, and rejoice: and the mouth of all wickedness shall be stopped.

Psalm 107.42

When Lucy woke the next morning, groggy after a heavy sleep which had come to her very late, she stretched out her arm towards the other side of the bed, yearning instinctively for David's comforting warmth. But her hand encountered only cold emptiness; her eyes flew open in alarm. ‘David?' she queried. ‘Darling?' There was no reply.

She struggled to sit up, still shaking off the lingering effects of deep sleep. What time was it? The curtains were drawn, offering no hint; she reached for the alarm clock on the bedside table and her hand grazed the edge of a teacup.

David had brought her some tea, she realised. She dipped an exploratory finger into the cup to gauge how long it had been there: it was tepid but not yet cold. Then she saw the note, tucked between the cup and the saucer.

It was written on the back of an envelope in David's neat handwriting. ‘Lucy love: You were sleeping so soundly and peacefully that I didn't want to wake you,' she read. ‘I'm assuming that things haven't changed, and you're not prepared to go back to London yet. Fair enough – you feel that Becca needs you. But I can't put it off any longer – I'm leaving right now to take care of a few urgent matters at the office and will be back as soon as I can, tonight if possible or tomorrow at the latest. Look after Becca, and I'll see you soon. Love, David. P.S. Last night was wonderful – will you marry me?'

Lucy smiled to herself at the last bit, both in reminiscence and in bemusement that he should choose such a method for his latest proposal. At least it was something different, she thought, realising that it had been some weeks since he had last proposed to her. This note – and last night – provided proof that he hadn't tired of her. As Cyprian Lawrence had tired of Diana Mansfield, or at any rate was sure to do soon. Lucy shivered, aware suddenly of the vulnerability of her nakedness, and fumbled on the floor for her discarded dressing gown.

She had a quick shower and dressed before she went downstairs. Becca was sitting at the kitchen table, still in her dressing gown, looking pale and drawn. ‘Good morning,' Becca said, summoning up a smile. ‘David's gone. But I suppose you know that.'

‘You saw him, then?'

Becca got up and poured Lucy some coffee. ‘Yes, I gave him some breakfast. He said that you were still sleeping and he didn't want to wake you.'

‘He left me a note.' Lucy drank the coffee gratefully, feeling in need of the caffeine. ‘But I wish I'd known he was going – I would have asked him to bring back my sketchbook.' It was something she'd only just realised: art was for her more than her livelihood, it was also her way of dealing with tension and conflict. Assuming that she'd only be away from home for the weekend, she had left all her art materials behind, and was now longing for the familiar feel of a pencil or a paintbrush in her hand. ‘And I could have used a few more clothes as well,' she added. ‘Everyone must be getting tired of seeing me in the same two Laura Ashley skirts.'

‘I don't care what you wear – I'm glad that you're still here,' Becca said, her voice low and intense. She put her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands. ‘But he won't be ringing again, will he?'

Lucy knew very well to whom she was referring, but she replied with caution. ‘What do you mean?'

‘He'd be a fool if he did – even I can see that! Now that everyone knows that the police have a tracer on the line!'

‘I think you're right,' Lucy admitted. ‘How do you feel about that, Becca?'

‘I've been thinking about it, sitting here,' she mused. ‘And I'm not sure. Part of me feels relief, knowing that I'll never have to be afraid to pick the phone up again. But the rest of me knows that in some ways it will be even worse, not ever knowing who it was. I've still got to live here in Walston, amongst them all, and one of them is . . . him. And I'll always wonder who. And maybe sometime later, when all the excitement has died down and the police have given up, it will start all over again – with me, or with someone else. It's a horrible thought.'

‘I understand,' Lucy said. ‘That's what I told David.' She still hadn't decided whether she would tell Becca the results of her sleepless night: Lucy was almost positive that she knew who the phone caller was. But she had no proof, and there didn't seem to be any way to get any unless he was foolish, or driven, enough to ring again. She'd meant to discuss it with David this morning, to share her suspicions and ask his advice. Now it would have to wait.

‘But if . . .' Becca began; she was interrupted by the chirp of the phone in the hall. Instinctively she tensed, then forced herself to relax. ‘It couldn't be,' she said, as much to convince herself as for Lucy's benefit. ‘Just see how paranoid this has made me?'

‘I'll get it,' Lucy offered on impulse. ‘Just in case.'

And just in case, she answered in a whisper. ‘Hello?'

‘Did you think I'd forgotten you?' the muffled voice said. ‘Not a chance of that, my dear. I just had to wait for those guests of yours to leave, and overcome a few . . . technical problems.'