‘Except, I should have done something,’ Merrily insisted. ‘From the start, Huw Owen always used to stress that, regardless of our own opinions, we should never leave the premises without—’
‘Merrily – seriously – how could you?’ Sophie handed her tea in a white china cup. ‘If the girl herself wouldn’t have anything to do with you, and if the mother felt unable to take you completely into her confidence—’
‘She took bloody Dennis into her confidence.’
‘Only because the girl had accused you of threatening her – transparent nonsense which, in my view, throws immediate doubt on her casting of Jane as the instigator.’
Merrily paused, with the cup at her lips. ‘You don’t see Jane involved in this?’
‘There was a time, not too long ago,’ Sophie conceded, ‘when there was very little of which I would have acquitted Jane without a number of serious questions. But no. There’s an element of… malevolence here. Not that I think she was ever malevolent but, with younger children, mischief and maliciousness can be horribly interwoven, and I rather think she’s grown beyond that stage.’
‘Well, thank you.’
‘All the same, you do need to speak to her without delay. Where is she now?’
‘On holiday, with her boyfriend’s—with Eirion’s family. In Pembrokeshire.’
‘Can you contact her on the phone?’
‘If I can’t,’ Merrily said, ‘I’ll be driving down there tonight.’
‘Don’t overreact.’
‘Sophie, I’ve just been accused of menacing a juvenile!’
‘Accused by the juvenile.’
‘I wasn’t aware of Dennis Beckett immediately springing to my defence.’
‘No. But then, Canon Beckett was hardly vociferous in support of the ordination of women.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘I’ll make you a list sometime.’ Sophie pushed the phone across the desk to her.
‘Merrily!’ Gwennan squealed. ‘How marvellous it is to hear from you again!’
They’d spoken twice on the phone but never actually met. She hadn’t met Eirion’s father, either, the Cardiff-based business consultant, fixer, member of many quangos and chairman of the Broadcasting Council for Wales. Gwennan was his second wife.
‘Erm… I just wanted a very quick word with Jane, please,’ Merrily said. ‘Something she might have forgotten to tell me before she left.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Gwennan. ‘You’ve just missed her. She’s just this minute taken the children to the beach.’
‘What time will she be back?’
‘Oh heavens… I don’t know really. The problem is, Merrily, that Dafydd and I have a lunch appointment in Haverfordwest, so we won’t be seeing Eirion and Jane until tonight. They’ve taken the children out for the day. Isn’t she marvellous with children?’
Merrily blinked. ‘She is?’
‘What I’ll do, I’ll leave a note in case they come back earlier. Though, knowing Jane, she’ll have too much planned for them all. But she’ll definitely call you tonight, I’ll make sure of it.’
‘If you would. It’s nothing vital, just something I need to check. She’s actually looking after the children, then? Young children?’
‘Eight and eleven,’ Gwennan said. ‘She’s wonderful with them. You don’t have any other children of your own, do you? I expect that’s what it is.’
Merrily put down the phone to the sound of heavy footsteps and puffing on the stairs: the Bishop returning, after seeing Dennis Beckett to his car. He came in and closed the door.
‘I’ve told him to keep this to himself, naturally.’
‘Don’t feel you have to protect me,’ Merrily said bitterly. ‘If it turns out to be remotely true about Jane, I’ll be out of here before you can say Deuteronomy.’
‘Merrily, the very last—’ The Bishop glanced around to make sure the door was firmly shut, then sat down opposite her at Sophie’s desk. ‘The very last thing I want is to lose you from Deliverance because of something—’
‘Bernie, if this is true, I’ll have to leave the parish, the diocese… everything, probably.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
‘I’ve told her she has to speak to Jane.’ Sophie placed a cup and saucer in front of the Bishop, poured his tea.
‘It looks like it’ll be tonight before I get through to her,’ Merrily told him. ‘I’ll also need to speak to the Shelbones, of course, but not until after I speak to Jane.’
‘No!’ The Bishop dislodged his cup, splashing hot tea on his cuff. ‘Out of the question. You stay well away from that family. Dennis has prayed with the girl, and that’s enough for the present, as far as I’m concerned.’
‘You can’t say that. Now it’s out in the open, I’m going to have to find out about this ouija-board stuff. If that’s not part of the Deliverance agenda, what is?’
‘What this whole business is, my girl, is a pretty firm pointer to why we need a Deliverance support group, without delay. Jobs like this, it’s like the damned police – you need to go out in pairs to give yourself a witness. Have you even provided me with a list of possibles yet?’
‘Well, at least I’ve eliminated Dennis.’ She took out her cigarettes. ‘Would you mind?’
Sophie frowned, but Bernie Dunmore waved a hand. ‘Go ahead, if it’ll make you think clearer.’
‘Suppose I have a word with the headmaster at Moorfield?’
‘Do you know the headmaster?’
‘Bernie, Jane goes there.’
He coughed. ‘Yes. What’s his name?’
‘Robert Morrell.’
‘I don’t think I’ve met him yet.’
‘You probably won’t.’ Merrily lit a cigarette. ‘He’s an atheist.’
‘Aren’t they all? But, sure, go and see him, by all means. Go and see him in your capacity as a concerned parent – if he isn’t already in the Algarve or somewhere.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll call him for you,’ Sophie said.
‘In a moment, Sophie. Merrily, there’s something else we need to look at, on the other side of the county, as it happens. Sophie, could you get that e-mail? You’ll be glad to know, Merrily, that you’re not the only minister in this diocese facing, ah, flak.’
‘I know.’ Merrily took one more puff on the cigarette and then stubbed it out in the empty powder compact she used as a portable ashtray. ‘That was all I needed, thanks. This would be the vicar of Knight’s Frome?’
‘You’ve read the Sunday paper, then.’
‘I was quoted in it, Bernie.’
‘Yes. Of course you were.’ He wiped a hand across his forehead. ‘I think I need a holiday.’
‘And Sunday wouldn’t be Sunday, at Ledwardine Vicarage, without the People and the News of the World. Anyway, I thought I ought to ring him. He certainly didn’t seem over-worried, and he didn’t ask for any help. I’ve also spoken to the guy who – well, let’s just say a journalist. The inference is that the story was engineered by Mr Stock, for reasons of his own. So my feeling is that Simon St John probably knew exactly what he was doing when he said no.’
Bernie Dunmore’s dog collar disappeared under his chins. ‘Just as you did when you said no to Mrs Shelbone on that first occasion?’