‘There’s nothing wrong with my music!’
The landlord backed down quickly. ‘I didn’t say there was, KK. And it’s not your music I’m objecting to. Will you get it into your head – it’s nothing personal, it’s the price of a bloody music licence!’
Carole looked at Jude, trying to indicate with her eyebrows that there was really no need for them to be further involved in this exchange. But, infuriatingly, Jude indicated with a slight head movement that she wanted to stay. Even more infuriatingly, she said, ‘I think perhaps we’d better have another drink, Ted.’
Three large Sauvignon Blancs so early in the evening did not accord with Carole’s proprieties. But then again, if she said no, or asked for a mineral water, or went home on her own, that would definitely look like a snub to Jude. It was yet another social quandary. To her surprise, her lips formed the words, ‘I’ll get these. It’s my turn.’
So, a few minutes later, she found herself sitting down in an alcove with Jude and KK. Annoyingly, though the light way the two talked suggested they knew each other well, they gave no indication of how they had met, or how long ago. Nor did they give any indication of the level of intimacy at which their friendship had been conducted. And there was no way Carole was going to ask.
Despite his uncouth appearance, KK seemed to have been well brought up. His laid-back vowels occasionally slipped into something which might have been the product of private education. And he was conscious that Carole shouldn’t be left out of the conversation. After giving Jude an update on the doings of a drummer called Miff who they apparently both knew, and who KK had been working with in Holland until a few days previously, he turned the considerable charm of his smile on to her neighbour.
‘You’re looking very smart, Carole, for a visit down to the old C & A. Have you come straight from work?’
‘I’m retired,’ she replied awkwardly. ‘I was actually at a funeral this morning.’
‘Oh?’ KK’s face took on a suitably compassionate expression. ‘I hope it wasn’t someone close.’
‘No, no. I hardly knew him. Just someone from the village.’
‘Anyone I’d know?’
‘I very much doubt it.’ Carole doubted that the two men would have had much in common. ‘Man called Leonard Mallett.’
The effect her words had on KK was a total surprise. He looked as if he’d been hit by a lead-filled sock. He managed to gasp out the question, ‘How did he die?’
‘Fell down the stairs.’
‘My God.’ The musician shook his head slowly. ‘So, Heather finally did it.’
FIVE
Carole tried to get KK to expand on what he’d just said, but before she’d finished the question, he’d downed the remains of his Guinness, said he had to go to rehearse for a gig, and left the pub.
‘That’s strange,’ Ted Crisp observed. ‘For a start, KK prides himself on never rehearsing. And, what’s more, he hasn’t got any gigs.’
‘Now I know that neither of you are regular church-goers …’
‘Not any kind of church-goers,’ said Carole tartly. The vicar had arrived at High Tor when Jude was there for coffee, and since he said he was there simply for a ‘pastoral visit’, there was a logic to his speaking to both women at the same time.
‘Well, I saw you at Leonard Mallett’s funeral yesterday,’ he pointed out.
‘Attending funerals is hardly “regular church-going”. It’s simply obeying a social convention.’
‘Perhaps. But it is always my hope that people attending All Saints, for whatever reason, may begin to understand what the church is there for. I think a lot of the anti-church sentiment around is based on ignorance of what actually happens inside churches.’
‘Quite possibly,’ said Jude, always more emollient than her neighbour.
The new vicar of All Saints was a short, earnest man with thick glasses. He didn’t wear a dog collar, except when he was conducting services, probably feeling that jeans and a polo shirt made him look more approachable. He didn’t look like a man with much sense of humour.
‘Anyway,’ Jude went on. ‘I’m certainly not “anti-church”. I think churches have done a lot of good for society over the years – and are still doing it, particularly now government support for local services is so diminished. I’ve often put my clients – I’m a healer, incidentally – in touch with facilities run by local churches. So I’ve nothing against churches, per se. All I lack is that essential ingredient, which might persuade me I need to go to church every week. In other words, faith.’
‘Faith may come,’ said the vicar. ‘Never rule it out. It came to me in a most unexpected way.’
‘Really?’ said Carole, in a way that she hoped would deter him from telling them all the details.
Fortunately, he moved on. ‘I said I’d come on a “pastoral visit”, and that is certainly true. Everything that happens in the parish is of concern to me. But there is one specific subject that I wanted to raise with you …’
Carole produced a slightly less deterrent ‘Oh?’
‘Did you go to the church hall after the funeral yesterday?’
‘I did. Briefly.’
‘Were you there to witness the scene between Alice Mallett and her stepmother?’
‘I saw the beginning of it, yes.’
‘I was very shocked by what happened.’
‘I can see that it’s not the kind of behaviour that’s expected at funerals.’
‘Certainly not. Obviously, I’m very new to Fethering, Carole, but I wondered if you knew whether there was a history of bad blood between mother and stepdaughter?’
‘Local gossip says they don’t get along.’
‘And what is that based on?’
Carole shrugged. ‘Probably nothing. Like the majority of local gossip.’
‘That scene in the church hall really troubled me.’ The vicar did look genuinely distressed. ‘I mean, I see it as my duty to heal rifts in the relationships of my parishioners. Bringing them the message of Christianity. Being, as St Francis put it, “an instrument” of God’s peace. I see that as part of my job. In fact, that’s how I would define “pastoral care”.’
‘It’s an admirable ambition,’ said Jude gently, ‘but you’re going to have your work cut out if you want to heal all of the relationship rifts in Fethering.’
‘I know, but since this recent confrontation took place on church premises … well, I do feel I have to find out as much as I can about it … you know, see if I can improve things.’
Carole and Jude exchanged sceptical looks.
‘I have to try,’ the vicar asserted. ‘It was an accusation of murder.’ They still didn’t look convinced. ‘And with the police being involved …’
Now he had their attention. ‘How are the police involved?’ asked Carole. ‘Did someone who’d been in the church hall contact them?’
‘No, I think they’d been tipped the wink before that. They implied allegations had been made some time earlier in the week.’
‘What allegations?’
‘That Heather Mallett had had a hand in her husband’s death.’
‘When did they say this?’ asked Jude. ‘Have they spoken to you?’
‘Yes. Two plainclothesmen came round to the vicarage this morning.’
‘And what did you find out from them?’ asked Carole. ‘Did they talk in terms of murder?’
‘No. I think police probably avoid that word as much as they can. Until they have proof, anyway. They said they had an anonymous tip-off on Wednesday, from a woman in a public phone box.’
‘Not so many of those around these days,’ observed Jude. ‘Public phone boxes, that is. Everyone uses mobiles.’
‘But there are some. If you can find one, and ensure there are no witnesses around, it remains a fairly efficient way of maintaining your anonymity.’