"He would, I'm sure."
"So?"
"The sooner the better."
"It's Saturday now. Tuesday morning?"
"Isn't that your day off?"
He sacrificed his day off with a flap of the hand. "Did Gary ever express any preference about burial or cremation?"
"Not really. He never thought about dying. You don't, do you, at our age? Black, or white?"
"A dash of milk, please. Most people choose cremation these days."
"That's it, then."
"Is anyone helping you with the arrangements?"
"Cynthia Haydenhall. She's a good friend, a great support. She'll come with me to the register office."
"I found myself beside her at the harvest supper." He made it sound like pure chance.
Rachel suppressed her first smile since Gary died.
"Full of the joys of life," he said.
"That's Cynthia." She sat across the room from him, in Gary's chair, as proper as a Victorian lady 'at home' with a guest.
"And on message. Not much in the village escapes your friend."
It sounded very like a caution. She gave a smile that said she didn't need warning about Cynthia.
He changed tack. "Oddly enough, I spoke to your husband only yesterday. First he came up to me in the street. He'd met someone with a similar name to mine."
"No," she corrected him. "He met someone who knew someone called Otis Joy."
"Was that it? I got muddled, then."
"But you didn't mind?"
"Not in the least. It's one of those things. The laws of chance make it likely that someone, somewhere in the world, will share the name, and somebody I run into at some stage in my life will know of it."
"The long arm of coincidence."
"Right." He looked into his coffee. "Actually there was another matter Gary wanted to talk about."
She blushed. "You and me?"
"Well, yes. He was all fired up. Seemed to have the idea-"
"I know," she broke in, acutely embarrassed. "Gary was like that, quick to think the worst of me. Quite mistaken, couldn't have been more wrong. I tried to stop him speaking to you, but he would insist. He wasn't violent, was he?"
"No, no. I defused him. Invited him up to the rectory for a man-to-man chat, as they say. By the end of the afternoon, when he came, he'd calmed down a lot. It was civilised. He accepted a drink, listened to my version of events-everything I told him was the truth, by the way, though I didn't go into unnecessary detail-and went away with a better opinion of us both."
It all sounded so simple, find she could believe it now.
"Thank you. I wish …" She didn't complete the sentence.
He made a dismissive gesture. "By the way, Rachel, I can easily arrange for someone else to take over the books, at least for a time."
For a moment she wasn't sure what he was talking about. "Oh, the parish accounts. No, I can manage. Really. I'll be glad to have something to do."
"I'll visit you anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "It's one of the duties of a priest to comfort the bereaved. If you need comfort, that is."
"I do. Please come," she said. "I'm not sure about comfort. As you know, Gary and I weren't all that close as a couple. It's a matter of getting used to being alone, I suppose."
"And we must talk about the funeral, choice of hymns, and so forth. We can do a simple committal at the crematorium if you wish."
A simple committal. How boring. She looked down at her wedding ring and turned it and the frivolous part of her character stirred. "I had something else in mind. It's not very practical, but I'd love to give him the sort of send-off they do in New Orleans, with a procession and jazz musicians serenading the coffin along the street."
"In Foxford?"
"It would be different."
He was frowning. For once, this supremely confident man was unsure how to react. "Are you sure you want that? I thought you had a low opinion of jazz."
"It's Gary's funeral, not mine."
"True." He was still hesitant. "It's an amazing thought. I just assumed you'd want something low-key."
"Like I said, this is for Gary." She wasn't being honest here. This was not just for Gary. She wanted it herself. It was inspired. She didn't want to be the main player at the funeral, with all eyes watching to see how distressed she was-or wasn't.
As if he sensed that she wouldn't be budged from this eccentric idea, he snapped his fingers and laughed. "Hey, I love it! A procession to the Pearly Gates. He'd be so proud." Then as a sudden difficulty struck him: "But can we find a band at such short notice?"
She brushed that small problem aside. "His friends will do it, I'm sure. I think they used to jam together occasionally."
It was evident that the lady's mind was made up and the best Otis Joy could do was bite the bullet. "If I know anything about jazzmen, they take any chance to launch into a spot of Dixieland. They probably know other musicians, too. Let's do this in style."
Thirteen
There was a complication when Rachel went with Cynthia to register the death. Neither of them much liked the fussy little man who took them through the form, but that need not have mattered. When they'd supplied all the information, including things Rachel considered unnecessary, such as her own date of birth, he asked if she had decided about the method of disposal.
Cynthia glared at him as if he'd broken wind. "That's a horrible way of putting it."
He said, "Madam, I know of no phrase that expresses the matter more tastefully."
"You could say his last journey. 'Have you decided anything about his last journey?' "
"It wouldn't do. People would think I was talking about the hearse."
"There must be better words you could use. Let's face it, you're dealing with someone who has just lost her dear husband."
"Personally," he said, drawing himself up, "it jars with me when people speak of losing their relatives, as if they expect them to turn up at a lost property office."
"Leave it, Cyn," said Rachel. Turning to the registrar, she said firmly, "I've chosen cremation."
"That was the deceased's wish?"
"He expressed no wish. That's my decision."
He said, "I only ask because there are certain formalities that your doctor may not have explained. Before a cremation can be authorised, a second doctor must examine the-er-remains."
"Why?"
"The law requires it, Mrs. Jansen. Just a safeguard. The doctor will visit the mortuary. It needn't concern you."
"But it does concern me. We've supplied the death certificate. What's all this about?"
Cynthia, trying to be helpful, said, "You can get one of Dr. Perkins' partners from the health centre."
"Not a partner," the registrar corrected her. "This must be an independent opinion from a medical practitioner of at least five years' standing. He must certify that he knows of no reasonable cause to suspect that the deceased died either a violent or an unnatural death, or a sudden death of which the cause is unknown."
Cynthia said, "He was being treated for heart disease, for heaven's sake."
"That's the point of a second opinion. If there's any uncertainty, that doctor informs the coroner, and a post mortem is held."
"I don't want that," said Rachel impulsively. "I hate the idea of it. We'll have him buried."
"Don't let him sway you, love," said Cynthia.
"I've decided."
The registrar said, "I should warn you that a burial is more expensive."
"So be it. Gary has suffered enough. I want him laid to rest without any more doctors interfering."
Otis, when she told him on the phone, sounded surprised.