11
A Sense of Eternity
Quite a turnout for Tom Parson, and Merrily had known him well enough to make it meaningful — as much as you ever could with another funeral party waiting outside, stamping its feet and rubbing its hands.
Tom had been Old Ledwardine — at least, that was what she’d thought until she’d talked to the family.
‘Tom was… a character,’ she said in the chapel at the crem. ‘Someone of whom, now he’s gone, we say, We won’t see his kind again. Someone who was part of the fabric of the village. Old Ledwardine. I’m… not exactly Old Ledwardine, and I just assumed Tom’s family had been around the village for generations.’
In fact, she’d discovered, Tom Parson had been an incomer, a retiree. OK, thirty years ago and only from Shropshire. But there was surely a message here about how a community — even a landscape, or, as Jane would insist, the spiritual essence of a place — would absorb and condition people.
If it happened slowly. If it happened naturally. And if you kept open a few pathways to the past. If you had that grounding.
She didn’t say any of that. There wouldn’t be time — that was her excuse. Anyway, there’d be a memorial service for Tom back in the village after Christmas, followed by interment of the ashes in the churchyard; she’d be able to do a better job then. Tom’s niece had sent her away with a pile of his historical notes which she thought the parish ought to have. Maybe Jane could go through them.
But that was it for today. Merrily drove into the city centre and found a parking space on the corner of Broad Street and King Street, just across from the Cathedral, its sandstone tower wadded in charcoal cloud.
There was a light on, up in the Deliverance office in the gatehouse, and she could see Sophie Hill standing at the window, quite still, poised like a mannequin in some discreet dress shop for elegant women of a certain age.
But the composure was illusory. By the time she was halfway up the stone steps, Sophie was looking down at her, rigid now, in the office doorway.
‘Merrily—’
‘Just dropped in to see if you fancied a bit of lunch?’
‘Can’t. I’m sorry.’
‘Soph?’ Following her into the office, Merrily noticed that the white hair was coming adrift and a silver-blue silk scarf lay discarded in the correspondence tray. ‘Is there something…?
Looking into Sophie’s eyes. On any other woman’s face, the expression would convey maybe mildly disturbed. On Sophie it suggested horribly distraught.
‘Merrily, you’re not in a hurry, are you?’
‘Well, no, I—’
‘Could I ask you to mind the office for an hour? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. You’re not in a hurry, are you?’
‘You just asked me… No.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
Sophie pulled her coat from the peg. Merrily took off her black woollen funeral coat and went and sat down behind the desk. In the centre of it was the leather-bound pad Sophie used to take down the Bishop’s dictation. Nothing else.
‘There’s nothing I can…?’
‘If you could just look after the office for an hour. If the Bishop of Bath and Wells rings, tell him Bernard will get back to him tonight. If I’m going to be longer than an hour, I’ll call. If you have to leave, lock up, would you? You know where the keys are…?’
‘Of course I know where… You’re OK, aren’t you? I mean—’
‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m fine.’
Had the Bishop’s secretary ever looked this pale?
Jane said, ‘You ever heard of a photographer known as Lensi?’
‘What?’
‘L-E-N-S-I.’
She was in a cubicle in the girls’ toilets, with the mobile. Keeping her voice down.
‘This a joke?’ Eirion said.
‘Irene, would I really be ringing you this time in the morning to tell you a joke?’
Was he glad she’d rung? Had his fancy phone ID’d her, with LED red stars glittering around her name? Was he excited to hear her voice, the way, if you twisted her arm, she’d have to admit it was really good to hear him, even to hear herself calling him Irene?
A few months ago, they’d been in one another’s phones all the time, like this was for eternity. But situations changed.
‘What’s she do?’ Eirion said.
‘She takes pictures. Photojournalist.’
Had to admit this was an excuse to call him. Yeah, yeah, she accepted she’d been looking for one and this would probably be the best reason she’d get this side of Christmas.
‘I don’t really know many photographers, except for a few TV cameramen,’ Eirion said. ‘I’m… as you know, I’m just another student.’
‘You don’t think you’re just another student, Irene.’
He read all the papers, in a professional kind of way. He remembered the bylines, who was a good writer, who got the biggest stories.
‘What’s her full name, Jane?’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t know her real name. She does pictures for the Independent.’
‘That’s a start. What’s she look like?’
‘Like… early thirties? Red-haired. Not small. Not exactly plump but certainly, you know, voluptuous.’
‘And you want to know about her because…?’
‘Because she’s just moved into the village and maybe has an interest in witchcraft or something. Not that she seems to know much about it. She’s probably just attracted to the nudity and fertility rites. And she wants to take my picture.’
‘Without your clothes?’
‘I can see I’m wasting my—’
‘If, however, you were just looking for a reason to call me, I’m flattered,’ Eirion said.
‘I was not—’
‘Jane, you’re doing your smoky voice.’
‘I’m trying to be discreet, you smug Welsh git! I’m at school, in the bog.’
A silence. Eirion drew breath.
‘A proper name would help. Jane, look… seriously, we haven’t really seen much of each other since the summer, have we?’
‘If you remember, you went off to university.’
‘It’s Cardiff. It’s less than a two-hour drive away, and I’m home at weekends. As you know.’
‘A lot can happen at university. You’re young — youngish — and unattached. Universities are full of loose women.’
‘Let’s not go into all that again,’ Eirion said. ‘I can assure you there hasn’t been anybody for—’
‘Longer than one night?’
‘For just over four months, I was going to say. Which, in case you’ve forgotten…’
‘No, I—’ Jane’s voice died on her. But could she believe this? ‘I haven’t forgotten.’
‘So I was thinking… Well, my dad and Gwennan were supposed to be going to France for Christmas, with the girls and I was thinking you could maybe’ve come over here.’
‘Where we’d have the house to ourselves. Kind of thing.’
‘Only that’s not going to happen now. Sioned sprained an ankle skating and they’re putting it off until the New Year, when you’ll probably be back at school. So I was wondering about maybe coming over there. Like for a few days?’
‘And stay where — the Black Swan?’
‘Yeah, on my massive student grant. I was actually thinking… the vicarage? You’ve got a lot of spare bedrooms. I’d pay, you know, reasonably normal rates. B-and-B?’
‘That’s—’
‘What do you think? Just to see if there’s… you know… anything left? You know what I’m saying.’