Bone Idle by Suzette A. Hill

Author:Suzette A. Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9789085241522
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 2008-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

25

The Vicar’s Version

Later that week I had a luncheon appointment: one of the bishop’s ‘intimate’ At Homes given periodically when Gladys has a social rush of blood to the head. In fact, they are generally far from intimate – chilly, cumbersome affairs from which few depart unscathed. However, having missed the last one, and in view of my new canonical status, I thought it politic to attend.

Besides, hope springs eternal, and after the abrasions of Primrose and the Crumpelmeyers, the prospect of taking lunch in civilized surroundings – even among the Clinkers – was not without appeal. There would be a reasonable dose of wines and liqueurs, and even the possibility of congenial conversation with the other guests. The real snag was Gladys, but to mollify her I had armed myself with a large box of very expensive Charbonnel et Walker chocolates, hoping they might help parry the brickbats. Thus, dressed even more soberly than usual and bearing my gift well to the fore, I presented myself at the episcopal portals exactly five minutes after the prescribed time, and rang the bell.

Surprisingly, it was Clinker himself who opened the door and beckoned me in with what I can only describe as a furtive finger. This he put to his lips and said in a low tone, “Glad you could get here, Oughterard. I might warn you that Myrtle is with us and the lamb is burnt.”

I was nonplussed by this information but produced a sympathetic smile and a muttered “Ah yes.” Who Myrtle was I had no idea. Was she perhaps the new cook tested and found wanting by the main course…?

“Yes,” he went on, still sotto voce, “she flew in yesterday from Brussels, since when life here has been purgatory!”

Comprehension dawned. It was the dreaded sister-in-law from Belgium. This was grim news indeed. The prospect of Gladys reinforced by the fabled sister was unnerving to say the least. However, I put on a brave face and followed my host into the drawing room.

A number of people were already assembled, house guests presumably or near neighbours, but over by the window I espied Archdeacon Foggarty conversing with a woman of mammoth proportion. Caught in the sunlight, his hair seemed more virulently ginger than usual, but his face was white and uncharacteristically strained. Was the combination of office and his predecessor’s attentive ‘guidance’ already taking its toll? Quite possibly. However, there was little time to ponder Foggarty’s health, for I was swiftly buttonholed by Gladys and subjected to the usual barrage of patronizing questions. I thrust the chocolates at her, a gesture which momentarily stopped the flow and allowed me to slip sideways to a hovering maid with a tray of martinis. Thus armed, and with vacuous smile, I generously forfeited my place to another victim.

Various people I recognized, and a few whom it was agreeable to talk to. Another martini was offered, and I was just beginning to feel a degree of burgeoning warmth when Foggarty sidled up and tapped me on the elbow.

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