The Corpse Wore Red by Pat Herbert

Author:Pat Herbert [Herbert, Pat]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2015-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

1st February 1958: Wandsworth

Bernard pressed the bell on the door to Robbie’s surgery and waited, stamping his feet to try and keep warm. Lucy Carter opened it, and prepared to tell whoever it was that morning surgery had finished and to come back at six. She was not prepared to see the vicar of St Stephen’s standing there.

Ever since Anbolin had conjured up a man in white for her in the crystal, Lucy had eyed every likely male that came her way with due care and attention. She eyed them in the shops and in cafes. Standing at bus stops, seated on buses, waiting for trains, every new man she met was potentially the one to change her life. But so far there hadn’t been any likely contenders; very few men, she was beginning to realise, wore white, especially in the winter. In fact, Bernard’s dog collar was the nearest she had come thus far. It couldn’t be Bernard, could it? The one who would change her life for good? No, she thought. There had never been any spark between them. She might as well cross him off her hypothetical list, not that he was on it in the first place.

“Oh, hello,” she said. “It’s you, vicar. Robbie’s on his rounds. Did you want to come in and wait for him? He shouldn’t be long.”

“It’s you I’ve come to see, actually.”

Lucy’s hand went automatically to her hair. Did it look all right, she wondered? The white collar danced before her eyes. Perhaps Bernard had been hiding a secret passion for her, after all.

“Oh,” she said. “Come in, please.”

She showed him into the warm parlour and offered him tea, which he gratefully accepted. There was something about the way she asked him if he wanted a bourbon biscuit that worried him slightly. Was there a hint of flirtation in the way she said ‘bourbon’?

Seating herself opposite, having removed her apron and powdered her nose, she wriggled coquettishly. “Bourbon biscuits are my favourite,” she said, biting into one suggestively.

“Er – are they?” said Bernard, not quite sure what she was trying to say. Whatever it was, it was making him nervous.

“Now, vicar – or may I call you Bernard?”

“Y-yes, Bernard’s fine, if you’d rather,” he said somewhat doubtfully.

“Well, now, Bernard, what can I do for you?”

He looked at the plate of bourbons longingly, but felt reluctant to help himself, unsure why. “I came to talk to you for two reasons,” he said.

“Please, Bernard, do help yourself, before I eat them all.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching out tentatively to the proffered plate.

“Don’t keep me in suspense, you naughty man,” she said, tapping him lightly on his tweed-trousered knee. She was surprised at her own boldness, but he had said he’d come especially to see her. On her own. Hadn’t he?

You naughty man? Bernard was stunned. And that tap on his knee, what was that all about? He made a mental note to ask Mrs Harper as soon as he got back to the vicarage.

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