The Fabric of Sin by Phil Rickman

Author:Phil Rickman [Rickman, Phil]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781847243959
Amazon: 1847243959
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2009-01-01T22:00:00+00:00

There was a strained kind of formality about the Murrays. As if she was a child they were in the process of adopting.

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, Merrily …’ Beverley was putting out nut roast; why did non-veggies always think it had to be nut roast? ‘… You seem rather … sleepy. I was quite worried about you this morning. Now, you don’t look unwell, but you do look exhausted. And Teddy, please don’t say anything about the powerful air of God’s own country.’

‘Actually,’ Merrily said, anything to get this sensible woman off her back, ‘I had some treatment today.’

Telling them about Mrs Morningwood. No reason not to. Presumably it was a legitimate business, the reflexology.

Beverley frowned. Teddy looked intrigued.

‘It was effective? Because I’ve often thought of consulting her myself. A lot to be said for preventative therapy. Beverley’s not so sure, though, are you, Bevvie?’

Beverley didn’t reply until she’d finished serving the nut roast, the onion gravy and the veg.

‘It’s nothing to do with alternative therapy, which I’m sure has its place. I just never know quite what to think of Mrs Morningwood.’

‘In what context?’

Merrily realized how hungry she was, the body craving food, even nut roast. Beverley sat down, pushing a strand of blonde hair away from an eye.

‘Oh, you hear things. Put it this way, if Teddy was to go I’d certainly make sure I went too.’

Merrily’s fork froze just short of her lips.

‘Something of a man-eater,’ Beverley said. ‘That’s what they say, anyway.’

‘Mrs Morningwood?’

‘Always strikes me as a little … threadbare for that sort of thing. Eccentric, deranged. The way she drives around in that big Jeep, taking corners too fast. Sorry, I didn’t mean deranged, I think I meant disarranged.’

‘Can’t say anyone’s said anything to me,’ Teddy said. ‘Apart from you, of course, Bevvie.’

‘Well, they wouldn’t, now, would they?’

‘Blimey,’ Merrily said.

She ate slowly, aware, it seemed, of every spice in the roast. Aware of herself eating – that element of separation which sometimes came with extreme physical tiredness when the senses, for some reason, were still alert.

Gossip. There was, unfortunately, a place for it; it was often the most direct route to … if not the truth, then something in its vicinity. She looked at Beverley.

‘Who are we talking about, then? Mrs Morningwood and … who?’

‘Oh dear.’ Beverley pouring herself some water from a crystal jug. ‘I wish I’d never …’

‘Ah, now you’ve started …’ A slightly sinful sparkle in Teddy’s blue eyes. ‘Can’t not tell us now, Bevvie.’

He knew, of course. Merrily watched their eyes. They must surely have had this discussion before. Now they were having it again for her benefit, passing on something they thought she ought to be aware of. Especially if submitting to further reflexology.

‘Farmers. I was told,’ Beverley said.

‘Farmers plural?’ Merrily blinked. ‘I mean … how plural?’

‘Well … at least two, certainly. I suppose she has that sort of rough … edge that I imagine a certain kind of man would find attractive. Admittedly, always farmers living alone.

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