Read Online The Bad Samaritan by Robert Barnard - Free Book Online

What can I do for you?”
    He left a pause, to suggest that there was a variety of things he could think of. That was the trouble with overtly sexy people: almost anything one said seemed capable of a second meaning when one talked with them.
    â€œI think Paul has missed out on one of the account books for the Rotarians,” he said easily. “Not important, but I need it to get the whole picture. I should think it will be in his study. Any chance of my coming in to have a look for it?”
    Rosemary led the way in, and then watched him as he rummaged around for it. As she was watching she considered her reactions to him. Of course the “Satanic” epithet was absurd. No one imagined him indulging in devil-worshipping rituals with children, or dipping his hands into disembowelled animals orbirds. Still, the word somehow did seem to fit him: there hovered over him the possibility of evil. In fact, Rosemary could imagine all sorts of nastinesses, shading off into outright evil, and could fit them in with his character. And yet, as Paul said, he had been a regular churchgoer in the parish for well over a decade now.
    Why did he come? There was not the slightest suspicion of anything spiritual about him. Yet on consideration Rosemary would have had to admit that the same was true of quite a number of the St Saviour’s regulars. Yet about Dark Satanic Mills there hung an air of earthiness, greed, sensuality and a total lack of scruple, and that was not something that could be said of the other less-than-spiritual communicants. He’s not at all churchy , she said to herself. He’s amoral, outside any code of ethics, totally self-absorbed. Perhaps in the nineteenth century such a man would go along to church to establish some kind of credentials, leading enthusiastically a second life of sin and corruption. But at the latter end of the twentieth century? Today nobody could be bothered with that sort of hypocrisy. So why was Mills?
    â€œThere it is,” said Stephen Mills, making a quick dart and taking a heavy ledger from among books of theology and paperbacks of popular devotion. “What an odd shelving system your husband has.”
    â€œIt’s all his own,” agreed Rosemary, waiting for him to go. He stood there, clutching the book to his chest, smiling at her— knowing she was wanting him gone.
    â€œSo what are the old biddies on about?” he asked.
    Rosemary played for time, unwilling to discuss her personal position with him.
    â€œMrs Harridance wouldn’t thank you for calling her an old biddy. She’s a woman in the prime of life.”
    â€œYou haven’t answered my question.”
    â€œI don’t think I need to, Stephen. You always have your finger on the pulse of the parish.”
    He smiled, almost purred, in self-satisfaction.
    â€œSo it’s your sudden godlessness, is it? I guessed as much. What do they want? For you to parade down the Ilkley Road in penitential sackcloth?”
    â€œThey want—Mrs Harridance wants—me to give up any parish positions I hold.”
    â€œAnd you?”
    â€œI’m just leaving it up to the members.”
    â€œIsn’t that good enough for her?”
    â€œNo. Because she’s afraid they’ll support me. She wants me to resign quietly so there’s no contest.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause she wants to be chairwoman of the Mothers’ Union, and she wants one of her cronies as deputy, not someone who knows her for what she is—on the make.”
    She regretted saying that as soon as it was out of her mouth. What was it about Dark Satanic Mills, that he could screw things out of you even as you felt distrustful and repelled? And what else was Mills himself but on the make?
    â€œWhat is there in these jobs?” asked Mills, seemingly genuinely curious. “What’s in it for them?”
    â€œNothing in your sense,” said Rosemary. “Nothing in the way