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Authors: Judith Cutler
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join me? She shook her head abruptly: she was busy on far more important things, the gesture said. She was, too. Her masterpiece was no more than halfway complete.
The church door opened gently to admit a lady in her sixties, terribly thin with the consequence that she looked amazing in her jeans and jerkin. Sue’s
bête noir
, Mrs Greville. She smiled vaguely at us both. ‘Barbara. Mrs Welford. I’m sorry I’m so late. One of the dogs… I waited ages for Mr Tregothnan but there was no sign of him at his surgery this morning. I suppose he must have had an emergency somewhere.’ She looked around the church, spreading her hands as if genuinely embarrassed. ‘There doesn’tseem much for me to do.’
‘Is the dog very ill?’ I asked. ‘I’m Josie, by the way.’
‘Caro. I take it you and Barbara have already introduced yourselves .’ She put out her hand for me to shake. She could have done with a good manicure. ‘Spud? He’s just off his food. So unlike him, though. Now, why don’t I make amends by sweeping up? That’s coming along beautifully, Barbara – such verve. And Josie – now, there’s only one thing wrong there, my dear – no one’ll see it, tucked away down there. Let’s pop it onto a kneeler, shall we? Did I ever tell you about my favourite kneeler? It’s in Hereford Cathedral. The SAS one. Such a hoot. You can just imagine them all blacked up for some terrible mission and one of them saying, “Hang on, Sarge, just got to finish this corner.”’
Our laughter rang round the church. Why on earth had Sue so taken against her?
We lifted the vase as she directed and stood back to survey it. Yes, I felt quite proud.
She applied herself to the broom, me busy with the dustpan and brush. While we waited for Barbara to stick in the last few dahlias, I asked, ‘Have you noticed the stream recently? It’s gone a funny colour.’
‘The rain, of course,’ Barbara cut in.
Why didn’t she ask what was funny about it? ‘I’m sorry?’
‘All that rain – it’s bound to discolour the water.’
‘But to turn it pink?’
‘Pink?’ Caro repeated, the same disbelief in her voice as in my head.
‘Have you never noticed how red the soil is in parts of Devon?’ Barbara snipped an end, letting it fall on to the floor. Caro bent, rather stiffly, to pick it up. Yes: her knuckles were slightly swollen – maybe her knees or hips were already arthritic.
Actually, I had. I’d been to a sleepy little village with some bloke I’d met on the Internet. Dawlish. And the stream there was a deep terracotta colour after a thunderstorm. Not pink, though. And come to think of it, we weren’t in Devon, but in Somerset. Just.
One part of her perfect triangle stood up too high, mockingthe rest. It would have been the work of seconds for me to nip it out, but I refrained. Caro, winking with the eye Barbara couldn’t see, gave it a deft shove.
‘Ladies, I’m sorry to be such a bore, but I must have another go at seeing the vet. Can I offer you a lift, Josie?’
She was the sort of woman to whom I could pat my buttocks and say, ‘I need the walk, thanks. I hope your poor Spud improves.’ Then I had a spurt of courage. If Sue could do it, so could I. ‘Actually, there’s something I need to ask. I’ll walk with you to your car, shall I?’
She raised a well-plucked eyebrow, but held open the door with a friendly smile.
‘I was wondering if you’d mind the hunt meeting at the Court,’ I began. ‘I hate to break a village tradition but –’
‘You’re anti-blood sports too.’
‘’Fraid so –’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘My dear, I loathe them too! Why do you think it stopped gathering at the Court and moved to the White Hart? Tell you what,’ she added, dropping her voice to a stage whisper, ‘Ask Barbara Coyne. She’d love to think she’s one up on me!’ With a wink, she let herself into her car, not the huge four-wheel drive I’d have expected but a fairly elderly
The church door opened gently to admit a lady in her sixties, terribly thin with the consequence that she looked amazing in her jeans and jerkin. Sue’s
bête noir
, Mrs Greville. She smiled vaguely at us both. ‘Barbara. Mrs Welford. I’m sorry I’m so late. One of the dogs… I waited ages for Mr Tregothnan but there was no sign of him at his surgery this morning. I suppose he must have had an emergency somewhere.’ She looked around the church, spreading her hands as if genuinely embarrassed. ‘There doesn’tseem much for me to do.’
‘Is the dog very ill?’ I asked. ‘I’m Josie, by the way.’
‘Caro. I take it you and Barbara have already introduced yourselves .’ She put out her hand for me to shake. She could have done with a good manicure. ‘Spud? He’s just off his food. So unlike him, though. Now, why don’t I make amends by sweeping up? That’s coming along beautifully, Barbara – such verve. And Josie – now, there’s only one thing wrong there, my dear – no one’ll see it, tucked away down there. Let’s pop it onto a kneeler, shall we? Did I ever tell you about my favourite kneeler? It’s in Hereford Cathedral. The SAS one. Such a hoot. You can just imagine them all blacked up for some terrible mission and one of them saying, “Hang on, Sarge, just got to finish this corner.”’
Our laughter rang round the church. Why on earth had Sue so taken against her?
We lifted the vase as she directed and stood back to survey it. Yes, I felt quite proud.
She applied herself to the broom, me busy with the dustpan and brush. While we waited for Barbara to stick in the last few dahlias, I asked, ‘Have you noticed the stream recently? It’s gone a funny colour.’
‘The rain, of course,’ Barbara cut in.
Why didn’t she ask what was funny about it? ‘I’m sorry?’
‘All that rain – it’s bound to discolour the water.’
‘But to turn it pink?’
‘Pink?’ Caro repeated, the same disbelief in her voice as in my head.
‘Have you never noticed how red the soil is in parts of Devon?’ Barbara snipped an end, letting it fall on to the floor. Caro bent, rather stiffly, to pick it up. Yes: her knuckles were slightly swollen – maybe her knees or hips were already arthritic.
Actually, I had. I’d been to a sleepy little village with some bloke I’d met on the Internet. Dawlish. And the stream there was a deep terracotta colour after a thunderstorm. Not pink, though. And come to think of it, we weren’t in Devon, but in Somerset. Just.
One part of her perfect triangle stood up too high, mockingthe rest. It would have been the work of seconds for me to nip it out, but I refrained. Caro, winking with the eye Barbara couldn’t see, gave it a deft shove.
‘Ladies, I’m sorry to be such a bore, but I must have another go at seeing the vet. Can I offer you a lift, Josie?’
She was the sort of woman to whom I could pat my buttocks and say, ‘I need the walk, thanks. I hope your poor Spud improves.’ Then I had a spurt of courage. If Sue could do it, so could I. ‘Actually, there’s something I need to ask. I’ll walk with you to your car, shall I?’
She raised a well-plucked eyebrow, but held open the door with a friendly smile.
‘I was wondering if you’d mind the hunt meeting at the Court,’ I began. ‘I hate to break a village tradition but –’
‘You’re anti-blood sports too.’
‘’Fraid so –’
She gave a snort of laughter. ‘My dear, I loathe them too! Why do you think it stopped gathering at the Court and moved to the White Hart? Tell you what,’ she added, dropping her voice to a stage whisper, ‘Ask Barbara Coyne. She’d love to think she’s one up on me!’ With a wink, she let herself into her car, not the huge four-wheel drive I’d have expected but a fairly elderly
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