Read Online Village Affairs by Cassandra Chan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cassandra Chan
Ads: Link
least taken a house for the summer. Chipping Chedding was their idea of the English countryside personified.
The church, toward which Bethancourt and Marla leisurely picked their way with Cerberus at their heels, was a solid example of the Perpendicular style like so many of the churches built by the highly profitable wool trade in the fifteenth century. Chipping Chedding’s church was not, perhaps, a paradigm of the Perpendicular, but that did not stop the villagers from being very proud of it.
The church was set on a rise at the end of the High Street amid a pool of grass. Light glowed behind the colored panes of the windows and, as they approached, a low murmur of music could be heard.
“They’re still at it,” said Bethancourt. He peered at his watch. “It’s half nine,” he said. “Shall we go in and listen? They should be finished shortly.”
“What about Cerberus?”
“He can come, too. We’ll sit in the back and no one will notice.”
It was dim in the church and peaceful, with the high Perpendicular nave arching away above them. They slipped into a shadowy pew and let the music wash over them. The choir was surprisingly good, although the organist left something to be desired, and the acoustics of the old church sent the sound clearly back to them.
“There’s Clarence,” whispered Marla, snuggling against him.
Bethancourt nodded and put his arm about her.
“I didn’t know he had such a good voice,” he said.
In ten minutes or so the rehearsal came to its end and the choir set down their music and began to collect their various belongings. The vicar’s voice echoed back, reminding them of a few things for Sunday. Bethancourt and Marla remained seated, waiting for Astley-Cooper to detach himself.
Eventually, he came down the aisle toward them, accompanied by a tall woman with a long face and iron-gray hair.
“Hello,” he said. “Did you hear us? This is Martha Potts, one of our altos. She’s the housekeeper up at the Bonnar place. Martha, this is Phillip Bethancourt and Marla Tate. Marla’s one of the models who came down to Stutely the other day.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” exclaimed Mrs. Potts, shaking hands. “I’ve often seen your picture in the magazines.”
Marla accepted this accolade with a smile.
“Oh, and here’s our vicar. Reverend Tothill, Marla Tate. I think you’ve already met Bethancourt here.”
“Yes, of course. How lovely to meet you, Miss Tate. I hope all went well up at Stutely Manor for the shoot?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Marla, flashing her famous smile. “Clarence is a perfect host.”
“Well, we’re very honored to have you here. There’s my wife—Lee, come and meet Miss Tate. You remember Mr. Bethancourt.”
More introductions ensued and gradually the party edged their way down the nave and out into the porch. Whether because of tact or a genuine liking for dogs, Tothill made no mention of the large Borzoi in his church.
They waited at the door while the vicar closed up, and then made their way down the street to the Deer and Hounds, following the stream of choristers already headed in that direction.
“I left a message at the police station,” Leandra told Bethancourt as she fell in beside him. “Eve Bingham rang this evening. She said she’s coming over at once.”
“How did she take it?”
“She was naturally very distressed. I hated having to break the news over the phone.”
“Of course, it was a shock for her. She did seem shocked, didn’t she?”
“Yes, certainly. What a funny question.”
“Not really.” Bethancourt paused to light a cigarette. “One has to remember, you know, that she is now an heiress. A very wealthy one.”
“But she was in Paris when Charlie died,” protested Leandra.
“We only think she was,” said Bethancourt. “Has she ever visited her father here?”
Leandra shook her head. “Never. Charlie talked about her from time to time—I think he was very fond of her in his way,
The church, toward which Bethancourt and Marla leisurely picked their way with Cerberus at their heels, was a solid example of the Perpendicular style like so many of the churches built by the highly profitable wool trade in the fifteenth century. Chipping Chedding’s church was not, perhaps, a paradigm of the Perpendicular, but that did not stop the villagers from being very proud of it.
The church was set on a rise at the end of the High Street amid a pool of grass. Light glowed behind the colored panes of the windows and, as they approached, a low murmur of music could be heard.
“They’re still at it,” said Bethancourt. He peered at his watch. “It’s half nine,” he said. “Shall we go in and listen? They should be finished shortly.”
“What about Cerberus?”
“He can come, too. We’ll sit in the back and no one will notice.”
It was dim in the church and peaceful, with the high Perpendicular nave arching away above them. They slipped into a shadowy pew and let the music wash over them. The choir was surprisingly good, although the organist left something to be desired, and the acoustics of the old church sent the sound clearly back to them.
“There’s Clarence,” whispered Marla, snuggling against him.
Bethancourt nodded and put his arm about her.
“I didn’t know he had such a good voice,” he said.
In ten minutes or so the rehearsal came to its end and the choir set down their music and began to collect their various belongings. The vicar’s voice echoed back, reminding them of a few things for Sunday. Bethancourt and Marla remained seated, waiting for Astley-Cooper to detach himself.
Eventually, he came down the aisle toward them, accompanied by a tall woman with a long face and iron-gray hair.
“Hello,” he said. “Did you hear us? This is Martha Potts, one of our altos. She’s the housekeeper up at the Bonnar place. Martha, this is Phillip Bethancourt and Marla Tate. Marla’s one of the models who came down to Stutely the other day.”
“I thought you looked familiar,” exclaimed Mrs. Potts, shaking hands. “I’ve often seen your picture in the magazines.”
Marla accepted this accolade with a smile.
“Oh, and here’s our vicar. Reverend Tothill, Marla Tate. I think you’ve already met Bethancourt here.”
“Yes, of course. How lovely to meet you, Miss Tate. I hope all went well up at Stutely Manor for the shoot?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Marla, flashing her famous smile. “Clarence is a perfect host.”
“Well, we’re very honored to have you here. There’s my wife—Lee, come and meet Miss Tate. You remember Mr. Bethancourt.”
More introductions ensued and gradually the party edged their way down the nave and out into the porch. Whether because of tact or a genuine liking for dogs, Tothill made no mention of the large Borzoi in his church.
They waited at the door while the vicar closed up, and then made their way down the street to the Deer and Hounds, following the stream of choristers already headed in that direction.
“I left a message at the police station,” Leandra told Bethancourt as she fell in beside him. “Eve Bingham rang this evening. She said she’s coming over at once.”
“How did she take it?”
“She was naturally very distressed. I hated having to break the news over the phone.”
“Of course, it was a shock for her. She did seem shocked, didn’t she?”
“Yes, certainly. What a funny question.”
“Not really.” Bethancourt paused to light a cigarette. “One has to remember, you know, that she is now an heiress. A very wealthy one.”
“But she was in Paris when Charlie died,” protested Leandra.
“We only think she was,” said Bethancourt. “Has she ever visited her father here?”
Leandra shook her head. “Never. Charlie talked about her from time to time—I think he was very fond of her in his way,
Similar Books
