Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2019

Copyright © Fern Britton 2019

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs © D.G.Farquhar / Alamy Stock Photo (front cover) Shutterstock.com (all other images)

Fern Britton asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008225216

Ebook Edition © March 2019 ISBN: 9780008225223

Version: 2019-02-19

Dedication

In memory of my mum Ruth

1924–2018

Her stories were the best

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

PROLOGUE

The evening before Mamie Buchanan’s corpse was found had been an enjoyable one. Her niece, the Revd Angela Whitehorn, had thrown a gossipy dinner party for her new parish friends, where it was agreed that her aunt was the most entertaining newcomer Pendruggan had ever had.

This may have been due to her rackety stories and her genuine interest in the lives of others, or, more likely, it could have been her inability to pour anything less than very large measures of alcohol.

‘Your aunt is an admirable woman,’ said a squiffy Geoffrey Tipton, the last guest to say his goodbyes on the chilly, moonlit doorstep of Pendruggan vicarage. ‘My God, they don’t make women like that any more.’

Angela nodded in agreement. ‘They certainly don’t.’

‘GEOFFREY!’ The voice of Mrs Tipton came from beyond the gate, making both Angela and Geoffrey jump. He turned giddily. ‘Yes, my love. Just coming.’ He steadied himself with a gnarled hand on the doorframe. ‘Was thanking the vicar for a splendid party.’

‘You can do that in a letter. COME,’ commanded Audrey. She may as well have asked him to heel.

Geoffrey pushed himself from the doorframe and gave Angela a wobbly wave before staggering towards his wife.

Angela gratefully closed the door and walked to the kitchen where Mamie, the belle of the ball, was gaily polishing off a bottle of champagne.

‘Good God,’ she said theatrically, ‘I thought they’d never leave. Last glass before bed?’ She pointed the bottle towards Angela.

Angela shook her head and started to load the dishwasher. ‘I’ve already had too much.’ Over her shoulder she said, ‘You know Mike Bates is in love with you, don’t you?’

Mamie sank her glass in one. ‘Yes. He told me. And who can blame him, darling!’ Her eyes twinkled with laughter. ‘I’m very fond of him.’

Robert Whitehorn, Angela’s husband, entered with the last of the pudding plates balanced in his hands. ‘Mamie, you were outrageous. You mercilessly flirted with the dreadful Tipton man.’

Mamie became her usual heartless self again and leant out of her kitchen chair to drop her empty bottle into the recycling crate by the back door. ‘Me?’ she laughed. ‘Poor dear Geoff. A frightful old bore but such a sweetheart. That gorgon of a wife of his is hard work.’ Mamie looked to the ceiling and raised her immaculate eyebrows.

Angela, taking the plates Robert was offering, gave her aunt a fond but exasperated look. ‘You are a heartbreaker and you got everyone drunk.’

‘And there was I thinking I was brightening the dull and unsullied lives of your flock,’ Mamie smiled impishly.

Angela’s tired grin shifted into a yawn.

‘And you are exhausted,’ Mamie said kindly. ‘You two go up to bed and I’ll clear the last bits up.’

‘Are you sure?’ asked Robert.

Mamie picked up a tea towel and flapped it at the pair of them. ‘You’ve got early church tomorrow. I can lie in.’ She kissed her niece and nephew-in-law affectionately. ‘Off you go. Bed. Now.’

‘Where does she get her energy from?’ Robert plumped the pillow under his head, his eyes already closing.

‘She’s always been the same.’ Angela lifted her legs onto her side of the mattress and pulled the duvet up. ‘Always.’

It was Angela who found Mamie’s body. She had woken at 3.20 with a post-alcohol thirst that needed at least a pint of water. In the dark, she had padded, barefoot and silent, to the top of the stairs and noted a line of light under her aunt’s bedroom door. She thought vaguely that Mamie was probably engaged in her usual nightly routine of make-up removal and meditation, so she decided not to disturb her.

Her fingers carefully held the smoothly worn stair rail as she counted the sixteen treads down to the hallway. She and Robert had been in the vicarage only six months but Angela knew by now most of its foibles and peculiarities: the sticky window in her office, the back door that needed an encouraging kick after rain, and the creaking third and fifth treads.

At this hour all was still and silent. The now-familiar warmth of the house wrapped itself around her.

The smell of garlic roast lamb and sherry still hung in the air, and something else. She stopped for a moment and sniffed. Ah, yes. Mamie’s perfume. Shalimar. Angela was surprised that it could override even last night’s cooking smells, but there it was. The very essence of her aunt.

She reached the bottom step and her naked toes felt the familiar texture of the Indian rug covering the oak floor of the hall.

Confidently, she let go of the wooden sphere on the end of the newel post, and turned left in the darkness, heading towards the kitchen.

It was then that her foot felt something unusual.

Soft.

Fleshy.

Her skin began to prickle.

‘Mr Worthington? Is that you, boy?’ She knew it wasn’t the dog.

She stood stock-still and held her breath. But there was no answering thump of a wagging tail or whiskery nose sniffing her leg.

Fear crawled from her stomach, through her bowels and down her legs. She began to shake.

She was breathing faster and recognised panic. What should she do? Scared to progress further and tread on anything else that might be lying in the dark, but knowing she had to, she reached her foot forwards, feeling for anything else.

What was that?

She drew her foot back quickly.

‘Oh dear Lord,’ she whispered, and took two quick hops to where she hoped the light switch was.

In the sudden glaring light, she saw her beloved aunt’s body.

‘Robert! Robert!’

Robert was dreaming of Venice, sitting in the sun, under the shade of a bougainvillaea and having lunch alone, watching the beautiful women walk by. Where was Angela? He couldn’t remember why she wasn’t with him, but never mind. He could sit here without guilt. Of course Angela would be very cross if she caught him but it was innocent fun. Then he heard her. Upset. Angry? Her voice was coming in distressing sobs.

‘Robert, oh dear God. Robert! Robert. Robert.’

The vision faded and he sat up in bed, ready to apologise. It had only been lunch. Nothing more. Angela would understand. But Angela’s side of the bed was empty. He ran his hands through his thick, dark hair and heard her shout again, ‘Robert, it’s Auntie Mamie, she’s fallen.’

A dose of adrenaline hit him and he leapt out of bed. Six foot two, muscular and naked, he sped onto the landing and looked over the banisters. His wife had one hand to her mouth while the other clutched her nightdress to her heart. He saw the body on the rug. Twisted awkwardly. Her eyes half open. A bruise spreading on her temple. He knew she was dead.

He took the stairs two at a time. Stepping round the grim scene, he reached Angela and pulled her to his strong, naked chest.

‘Darling. Don’t look. Make some tea. I’ll call the police.’

‘She needs an ambulance.’ Angela pushed her way out of Robert’s arms. She stepped carefully over Mamie’s feet and went to the phone on the hall table. ‘Check her breathing, Robert, and fetch a blanket. She’ll get cold.’

Robert dashed for the blanket from the back of the sofa, then knelt and checked Mamie’s pulse. Nothing. He bent his ear to her nose. She wasn’t breathing.

‘Ambulance, please.’ Angela’s voice broke as the emergency operator asked for details.

Robert placed Mamie’s lifeless arm gently on her chest and stood up. ‘Darling, we need the police as well. I’m so sorry. She’s gone.’

Angela took the receiver from her ear and looked at Mamie, lying in her scarlet silk pyjamas, and her legs gave way.

Robert took the phone and gave the emergency operator their address and an assessment of what had happened. He put his hand fondly against Mamie’s cool cheek, before pulling the blanket snugly over her as though she was sleeping.

Finally, he collected Angela’s small frame in his arms and carried her to the kitchen. Tenderly he lowered her onto her chair by the Aga.

‘I’ll make tea. The police and ambulance will be here soon.’

‘Mamie,’ keened Angela, her head in her hands. ‘I didn’t hear her fall, Robert. I should have heard her. Why didn’t I hear her?’

‘Darling, it’s an accident. Somehow she tripped on the stairs and fell. I don’t think she would have known anything about it.’ He smiled into Angela’s green eyes. ‘In a funny sort of way, isn’t this so typically her? Exactly the way she would have liked to have gone? After a great party where everyone loved her … and full of gin.’

1

Six months earlier

‘Penny?’ Simon Canter shouted from the bottom of the vicarage stairs, his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, a sheen of sweat on his brow.

‘Penny.’ He shouted a little louder.

He had been emptying and clearing his office for the last three hours and it had not put him in the happiest of moods. ‘Penny!’

‘What?’ Her voice from upstairs was irritated. ‘I’m sorting the bloody books in Jenna’s room.’

‘Where are the bin liners?’

‘Under the sink, where they usually are.’

‘I’ve looked and they are not.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake!’ she muttered to herself, then shouted, more loudly, ‘Have you looked in the box by the back door?’

‘No.’

‘Well, look!’

Penny was not quite as busy as she was pretending. In truth she had been lying on her daughter’s bed for most of the morning, surrounded by packing cases and constantly being distracted by long-forgotten possessions. She had been flicking through her own old copy of Noel Streatfeild’s Ballet Shoes. She had won it at her boarding school. Her headmistress’s inscription still gave her a tiny thrill of pride.

Awarded to Penelope Leighton

For continued improvement in English Literature.

Congratulations

Miss Elsie Bird

Penny had had a difficult childhood. Her father had died when she was young and later she had discovered the woman she had been told was her mother was not. It had destroyed her sense of self-worth and left her with a need for praise and approval wherever she could find it. Even now, reading Miss Bird’s dedication to her more than thirty years later, she felt the pleasure of having done well.

It wasn’t until she’d met Simon, in her early forties, that she’d found the wonder of loving and being loved in return. And she, a woman who worked in the febrile, emotionally incontinent, ego-driven world of television, had found all that in a vicar! Now Simon shouted again from downstairs, ‘They are not there!’

‘What aren’t where?’

‘The bin liners.’

Penny huffily put the book down and went to go downstairs and find the bloody bin bags herself when she spotted them. They were where she had put them, at the top of the stairs.

‘Oh, here they are,’ she called cheerfully, covering her guilt.

Simon was grumping up the stairs.

‘Sorry, darling,’ she said with a hint of accusation as she met him midway. ‘Someone must have left them upstairs.’

Simon looked tired. His normally clear, tanned face and chocolate eyes were dulled with worry. ‘We have less than a week.’

She stroked his balding head and kissed his brow. ‘I know. We’ll be ready. I promise.’

‘I’ve still got the garage to tackle. What am I going to do with all those tins of old paint?’

Penny placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘The new people might want them to touch up any scuffs.’ She wiped a string of cobweb from his eyebrow. ‘I think you need some elevenses. Everything will look better after a coffee and a digestive or two. Come on.’ Taking his hand, she pulled him towards the kitchen.

Outside early spring was dawning on the little patio that Simon had built last summer, with the help of the village gardener, known to all as Simple Tony. The flagstones were warming and a robin was busily building a nest in the early clematis that clambered around the kitchen window.

Penny carried the coffee tray outside and balanced it on top of the lichened birdbath. Pulling up two tatty wicker chairs, she took the edge of her cardigan and swept away the dried winter leaves and crumbly bird poo from the seats.

Setting the chairs side by side, she plonked herself down with a sigh as Simon followed her out with a packet of ginger nuts.

Penny pulled her shoulders back and tipped her face to the sun. ‘The sea smells good today.’ She inhaled noisily, filling her lungs.

Simon sat down and opened the biscuits. ‘Ginger nut?’

She exhaled, shaking her head. ‘I’d prefer a digestive.’

‘There aren’t any.’

She looked at Simon, weighing up whether it was worth the risk of contradicting him by getting up and getting the digestives from the larder where she had put them, or just saying nothing. She chose the latter.

‘Not to worry,’ she said, and took another lungful of air with closed eyes.

Simon fiddled with the ginger nut wrapper, running his thumb around to find the elusive tape to pull and, while he did so, looked around at his beloved garden, recalling all the hours that he and Penny had poured into it.

The cherry blossom tree marking Jenna’s baptism.

The Wendy house under it.

The drift of daffodils, just budding now, planted several autumns before.

Eventually he found the Cellophane string and pulled.

Six ginger nuts sprang out and hit the ground.

Penny opened one eye. ‘Bugger,’ she said.

He sighed. ‘Are we doing the right thing?’ He picked up a biscuit and shook the grit off before dipping it in his coffee.

Penny exhaled impatiently. ‘Yes!’

‘It’s Jenna I worry about most,’ Simon said, looking at the vegetable patch that he really ought to have dug over by now. ‘Taking her away from this. Her home. Her garden. Her friends. The life she has known.’

Penny abandoned her deep breathing and gave him a sharp look. ‘How many times are we going to go over this?’ She snatched up a ginger nut before the beady-eyed, nest-building robin got it, and bit into it noisily. ‘We are going to Brazil,’ she said. ‘It’s your dream and we’re going to go for it!’

He ran his hand over his head. ‘Am I being selfish? What about you and your work?’

Before he could take another bleat, Penny was on him. ‘Stop being so sodding negative. I do believe Brazil has running water and electricity and phone lines and the internet! I can run my office from there easily. In fact, it may be better than being here. And Jenna is seven going on twenty-one and bursting for an adventure.’

‘She takes after you.’ Simon gloomily drank his coffee.

Penny sat up and looked him square in the eye. ‘Do you know what she told me last night?’

‘No.’

‘She told me that her friends at school were collecting things for the children you will be working with.’

‘What things?’

‘Hairbands, football shirts, pens, notepads, balls, make-up. Stuff that street kids have never had. She’s even set up a website with her form teacher, Miss Lumley, so that she can keep them up to date with her blogging and vlogging.’

‘Really?’ Simon’s eyes were shining with emotion.

‘Yes, but keep it under your hat and act surprised because I wasn’t supposed to tell you.’

He turned his gaze back to the garden and Jenna’s cherry tree. ‘It is going to be all right, isn’t it?’

‘It’s going to be bloody amazing!’ Penny stretched out to take his hand. ‘I know I’m not always the greatest vicar’s wife in the world, but the important thing is that I am your wife and the only one you have. Even the bishop has started to afford me some respect. He managed to look me in the eye rather than my cleavage last time I saw him … a huge step for mankind.’

‘He doesn’t understand strong successful women.’

‘Well, he’s going to have to. There are a hell of a lot of us about.’

‘Supposing the accommodation is even more basic than we’ve been led to believe? You might hate it.’

‘You forget I have spent most of my working life on film locations with a chemical toilet and cold showers. I never get the luxury Winnebago, believe me. Brazil will be sunny, hot, sexy, all the things that you and I could do with.’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s going to be fun.’

He smiled at her wearily. ‘Dear God, I hope so.’

Somewhere in the house the phone began to ring. ‘Ah, that’ll be God now, telling you to buck up,’ said Penny. ‘I shall say you’re out.’

Penny headed for the phone in the hall, dodging round a pile of boots and coats ready for the charity shop, and reached for the receiver.

‘Holy Trinity Church, Pendruggan. Good morning.’

‘Penny, is that you?’ asked the querulous voice of the bishop. ‘You were a long time answering.’

‘Maybe because we still have the old-fashioned telephone plugged into the wall.’

‘You must ask my office to sort you out a modern cordless one.’

Penny gritted her teeth. ‘Yes. We were turned down.’

‘Have I caught you in the middle of something?’

‘Not at all. We are only packing our lives up for Brazil.’

‘Of course. Brazil. Simon will be marvellous. He’s exactly the sort of man for the job. I must say when I did my ministry in Sudan, many moons ago now …’

Penny closed her eyes, preparing to hear another of the pompous old fart’s dreary tales of self-aggrandisement.

‘The Sudan!’ she said. ‘How … interesting.’

‘Oh my word, it certainly was. The people took to me immediately and the more I worked with them in their villages, taking the good news of the gospels with me, the more they truly loved me. I remember a day when a young woman with a small child on her back came to me and asked, in all humility, “Are you Jesus?”’

‘Well I never,’ said Penny, rolling her eyes at her husband, who was stepping over the coats and coming towards her. ‘How charming! You must tell Simon. He’s right here.’

‘Who is it?’ mouthed Simon.

‘God,’ she mouthed back.

Simon took the receiver from her and shooed her away. ‘William. How kind of you to call.’

Penny collected her coffee from the garden, tucking a couple of ginger nuts into her cardigan pocket, and returned to Jenna’s room. She was faced again with the scattered detritus of moving her life halfway across the world. There had been tears and fierce negotiations about what could go to Brazil and what would have to stay behind and go into storage.

‘But, Mumma, Blue Ted won’t be able to breathe in a crate.’

‘Oh yes he will. Teddies like to hibernate and it’ll be a big adventure for him to be in the big warehouse with lots of other people’s teddies.’

‘No it won’t.’

‘Yes it will.’

‘But he’ll miss me.’

‘Well,’ Penny had thought on her feet, ‘we shall send him postcards.’

‘He can’t read without me.’

‘So you’ll have lots of fun reading them to him when we get back.’

At which point Jenna had burst into tears and thrown herself on the bed with Blue Ted beneath her.

It had finally been agreed that Blue Ted and Honey Bear and Tiny Tiger could all go to Brazil in her flight bag, but the Lego, stilts and dolls’ house had to go into store.

Standing now in her daughter’s denuded room, Penny knew she only had a few hours to make these last books, games and teddies ‘disappear’ into storage before Jenna returned home from school.

As she worked, her mind picked at the anxiety she felt about leaving Pendruggan. No matter what she had told Simon, the move to Brazil was not going to be easy. She was a woman who liked to be in control of her environment. She needed her work, her hairdresser, the theatre, shops, and her independence. In Brazil she would have none of these safe anchors. She had to admit to herself that she would find it hard.

Simon, by comparison, would be in his element. He had been handpicked to join the missionary team in Bahia, to help the abandoned children who lived on the streets. Some were just babies, cared for by other children. They were exploited in every way imaginable. The Mission gave them shelter, teaching and food. Penny knew that Simon would plunge straight in and immerse himself totally in the work that he was made for, but she privately wondered how she would cope.

When Jenna had first been told about going, she had cried and run to her bedroom. Mortified, Simon and Penny had followed her, expecting a tantrum and refusal to go, but instead they found her gathering her teddies and telling them that they were needed in Brazil. They watched with awe and pride as she lined them up and told them, ‘I love you all, you know that, but there are lots of children who don’t have a special teddy or a mummy and daddy, so you are coming with me and I shall let you play with the Brazil girls and boys. But not you, Blue Ted. All right? Mummy says Daddy is going to be very important in a Missionary Position.’

Penny smiled at the memory.

And now Brazil was only a week away.

The essentials for their new life were already crated and stowed on the deck of a container ship, crossing the Atlantic.

Penny looked for the big roll of parcel tape and placed the last two of Jenna’s belongings – a magic set and a radio-controlled puppy – into the final box, sticking it down securely.

‘Right, you lot,’ she said, straightening up. ‘It’s only for a year. Twelve little months and we’ll have you out of storage and back here before you know it.’ She looked around the familiar room. ‘And you four walls, you are going to be home to the new family. Look after them, but don’t forget us.’

A woman’s voice called up the stairs, ‘Hello-o! Anyone fancy a sandwich?’

Penny went to the landing and looked over the banisters to see the auburn hair and freckly face of her best friend, Helen.

‘You are an angel. What you got?’

Helen beamed up at her and swung a Marks and Spencer bag. ‘Prawn salad, cheese and pickle or cream cheese and cucumber.’

‘Crisps?’

‘Salt and vinegar.’

Later, the kitchen table strewn with the remains of the ad hoc lunch and glasses of squash, Simon dusted the crumbs from his fleece and stood up.

‘Thank you, Helen. Would you think me rude if I whizzed off to the tip? I’ve got the car loaded and I want to empty it before I pick Jenna up from school.’

‘Go for it,’ Helen approved.

Penny chipped in, ‘There’s a pile of bin liners full of rubbish at the bottom of the stairs, if you can fit them in.’

He dropped a kiss onto the top of her head. ‘No problem. See you later.’

Penny patted his bum as he went by her. ‘Jenna loves it when you pick her up.’

Once Penny and Helen were alone, Helen leant across the table and put her hand over her friend’s. ‘How are you feeling? Really?’

Penny slumped her head onto the table. ‘Exhausted. Anxious. Homesick already.’

‘I’d be the same.’

Penny lifted her head. ‘Would you? I’ve tried so hard to keep upbeat for Simon because this is so important to him.’

‘Tell me what you’re worried about.’

‘Jenna getting ill and no decent hospital to look after her. Insects in the house. Snakes. Lizards. Robbers. Earthquakes.’

Helen began to smile. ‘So, not much then.’

‘And worst of all, I’m going to miss you.’ Penny gripped Helen’s hand. ‘What is a woman without her best friend? The woman who knows all her secrets. Who’s going to make me laugh, bring sandwiches, wine and gossip?’

‘How do you think I’ll feel without you?’ countered Helen. ‘Who am I going to complain about Piran to?’

Penny sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘You’ll just have to strangle him.’

‘You’re right.’ Helen sighed. ‘Easier than divorce.’

‘You’re not married,’ said Penny.

‘Oh, yeah. Well, I could walk out on him.’

‘But you don’t even live together,’ Penny smiled.

‘Thank God!’ Helen laughed.

Penny stood and went to the fridge. ‘I’ve got half a bottle of rosé that needs drinking. Fancy a drop?’

‘Is my name Helen Merrifield?’

Penny took two glasses from a cupboard and poured equal measures of wine into them.

‘To me,’ she said, raising her glass.

‘To you,’ replied Helen. She took a mouthful. ‘I wonder if the new vicar drinks?’

‘Probably not. She looks a bit mousy. No, that’s unfair. Shall we say, natural. No make-up. Very petite. I think she might be one of those women who run for fun.’

‘But her husband is a dish.’

‘Did I tell you that?’

‘Several times.’

‘Well, he is. When we met them at Bishop William’s, I couldn’t believe how handsome he was. Think Cary Grant with a drop of George Clooney.’

‘I am.’

‘And he’s nice. Charming. Very attentive to Angela.’

‘What does he do?’

‘I think he said he was a political writer. To be honest, I was so busy looking at him that I forgot to listen to what he was saying. I’m expecting you to get all the lowdown and Skype me with every detail.’

‘What about the daughter?’

‘I didn’t meet her. But I think she’s around fourteen or fifteen. Something like that. Probably at the fat and spotty stage.’

Helen gave Penny a knowing look. ‘You’re feeling better. I can always tell. Your inner bitch comes out.’

As they laughed together as only old friends can, a wave of homesickness overwhelmed Penny.

‘Oh, I do hope we’ll be OK, and that they will be happy here – this house, this village … well, I couldn’t have been happier here and–’

Helen interrupted her before she could get into a panic. ‘You’ll be home before you know it. What could possibly go wrong in a vicarage?’

And with knowing smiles, they settled in for a good old gossip.

‘Don’t use the sitting room,’ Penny yelled four days later as Simon put his hand to the door handle.

He blinked. ‘I only want to watch the news.’

‘You’ll have to watch it on the little telly in the kitchen.’ She steered him away. ‘Also, no using the downstairs loo, or either of the spare bedrooms or your office.’

‘But I need my office.’

‘Out of bounds, I’m afraid,’ said Penny, pushing him towards the kitchen. ‘Helen and I scrubbed this house from top to bottom. Forensics would never know we lived here.’

‘This is slightly ridiculous. Angela and Robert don’t arrive until the day after tomorrow,’ Simon said, exasperated.

Penny shrugged. ‘Them’s the rules, I’m afraid. And tonight’s supper is fish and chips from the chip shop because I’ve cleaned the Aga. And tomorrow night, Helen and Piran are cooking for us. Our last supper.’

Simon took Penny in his arms and squeezed her. ‘I haven’t said thank you, have I?’

Penny tipped her head up to look at her husband. ‘What for?’

‘For doing all this for me.’ His chocolate eyes behind their glasses took in her deep blue ones. ‘For taking on this huge upheaval and not complaining once.’

‘Haven’t I? I’m sure I have.’

‘Shut up. Just, thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ She reached up and kissed him. ‘Now go and get the fish and chips.’

The following evening, Simon, Penny and Jenna trooped across the village green to Helen’s little cottage. Gull’s Cry was as welcoming as always, sitting in its beautiful garden, the path lined with lavender from gate to front door. Wisteria was starting to break into flower around the eaves and, as ever, a fat candle sitting in a bell jar shone in each of the two downstairs windows. The thick front door with its heavy metal dolphin knocker opened before they got to it and a small Jack Russell bounded out to greet them.

The silhouette of Piran Ambrose stood framed in the glow spilling from within.

‘Come in, come in, me ’andsome.’ He shook Simon’s hand. They were old and unlikely friends, who had grown up together.

‘’Ello, maid, come in out of the cold,’ he said to Jenna, putting his huge fisherman’s hand onto the little girl’s shoulder. ‘The fire’s lit.’

‘Hello Uncle Piran.’ She smiled shyly at the man she adored and bent down to tickle the little dog. ‘Hello, Jack.’

Penny entered last and Piran kissed her cheek. ‘All right, Pen? All set for the big day?’

‘I think so. Too late if we’re not.’

Helen came from the kitchen drying her hands on a tea towel and welcomed them all. ‘Piran, open the wine, would you, and there’s a bottle of elderflower cordial for Jenna.’

‘Something smells good,’ sniffed Simon appreciatively.

‘Piran has made his famous lobster curry for you,’ Helen told them. ‘Couldn’t let you go without a proper Saturday night supper in you.’

‘That was delicious,’ Simon said, putting his knife and fork together neatly on his plate.

‘You’ll be eating some different kind of grub in Brazil, I ’spect,’ said Piran, wiping up the last of the curry sauce with a slice of French bread.

‘I’m going to miss you, Uncle Piran.’ Jenna had eaten every scrap. ‘I love your cooking.’

‘Now listen, maid, it won’t be too long before me and thee are back on Trevay harbour pulling in those mackerel.’

‘Can I gut them when I come back? I’ll be eight by then.’

‘Eight, is it? You’m growing up fast. I tell you what, when you get back I’ll have a proper fisherman’s knife waiting for you. How about that?’

Penny butted in, ‘Is that a good idea?’

Simon stopped her. ‘It’s a very good idea. Jenna is growing up a Cornish woman and a Cornish woman knows how to use a knife and gut a fish.’ He turned to Jenna. ‘It’s in your blood.’

‘Is it?’ she asked, looking at her hands and spreading the fingers. ‘Cool.’

‘Absolutely,’ agreed Piran. ‘Now, there’s a little tube of Smarties in the sitting room waiting for you, as long as Jack hasn’t had ’em. You can sit on the sofa and watch some telly together.’

Jenna needed no further encouragement and skipped off, calling Jack to join her.

‘It’s going to be a big change for her,’ said Piran, watching them, ‘but it’ll do her the world of good. Growing up in a little village ain’t always a good thing.’

‘It was good enough for us.’ Simon reminded him. ‘You couldn’t wait to come back after you got your Ph.D. Cornish history is in your DNA.’

‘True, true. But where would I be if I didn’t have you to keep me on the straight and narrow? My best mate a vicar. I’m still in shock.’

Helen placed a cup of coffee in front of him. ‘You’d be a bloody rogue without Simon acting as your conscience. He’s your Jiminy Cricket.’ She handed Penny and Simon their coffees and sat down. ‘So how is tomorrow shaping up? Angela and Robert still coming to be introduced to us all?’

‘Yes.’ Simon spooned some brown sugar into his mug. ‘They’re staying over in Lostwithiel tonight with an old friend of Robert’s. I think they were at school together. Then they’ll drive over. Should only take half an hour at that time on a Sunday morning.’

‘The handover will be the hardest thing,’ said Penny. ‘But better to keep it short.’

‘You’ll have a full church tomorrow, mind,’ said Piran, smiling. ‘They nosy lot round here will be breaking their necks to check out the new vicar. They’m desperate to see the woman. Audrey Tipton and her wet husband will be front of the queue, you’ll see.’

Penny laughed. ‘You’re so right. And Queenie. I was in the shop the other day and she was desperately mining me for information.’

‘Oh God, she’ll bring out the ancient mothballed fur coat for the great occasion,’ laughed Helen.

‘The fur and perhaps the green velvet hat with the feathers and the net veil that she thinks make her look like the Duchess of Cornwall,’ chuckled Penny fondly.

‘How does she keep going with the post office and all those cigarettes she smokes? I do worry about her. How old do you think she is now?’ Helen asked.

‘She came here from the East End as an evacuee as a young girl,’ said Simon. ‘So she must be …’ he shut his eyes and calculated, ‘… about eighty-five-ish?’

A chill ran through Penny. ‘I hope nothing happens to her while we are away.’

Helen tutted. ‘Nothing is going to happen to her. She’s pickled in nicotine and her mind is as sharp as a razor. She can still add up quicker than a bookie. I promise you, she’s not going anywhere.’

‘Mumma?’ A tired Jenna wandered in, cuddling little Jack like a baby. His paws were limp and his eyes blinking. ‘Can we go now?’

Piran lifted Jack from her. ‘Bleddy dog. Spoilt, he is.’ He ruffled Jack’s ears and kissed his nose.

‘He loves that dog more than he loves me,’ said Helen, shaking her head.

‘Well, I’ve known ’im longer than I’ve known you. We share history.’

‘Bye-bye, Jack,’ said Jenna sleepily. ‘Bye-bye, Uncle Piran. You won’t forget my fisherman’s knife, will you?’

‘Certainly not. Auntie Helen and I will have it here the minute you get back.’

Saying their goodbyes, Simon scooped Jenna up in his arms, and led his beloved little family back to the vicarage.

Later, snuggled in bed with the lights out, Penny had a sense of foreboding. She fidgeted over to Simon, whose warmth comforted her. He reached an arm around her. ‘You OK?’ he asked sleepily.

‘Yes. Just thinking about how different the village might be when we get back.’

‘It’ll be the same as always,’ Simon told her. ‘Nothing changes in Pendruggan. Take it from me.’

That night, Penny had a torrid dream. Their container ship was sunk by a terrible Atlantic storm, taking all their possessions to the seabed. Her father was there and tried desperately to save everything but, after many dives, was finally swallowed into the murky depths. She woke up gasping, but as she lay in her bed next to her sleeping husband, she heard the high-pitched wail of a strong wind coming off the sea and the rattle of heavy rain.

She turned over to be closer to Simon and tried to shake off the bad feeling that still lingered.

‘It’s just an ordinary Cornish storm,’ she told herself. ‘And a simple anxiety dream. Everything will be OK.’

Eventually she did sleep, while outside, the storm raged, shaking Jenna’s cherry tree and running up the beach on Shellsand Bay to wash away the great walls of the sand dunes.

But when Simon woke, first as he usually did, the sky was the cleanest, washed-out blue, without a cloud. The sun was rising and bringing with it the first promise of summer warmth.

In the kitchen as he waited for the kettle to boil, he opened the back door and saw the wind-strewn leaves of Jenna’s cherry tree on the lawn and the slender necks of the daffodils bent to the earth. But today was not a day to grieve over nature. Today he needed all his emotional strength to hand his flock over to their new caretaker, Angela.

2

‘Well?’ The suspense was killing Robert. ‘Are we going to Cornwall?’

Angela’s heart was racing, the pulse in her throat throbbing. She lifted her eyes from the letter in her hand and said, in a quivering voice, ‘Yes.’

Robert ran to where she stood in the hall. ‘Woo hoo.’ He lifted her off her feet. ‘Congratulations.’ He squeezed her hard and without letting her go called up the stairs, ‘Faith! Mum got the job! We are going to live by the sea for a whole year!’

‘Great,’ came the muffled reply.

‘Well, come on. Come down and I’ll make a celebratory breakfast. Bacon sandwiches all round!’

‘Dad, it’s Saturday. I want to sleep.’

‘Let her be,’ said Angela fondly.

‘But it’s already eleven. She should be down here with us, celebrating.’

‘Darling.’ She kissed the top of his handsome head. ‘Put me down and we’ll have breakfast together. Just the two of us.’

‘I’m so proud of you.’ He gave her another tight hug, then set her back on her feet.

A short while later, Robert placed the bacon sandwich in front of her. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Tea, please.’ Angela bit into the soft white bread and butter, and found the bacon crispy and warm. ‘The food of the gods,’ she said.

Robert put a mug of tea in front of her, then sat down with his own sandwich and coffee. ‘The vicarage is going to feel huge after this little house.’

‘It will.’ Angela looked out of the kitchen window onto their tiny but neat courtyard garden. ‘I shall miss this, though.’

‘Oh, I won’t,’ Robert said through a mouthful of bread. ‘Farewell west London, hello west coast.’

‘You’ll miss work.’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you will. It’s your meat and drink.’

He wiped his mouth with a piece of kitchen towel. ‘We have talked all this through. Finish your sandwich.’

‘When will you let work know?’

‘I’ll talk to Gordon on Monday. It won’t come as a surprise. He told me you’d get the job.’

‘He’s been so good to you. To us.’

‘Yeah. He’s a good bloke.’

Angela stirred her tea. ‘And you are sure? About having a year off?’

He put the last of his sandwich in his mouth. ‘Absolutely. All those dark rainy nights standing on College Green or outside the door of Number Ten, shouting questions that won’t or can’t be answered to politicians who are as clueless as the rest of us.’

‘I’m not sure Cornwall will offer any of the excitement you’re used to.’

‘But I shall have a new job. Househusband extraordinaire …’

‘Not quite as exciting.’

He shook his head. ‘Look, you have always been there for me, never minding when the office ring at ungodly hours to send me out on a story, never refusing a camera crew a bed for the night, always taking the burden of domestic responsibility. It’s my turn to look after you.’

Angela put her hand on his knee and her head on his shoulder. ‘I am so lucky.’

‘The good people of Penwhatsit are luckier.’

‘Pendruggan.’

He raised his coffee mug. ‘To my wife. The vicar of Pendruggan.’

She laughed. ‘Vicar for a year, anyway. I hope I can do it.’

Robert grew serious. ‘Darling, Ange.’ He took the hand she had on his knee and lifted it to his lips. ‘What you will be doing is a million times more worthwhile than any television news report. You are doing yourself and me and Faith proud.’

‘I hope Mum would be proud of me too.’

‘She’s smiling down on you as we speak.’

3

Penny took a last look around her bedroom as she rummaged for her emergency packet of tights in her flight bag.

‘I hope Angela will like this place,’ she muttered uneasily.

Simon poked his head round the door. ‘Hurry up. I want us to get to church before Angela arrives. Jenna’s ready.’

‘I had a ladder so I’ve got to put these new ones on.’ She sat on the bed and rolled the expensive flesh-toned, ten-denier tights gently so as not to snag them.

‘We’ve got to go.’

‘I can’t hurry this. They snag so easi— oh shit, look what you’ve made me do.’ She glanced up to find he’d already gone and glanced back to see the pull in the fine mesh. ‘Bugger, bugger.’

Jenna came in wearing her new grey, buttoned coat, white socks and red shiny shoes. ‘Come on, Mumma, Daddy says he’s going without you.’

Penny pushed her feet into her taupe suede heels and grimaced at the pinch on her little toes.

‘OK, OK. I’m ready.’ She got to her feet, tottering slightly, then gained her balance. She sucked in her core muscles and made her way down the stairs in Jenna’s wake.

Simon was fussing with his dog collar. ‘Does it look all right?’

She gave him a once-over from top to bottom. ‘Perfect. How about me?’

Simon was already looking for the door keys. ‘Hmm?’

‘Will I do?’

Without turning his head, he replied, ‘Yes, yes. Lovely as always. Right, let’s go.’

The birds were singing in the churchyard and tulips and forget-me-nots were pushing their way up among the damp headstones. Simon strode ahead of Penny, deep in thought. Penny saw the tense set of his shoulders and the nervous way he had of reaching up to smooth his bald head. She understood that today was going to be difficult for him, difficult for them all, and her love and empathy flowed to him. The last couple of months had been fraught with things to organise and she had done her best to take the strain of the domestic arrangements from him.

Goodness only knew how the caretaker vicar, Angela, was feeling. Pendruggan was to be her first proper parish. The poor woman hadn’t even seen the vicarage yet, not in the flesh. Penny had shown her around on FaceTime but that was it. To make things easier, Angela and Robert had been delighted for Penny to leave her furniture behind so that there was the least upheaval for them all.

And now, the day to hand over the vicarage had arrived.

Penny and Jenna caught up with Simon as he unlocked the side door into the vestry. ‘Nice and warm. Good,’ he said, hanging his coat on the worn wooden peg above the radiator. He checked his watch. ‘Ten minutes before they are due.’

The door connecting the vestry to the main church opened and a well-built woman wearing a tweed suit and a steel head of hair strode in. ‘Morning, Vicar.’

‘Ah, good morning, Audrey. Thank Geoffrey for turning on the heating, would you. Most grateful.’

Audrey was at her most domineering. She was feared by almost everyone, Piran being the exception. She turned her gimlet eyes to Penny, who immediately felt inadequate. ‘Mrs Canter, perhaps you can solve the mystery of my floral decorations?’

Penny swallowed hard but stood her ground. ‘Do you mean my clematis?’

Audrey found the most withering of challenging looks in her arsenal of withering looks. ‘I do. Please explain.’

Penny stopped herself from buckling. ‘My early clematis has just come into bloom and I thought it might, er,’ she searched for the word, ‘soften the structure of your altar arrangements.’

‘Soften?’ Audrey boomed.

‘Yes, the, erm … boldness of your design was, er … striking indeed, but maybe a little too harsh for the … welcoming theme of the day?’ she ended limply.

‘Harsh, Mrs Canter?’ Audrey Tipton took a step towards Penny but was interrupted by the arrival of her husband, Geoffrey, a man so henpecked and blustering he was known by the villagers as Mr Audrey Tipton.

‘Ah, Audrey, there you are,’ he panted.

Audrey became alert. ‘Are they here?’

Simon swallowed nervously and felt for his dog collar. ‘Angela has arrived?’

‘Where?’ barked Audrey.

‘Just parking,’ replied Geoffrey.

Audrey moved to get through the vestry door and out to greet them ahead of Simon, but Simon beat her to it. Penny smiled sweetly and pushed past Audrey too, pulling Jenna behind her. ‘Welcome to Pendruggan,’ beamed Simon as Angela got out of the front passenger seat. ‘How was your journey?’

‘We were a little early.’ Angela smiled at her husband, Robert, who was stretching his legs and closing the driver’s door. ‘So we went down to Trevay to have a look at it. So pretty.’

Robert walked round the car and shook Simon’s hand. ‘Hello. Good to see you again.’

Penny stepped forward and kissed Angela. ‘Welcome, at last!’ She turned to Robert, who was even more handsome than she remembered. She tried not to gush. ‘Hi, Robert. Welcome to Pendruggan.’

Out of the back seat unfolded a tall girl wearing a pair of super-tight white jeans, a crop top and a leather biker jacket. Her hair was long and streaked. Her face had all the sullen chubbiness of a teenager but Penny could tell she was a chrysalis ready to emerge as a beautiful woman.

‘And this our daughter, Faith,’ said Angela proudly.

‘Hello,’ said Penny. She pointed to Jenna. ‘And this is our daughter, Jenna.’ The Tiptons were pushing forward now, Audrey ready to assert her status as head of virtually everything in the village.

And then she saw Robert and gulped.

Tall, dark and handsome. His navy-blue eyes took in the sight of the gathering crowd of gaping villagers. A devastatingly attractive smile grew on his lips.

Angela introduced him, ‘And this is Robert, my husband.’

Penny swore later that the gathered women, and a couple of the men, fairly swooned.

Simon, totally oblivious to this sudden swirl of sexual tension, took Angela’s arm and chatted his way with her into the church. ‘I am so looking forward to meeting everybody.’

The church was packed. Penny, in the front pew, had Jenna on her left, Robert on her right and Angela on his right. She couldn’t help but notice that not only did Robert look good, he smelt good too.

The congregation stood for the first hymn as Simon, the church warden and the choir processed from the back of the church to the altar.

Penny looked around for Helen and Piran but couldn’t see them. Nor could she see Queenie. A spasm of worry unsettled her again. What if something had happened to her? Were Helen and Piran calling an ambulance?

Robert noticed her fidgeting. ‘Are you OK?’ he whispered. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

Biting her lip, she shook her head. ‘Just looking for friends who should be here,’ she whispered back.

The service continued with Penny’s mind dithering between anxiety about Queenie and trying not to flirt with Robert. There was little space on the pews today and she was very aware of his muscular thigh and strong left arm pressed against hers.

It wasn’t until the second hymn that the ancient door at the back of the church cracked open and Helen and Piran crept in. Helen gave Penny a little wave and mouthed a sheepish, ‘Sorry.’

Penny wondered what had kept them. Maybe they had overslept. And where was Queenie? Another chill snapped at her heart. Was the dear old thing OK? And where was this sudden anxiety coming from? Queenie could never resist a village occasion. Especially a chance to give the new vicar a once-over. It took all of Penny’s willpower to stay put and not get up to go to look for her.

Simon climbed to the pulpit.

‘How wonderful to see so many of you here today. I suspect it may not be my sermon you have come to hear but, more likely, you have come to get a good look at your new vicar.’ He paused for the laughter. ‘I shall ask her to stand up and give us a twirl. Ladies and gentlemen, the Reverend Angela Whitehorn.’

Angela clasped her hands to her chest in embarrassment, but stood, blushing and smiling.

The congregation scrutinised her. Medium height. Very slender. A kind face framed by a short, pixie cut. No make-up. Nails sensibly short and unpolished. She was wearing a knee-length black dress with dog collar, black tights and shiny black Mary Jane shoes. The majority conceded that she looked all right for the job. She sat down and Penny noticed that Robert immediately took her hand and held it proudly.

‘Let me tell you about Angela,’ continued Simon. ‘Upon graduating with an English degree from Manchester University, she joined the prestigious Manchester Evening News as a cub reporter. It was there, across a crowded newsroom, a handsome young politics writer caught her eye.’ Simon looked down to where Robert was sitting. ‘And became her husband. You may recognise him from his appearances on the television news. Stand up, Robert.’

Seeming embarrassed, Robert stood, so tall no one needed to crane their neck. He gave everyone a little wave and sat down again, whispering into Angela’s ear and making her giggle.

Simon continued, ‘A few years after they married, Angela began her path to ordination. This is her first parish as an ordained priest.’ He looked down from the pulpit at Angela and smiled. ‘It’s only on loan, though!’ Laughter came from the congregation and Robert put his arm around Angela’s shoulder and pulled her to him. Penny shifted uncomfortably, feeling envious. Simon continued, ‘Over the next year you will get to know Angela and Robert and their daughter, Faith, very well and they will also get to know you. I have trust and faith in you all to continue to build the fellowship within our community, and when Penny, Jenna and I return you will have many good things to share. Now, let’s sing one of my favourite hymns, and suitable for today, I feel, “To Be a Pilgrim”.’

After the service, Penny was still scanning the crowd for Queenie.

Simon and Angela were in the middle of the church, swamped by a deluge of curiosity and goodwill. Robert stood next to Penny, watching as his wife and her husband played the crowd like rock stars.

‘Your friends got here then,’ he said.

‘Yes. But actually, I’m still a bit worried about one of our villagers. She runs the village post office and stores. It’s not like her to miss something like this. She’d be wanting to know all about you and Angela. She is very nosy and loves all the gossip but is very kind too. We all love her.’

‘Maybe she’s busy?’

‘She’d never be too busy for this.’

‘I’m taller than you. I may spot her. What does she look like?’

‘She’ll be wearing some ghastly hat, probably green with feathers, and she has a distinctive scent of mothballs and tobacco. Oh, and she hasn’t lost her cockney accent even though she’s been here for ever.’

‘She sounds quite marvellous,’ he laughed.

‘Oh, she is.’ Penny spotted Helen and Piran making their way towards them. ‘Helen, this is Robert. Robert, this is my best friend, Helen, and her partner, Piran.’

Piran shook Robert’s hand with his natural distrust. He was always darkly suspicious of strangers, and this one looked a bit too pleased with himself. Too tall. Too good-looking. Too well-dressed. And Piran didn’t like the way Helen was looking at him all dewy-eyed. He’d have to keep a watch on this one. ‘’Ow do?’ he growled.

Robert, used to other men’s wariness, struck up a conversation about the weather while Penny got Helen’s attention. ‘I’m worried about Queenie,’ she said quietly. ‘Where is she?’

Helen shrugged disinterestedly. ‘She’s fine. I saw her earlier.’ Her gaze wandered back to Piran and Robert. ‘Piran’s jealous.’

Penny ignored this and continued, ‘But why isn’t she here? Did she say?’

‘Who? Queenie? No. I say, Robert is a bit of all right.’

‘Where was she? Did she look OK?’

‘Yes, yes, fine. Normal Queenie.’

‘Will you stop staring at Robert?’ Penny hissed. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

‘I’m not staring,’ Helen grinned.

‘Yes you are. You are starting to drool. Stop it. Anyway, you already have the most handsome man in Cornwall.’

‘Yes, but it’s fun to see his nose put out of joint,’ Helen giggled.

‘I pity poor Piran, and Angela,’ Penny said virtuously. ‘As soon as everyone settles down and sees Robert as the nice, faithful husband he is, the better.’

Helen looked knowingly at her friend. ‘You fancy him too! Don’t deny it.’

‘I may have referenced his appearance once or twice, but it’s the inner person I see,’ sniffed Penny.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Helen laughed. ‘Whatever.’

Penny continued. ‘And Angela is going to be wonderful for Pendruggan. She’s sweet, obviously caring and conscientious. You are lucky to have her.’

‘So you won’t want me to send long emails to Brazil about them then?’ Helen asked cheekily.

Penny pursed her lips, then said frantically, ‘I shall definitely need you to send gossip at least hourly. I don’t want to be horrible, but you wouldn’t automatically put them together, would you?’

Helen laughed. ‘You are a bad girl.’

‘I know. But you love me.’ Penny looked anxious again. ‘We only have a couple of hours before the taxi picks us up. We have got to show Angela around the vicarage, settle them in, and Simon has booked a table at the Dolphin for a “welcome” lunch.’ Her eyebrows twitched anxiously. ‘Would you and Piran join us for lunch? Give me some moral support? Please? And I want to find Queenie to say goodbye.’

Angela and Simon approached them. ‘It’s such a beautiful church and I promise I will take care of it and the congregation.’ Angela smiled, tucking her arm into Simon’s. ‘It feels such a happy place.’ She looked over to Robert and Piran. ‘Don’t you think so, Robert?’

‘I do indeed,’ he agreed.

Simon locked the empty church and solemnly handed the ancient, heavy key to Angela. ‘There. That’s yours.’

Angela carefully put it in her small handbag. ‘I will look after it with my life.’

Walking out of the churchyard, Simon, with Robert and Piran chatting beside him, noticed that there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not a single one to wish him bon voyage. All had drifted away back to their homes and Sunday lunch. He was surprised and a little hurt, but he supposed the morning in church had been his farewell.

Penny, walking behind him, felt his disappointment. It was unkind. They were obviously yesterday’s people now. Even Queenie hadn’t bothered to show up.

She watched as Jenna demonstrated her cartwheels to Faith on the village green but Penny’s mind began to slip into a future she couldn’t yet imagine. What the hell were they doing going to Brazil?

‘Wouldn’t you say so, Pen?’ Helen was talking to her.

‘Sorry. What?’

‘The Dolphin is female friendly. It’s OK, as a woman, to go to the Dolphin for a drink or a sarnie and not raise eyebrows.’

Penny roused herself. ‘Oh, yes. Don and Dorrie are wonderful.’ She forced herself to sound relaxed. ‘It really is lovely.’ They approached the gate of the vicarage. ‘Well. Here we are. Your new home.’

At the front door, Simon put his key in the lock and pushed the door open.

‘SURPRISE!!!!’ A great wall of noisy voices and the smiling faces of Pendruggan villagers hit him. People were blowing hooters and throwing streamers so that, in moments, Simon was covered in coloured paper and hugs.

And, halfway up the stairs, like the Cheshire cat, sat a smiling Queenie with a tray full of her famous pasties.

‘Sorry I didn’t make church, Vicar, but I was busy making these for you.’

Simon was sucked into the crowd as Penny wiped her eyes and waved at Queenie.

‘You didn’t think she’d honestly miss a send-off like this, did you?’ asked Helen.

‘Did you know about this, you cow?’ said Penny, unable to stop the tears of relief. ‘I thought the worst.’

‘Oi,’ Queenie cackled as she reached Penny. ‘What you crying for?’

‘I missed you in church,’ Penny smiled, ‘I was worried for you.’

‘You thought I was dead in me bed, didn’t ya? Don’t lie.’

‘Of course not. It’s just that I’m going to miss you.’ Penny hugged the old lady, feeling her whiskery chin tickle her cheek.

‘Come on, you silly girl, there’s a huge buffet spread out for you all in the lounge.’

‘Not my clean lounge! That’s out of bounds!’

‘Well it ain’t now.’

4

‘Well, that was a surprise,’ Penny said, taking Simon’s hand as they settled in the back of the people carrier taking them to Heathrow. ‘I’m quite exhausted.’

He stroked her hand as he took a last look at the village green and gaggle of people waving from the vicarage garden. ‘It was quite wonderful.’

‘We’ll sleep well on the flight.’ Penny yawned and turned to Jenna, who was rubbing her nose with Blue Ted. ‘You OK, Pidge?’ she asked.

‘Faith is nice,’ said Jenna sleepily. ‘She liked my bedroom. I don’t mind her using it because she said she would show me how to put make-up on when I come back.’

Simon swivelled his shocked eyes towards Penny, who put her arm across Jenna’s shoulders and hugged her. ‘What fun. But no nicking my expensive stuff.’

Jenna giggled. ‘Your make-up is for ladies with wrinkles. Faith told me that. She’s got proper young stuff. She’s even got a purple lipstick.’

‘Wrinkles? I haven’t got wrinkles.’

‘Because you hide them with the wrinkle make-up.’

Simon nodded. ‘She’s got a point.’

Penny elbowed him hard in the ribs, but Jenna hadn’t finished. ‘And when I showed Faith inside your make-up bag she said that her mummy uses that white cream on her moustache, too.’

‘You showed her my make-up bag?’

‘Well, she’s family now, isn’t she? By the way, can I have a mobile phone because Faith says I can ring her any time when I’m in Brazil.’

Simon spluttered, ‘I don’t think so, young lady.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Penny.

Angela and Robert closed their new front door as the last of the party visitors went home.

‘They are nice people,’ said Robert, taking Angela in his arms. ‘I like Helen.’

Angela tucked her head under Robert’s chin. ‘She is nice. I like Piran, too.’

‘Do you?’ he asked. ‘My jury is out. He did suggest we go fishing. But much too macho caveman for me.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Angela. ‘Do you think they’ll like us?’

‘I think they will love you.’ Robert kissed her hair.

Angela laughed. ‘And you! Everybody loves you.’ She paused. ‘Listen.’

Robert listened. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Exactly. Not a sound. No traffic. No aeroplanes. No music. Just the peace of the Cornish countryside.’ Angela stretched up to kiss him. ‘Glass of wine?’

Faith was at the kitchen table, surrounded by the remains of the party food. She was munching the end of a pasty and flicking through her iPad. ‘Wi-Fi here is useless.’

‘Good.’ Angela tickled her daughter’s head as she passed and began opening cupboards, looking for wine glasses. ‘Would you like a small glass of wine? Special occasion and all that.’

Faith cheered up. ‘Yes, please.’

Robert sat across the table from her. ‘What do you think then, Faith? Like your room?’

‘It’s nice apart from being baby pink.’

‘You’ll get over it,’ laughed Robert.

‘To us.’ Angela raised her glass.

‘To you.’ Robert tipped his glass to hers. ‘This is your gig and Faith and I are happy to be the back-up team,’ He swallowed the pale white wine. ‘Nice.’

‘Mamie sent it to us. House-warming present.’

‘When does she get here?’ asked Faith.

‘Tomorrow. She’s bringing Mr Worthington with her.’

Faith clapped her hands. ‘I’ve missed him. We can explore the village together. Apparently the lane by the side of the church goes down to the sea and a nice beach, Jenna told me.’

‘I might make a picnic for us all. If it’s not raining.’ Angela looked around her. ‘Lovely kitchen, isn’t it? I’m a bit afraid of the Aga, though. Never used one before. Is anybody hungry?’

‘Those pasties filled me up. I had two.’ Robert patted his stomach. ‘How about you, Faith?’

‘I think I’ll have a bath now that I’ve got my own en suite.’ She picked up her iPad and strolled to the door.

‘Well, don’t take all the hot water because Daddy and I will want one too.’

‘Gross,’ said Faith with a curled lip. ‘TMI.’

‘Married people do take baths together sometimes, you know,’ Robert called after her.

Faith ran up the stairs. ‘La-la-la-la, I can’t hear you.’

‘Well, that’s got rid of her,’ smiled Robert. ‘Come and sit next to me.’

‘I’ve got stuff to do.’

‘No you haven’t. The removal men are delivering our meagre essentials tomorrow and I know you don’t have to make any beds up because, thoughtfully, Penny told me that she had done them already.’

‘I know,’ Angela sighed gratefully.

‘So, sit here and give me a cuddle.’

‘Can’t we just lie on the sofa, and watch television?’

Robert checked his watch. ‘That’s a point. Chelsea were playing Tottenham earlier. We might get the highlights.’

Robert woke the next morning in the unfamiliar bed in the unfamiliar room. The mattress was supportive but seemed to mould to his body. The pillows were the perfect mix of comfort and yield. The duvet exactly the right weight.

He stretched his limbs, feeling the blood tingle through his body, then relaxed once more.

The light creeping over the top of the curtains drew long, bright fingers over the Victorian corniced, whitewashed ceiling. The walls were painted in a subtle eau-de-Nil, which highlighted the old and uneven plaster. He wondered, as men do, about the workmen who had built this vicarage. How long it had taken them. The families they went home to, covered in sawdust and sweat. They had done a good job. The outer walls were built of sturdy granite and slate. The inner walls probably plaster and lathe with horsehair to bond and insulate.

He closed his eyes and pictured the men working in this room. Caps on. Tweed jackets. Aprons over trousers tied at the ankle. Feet shod in sturdy boots.

They might have sat right where he was lying, eating pasties and smoking pipes.

How many of them had gone on to fight in the Great War? How many had returned? How many were remembered?

He somehow felt connected to them, through the house: now was his turn to make these walls his home. Well, Angela’s turn really …

He reached across for Angela and carefully folded himself around her, feeling the strength in her sinewy back and shoulders and the warmth of her hips on his thighs. His hand reached round and held her taut flat tummy before travelling up to stroke her small breasts. He kissed her neck and she stirred.

‘Good morning, my love,’ he whispered.

‘Hey,’ she whispered back with her eyes still closed.

‘Do you want anything?’

‘What are you offering?’

‘Coffee? Tea? Me?’

‘Faith will hear us.’

‘I’ll be quick and quiet.’

‘Smooth talker.’

Somewhere in the village an engine at full throttle disturbed the moment. It was getting closer and slowing into a lower throatier gear.

Robert and Angela knew at once, even before the two-tone horn set the churchyard crows chattering. Robert rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling before saying, ‘Bloody Mamie.’

The Jensen Interceptor drew to a halt outside their gate. Robert and Angela listened as the car door opened and slammed shut. A feminine, well-educated, husky voice shouted up, ‘Hellooo! Anybody home?’

‘Put your pyjamas on, quick,’ ordered Angela as she flew out of bed and over to her dressing gown. Fastening it round her, she went to the open bedroom window and looked out. The village green, thick with dew, sparkled fresh and green at her. A murder of crows, roused from their sleep by the noise of the engine, flapped and cawed furiously from the churchyard.

A tall woman dressed in a tight pencil skirt, white blouse, with too many buttons undone, and a wide patent leather belt gripping her waist, looked up at her.

‘Darling.’ She opened her arms wide. ‘Am I too early? I have come straight from the dullest dinner date in town. A banker. Three ex-wives. Last one dead. Died of boredom, I suspect. But anyway, the sunrise was so divine I decided to drive straight down. Missed all the traffic. The old Jensen really opened up. If it wasn’t for the traffic cop stopping me I’d have been here even earlier. He was terribly sweet, though. Turned out he was a Jensen fan and wanted to know all about her.’

Angela was still fighting with her dressing gown sleeve. ‘Were you speeding? Is that why he stopped you?’

Mamie shook a white chiffon scarf from her coiffed blond curls and looked sheepish. ‘Maybe. A little. But he was awfully nice. Just a little ticking-off. Wasn’t that sweet? Aren’t you going to open the door and let me in? Mr Worthington is dying for a pee.’

‘An Aga, darling!’ cried Mamie as if she were looking at the crown jewels. ‘God, I am so jealous. I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to have one of my own, but darling Jeremy’s mother – you know, the one who was married to the Home Secretary – cooked divine things on hers.’

‘Oh, good,’ said Angela, who didn’t have a clue who darling Jeremy was. ‘You can show me how to use it then.’ She reached for the big old steel kettle. ‘I can just about boil this on it.’ She lifted the left-hand lid of the Aga and plonked the kettle on it.

‘Now, darling, don’t be silly. You know I don’t cook. By the way, has my early arrival interrupted a little something between you and Robert?’

Angela pulled her dressing gown closer around her. ‘No.’

‘Ah.’ Mamie smiled wickedly. ‘It’s just that you’ve got it on inside out.’

Angela blushed and then began to laugh. ‘Oh, Mamie, I am so pleased to see you.’ She hugged her aunt.

‘Me too,’ said Faith, arriving with a yawn. ‘Group hug, please.’

Mamie held her arms out for the three-way embrace. ‘Look at you. So beautiful, and so tall.’

‘Children do tend to grow,’ said Robert from the doorway. ‘Hi, Mamie. Welcome to Cornwall.’ The group hug separated and Mamie gave Robert the once-over.

‘Robert, you look divine in pyjamas. I had you down for a sleeping-in-the-buff kind of man.’ She raised an eyebrow saucily at him as Faith made a retching sound and Angela changed the subject.

‘Where’s Mr Worthington?’

‘In the car. Sleeping. Dreadful company. And he has had the most unpleasant attack of wind all the way down the motorway, so try not to breathe around him.’

Faith was already out in the hall and wrenching open the front door. Within moments a long-legged, shaggy wolfhound with caramel eyes and a dignified face lolloped in. Faith followed behind. ‘Your car does smell terrible, but Mr Worthington says he’s very sorry.’

Angela sank to her knees and fondled the big wise head in her lap. ‘Hello, boy. Welcome to your new home. You’ve come to live by the seaside. Shall we go walkies on the beach later? Shall we?’

Mr Worthington thumped his long, feathery tail on the kitchen tiles and held a leg up to have his elbow tickled.

Breakfast was a busy mêlée of boiled eggs and gossip as Mamie demanded to hear all about the new people of the village.

‘Queenie sounds like my kind of gal,’ she affirmed. ‘We’ll be great friends. Get her out on the tonk and I’ll know everything there is to know in a flash. And what about you, Robert? What will this year in Cornwall bring you?’

‘I am here purely as Angela’s wingman.’

‘Not going to put your journalistic talents to use?’ Mamie liked to get straight to the point. ‘I am certain that the local news outlets would love to have the famous Robert Whitehorn on their books.’

‘Oh, no, no. My first priority is to get Faith settled into her new school.’

Mamie turned her shrewd eyes to Faith. ‘When do you do your GCSEs?’

‘Mocks are in the summer term,’ Faith said, scowling. ‘Real ones next year.’

‘A bit disruptive for you, then?’

‘My old school is keeping an eye on the syllabus down here, before I go back there. It should be fine.’

Mamie nodded slowly. ‘Just promise me one thing.’

‘What?’

‘You work hard and you don’t give your parents any trouble. This is a big year for your mother. Her first parish. She needs this to go well and for you to respect that. Got it?’

‘Got it.’

‘Good.’ Mamie stood up decisively. ‘I am going to unpack. Have a shower and get out of these townie clothes.’

‘Don’t you want to have a rest? You haven’t been to bed,’ said Faith kindly.

‘Good God, no. I’ve never needed much sleep. Time for that when I’m dead. Now, Faith, take that dog for a pee, please. He stinks. Robert, you wash up. Angela, get dressed. I want to see this new church of yours.’

5

The vestry key, heavy and old, had a knack to it that Simon had showed her but Angela now couldn’t remember.

‘The previous vicar told me the trick but …’ she turned the key and wiggled the old latch to no avail, ‘… I can’t think what it was.’

‘Give it to me,’ said Mamie. Angela stepped aside as her aunt lifted the latch and pulled the door up and outwards. She turned the key. The door opened smoothly. ‘I think it’s one of those doors that changes with the weather,’ she said to an astonished Angela. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ She stepped into the vestry. ‘God, it’s cold in here.’

‘The heating’s on a timer.’ Angela was looking for the light switch. ‘Just a couple of hours twice a day, to keep the old place ticking over.’ She found the old brass light switch and flipped it down with a pleasing clunk. A dim, unshaded single bulb, hanging from the ceiling, began to glow. ‘It’ll warm up in a minute. Let there be light and all that,’ said Angela, hoping that Mamie wouldn’t hate everything. ‘And I think the bank of lights switches over by the door there turns on the main lights.’

Mamie peered at the plastic panel and pushed each switch down.

Angela opened the inner door to the church and found the nave and choir fully lit. ‘Oh, good. They are the right ones.’

Mamie walked in and took in the beauty of the old church with the late morning sun making the jewelled, stained-glass windows glow.

Taking her time, she stepped towards the altar, heels clicking on the cardinal-red floor tiles. She gazed up at the vaulted ceiling, motes of dust drifting through the sunbeams.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘Imagine all the weddings and baptisms and funerals that have taken place here.’ She turned to Angela. ‘It’s perfect and you are perfect for it.’

An anxious Angela asked, ‘So you like it?’

Mamie sat on a pew. ‘Darling, I am bursting with pride.’

‘Would Mum like it?’ Angela asked as she sat next to Mamie.

‘She’d hug herself with joy.’ Mamie put her feet up on the pew in front of her. ‘Bloody cold, obviously, but this is exactly where you belong. I can feel it. There is good karma here. I like the smell too. Beeswax. God, if your mother were here she’d be polishing every day.’

Angela grinned. She pointed at a needlepoint kneeler lying at her feet and examined the motif of a lamb watching a bright star in a night sky. ‘Wouldn’t she love making one of these?’

Mamie nodded. ‘Oh, yes. She’d have the stitch-and-bitch club up and running. Knitting for beginners, forcing the poor grannies and young mums into creating hideous pram blankets and woolly hats.’ She sighed. ‘I miss her.’

Angela looked towards the altar and sighed. ‘This is one of those times when I want to ring her. Tell her all about it. I find myself actually reaching for the phone at times. Let her know how Faith is doing. How happy I am with Robert … Silly, isn’t it?’

Mamie took her niece’s hand. ‘I do the same. Very often. I miss her more than I can say. I have so much to thank her for.’ She rummaged the depths of her pockets. ‘Three years this October.’ She pulled out a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter. ‘Can I smoke in here?’

‘Probably not but I won’t tell.’

Mamie lit up and blew a plume of smoke into the still air, then turned her concerned eyes towards Angela. ‘How are you?’

Angela watched the smoke rise in the still air. ‘OK.’

‘Only OK?’

‘I haven’t cried for almost a fortnight.’

‘And the tablets?’

Angela looked at her hands. ‘Good. Half the dose now. Dr King keeps an eye on me.’

‘And who will keep an eye on you while you are here?’

‘I can call Dr King any time. But we generally chat once a week. It helps. Sometimes I’m fine, sometimes I am drowning in the grief of missing Mum and other times I am totally numb. Dr King says it’s all normal.’

‘Do you talk to Robert when things are difficult?’

‘I try not to. It worries him and he feels helpless so …’ Angela rubbed at her forehead, not wanting to break down in front of Mamie.

‘When we were little, your mum and I, she was the good daughter. If there was washing to hang on the line, she’d do it. If Mum needed her feet rubbed, it was her she wanted. It caused more than a little sibling rivalry between us, I can tell you.’

Angela smiled. ‘Mum told me you were a bit of a rebel.’

‘A bit! The uncomfortable truth is, I was jealous of her. Her beauty, her sweetness, her brains. Her smooth complexion. She had no need to rebel. Everyone loved her.’

‘She told me she envied your independence.’

‘Oh, I was independent all right. Lipstick, boyfriends, the Rolling Stones, cigarettes and gin. Insisting that everyone called me Mamie rather than Marjorie.’

Angela laughed. ‘Is it true that you tried to get Mum to change her name too?’

‘Oh, yes! How could I have a sister called Elsie! I went on and on at her. Ellie. You must be called Ellie. Mamie and Ellie sounded infinitely better than Marjorie and Elsie.’

‘And yet you were so close as you got older.’

‘We were. She was my best friend. I could tell her anything and she’d never judge me.’

Angela nodded. ‘She told me that when Dad died, you came straight home to be with her.’

‘Where else would I be? Anyway, being a chalet girl in Klosters might have sounded good but it was a terrible job. The men were all randy, but ugly, and the women were all skeletal bitches.’

Angela laughed. ‘I can imagine you arriving, all glam in white salopettes and fur boots.’

‘I brought her a bottle of Nina Ricci L’Air du Temps from duty-free. To cheer her up.’ Mamie inhaled her cigarette deeply then stubbed the butt on the tiled floor. She noted Angela’s raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll pick it up before we go. So I gave her the perfume and she hugged me for it and, shortly afterwards, we discovered you were on the way.’

Angela bent down and picked up the discarded cigarette butt. ‘What would she and I have done without you?’

‘Well, you’d have been called Tracey, for a start!’

‘What?’

‘Yep. It was the name of the midwife who delivered you. Terrible idea. So I gave her some better options. Sadie. Eloise. Tuesday.’

‘Tuesday?’

‘Well, you were born on a Tuesday. Anyway, she said no to all of them and then I thought of Angelina because you were such an angel, but your Mum preferred Angela so here we are. And, as it happens, the perfect name for a perfect vicar.’

‘I will be happy with being a half-decent vicar.’

Mamie put a comforting arm around her niece and kissed her hair. ‘Darling, your mum and I couldn’t be more proud of you.’

‘Thank you.’ Angela’s eyes pricked with tears. ‘I wonder if I have been incredibly selfish. Asking Robert to take a year out. Disrupting Faith’s school life …’

‘Now stop that!’ Mamie reached for her bag and drew out her packet of cigarettes. ‘That is self-indulgent nonsense and you know it.’ She lit another cigarette and with it between her teeth said, ‘You, my girl, are a brave and wonderful woman. Robert will survive; in fact, I think he’s very grateful to be out of his rut for a bit.’

‘It’s not a rut! Mamie, the Prime Minister calls him Bob. The BBC are thinking of sending him to Washington to be their correspondent. He is important. I’m just a rookie vicar who has landed in a tiny rural parish and who isn’t so certain that it’s the best thing I could have done.’

‘You might like to have a few joss sticks burning in here,’ Mamie said.

‘Don’t change the subject. I’m trying to tell you how scared I am. This could all turn out to be a huge disaster.’ Angela clenched her hands anxiously.

‘My darling girl, I may not have faith in your God, but whoever she is, she has faith in you. This is simply a test of that faith.’

Angela angrily brushed away a stray tear. ‘It’s hard. Believing in something that others think is a fantasy. People judge me. Think I am naïve. Mad.’

‘Who thinks that?’

‘You. Robert. Faith. Old friends. I’ve been asked so often, If there is a God, why does he allow war and violence? I can only say that we were given the Ten Commandments to live by but God gave us the free will to follow them or not. Not much of an answer, is it?’

Mamie sat silently, mulling this over, then said, ‘If I believe in anything it is the innate goodness that lies inside humans. You will lead this parish by example.’

Angela took a deep breath then sighed. ‘I will try.’

‘You’re only human.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So what about some joss sticks?’

‘No.’ Angela smiled weakly.

‘Why not?’ Mamie shrugged.

‘Because I am an ordained priest in the Christian Church. Not an old hippy like you.’

‘So pompous and pious,’ Mamie teased. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a joss stick. Great for meditation. Why wouldn’t they be great for prayer? Tell me where in the Bible God says, Let there be no joss sticks?’

‘Fire hazard.’ Angela sniffed. ‘And please don’t stub that cigarette out on the floor again.’

‘Sorry.’ Mamie stood and walked up the aisle. ‘Nice vibe in this building. I can see you bringing fun and spirit to this place. It may not be an inner-city area but it will have its own problems. Humans like to make a mess of their lives and all human mess will be here exactly as it is in any other parish.’ She walked back to where Angela was still sitting. ‘All joking apart, darling, I know you will make a difference. Whatever that difference may be. Too late for me, of course. God gave up on me years ago. But he likes you.’

‘He likes all of us, even you,’ Angela said fondly.

‘Don’t try and convert me. It’s much too late. Now let’s get out of here, I want to see the beach.’

They went back to the vicarage and picked up an excited Mr Worthington and Faith. The latter was in a tiny jumper and hot pants.

‘Put some clothes on. You’ll catch your death out there,’ Mamie ordered.

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Faith, wrapping an extra-long scarf round her neck.

‘It’s raining,’ her mother told her. ‘Put your coat on.’

Faith did as she was told, grumbling, ‘You’re so boring.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Mamie said, propelling her to the door.

The weather had turned from the early sunshine and bright blue sky to a grey accumulation of grim-looking clouds. Shellsand Bay was at its bleakest. As the three women, with Mr Worthington bounding ahead of them, neared the beach, the wind pummelled their faces and the roar of the waves filled their ears.

The weak sunshine layered strips of colour across the wrinkled sea. Steel grey, bright silver, and oily green met and mingled, changing with the dance of the wind.

The white-capped waves hissed as they bumped on the shore, their rhythm soothing and hypnotic. Dozens of smooth pebbles chasing and flipping as the tide sucked the water out again.

Mamie took off her wedge-heeled gold trainers, revealing tanned feet with scarlet-painted toenails. ‘Paddling, Faith?’ she called above the strong breeze, not blind to the fact that Faith was shaking with the cold, her bare legs, sticking out from under her far from sensible coat, covered in goosebumps and turning blue.

‘No.’

‘Well, Mr Worthington and I are going in. Come on. What about you Angela?’

‘No, thank you.’ Angela’s chin was down inside her jacket.

‘What’s wrong with the pair of you? When you’ve lived with the Inuits your blood thickens. Hold my shoes.’ She handed them to Angela. ‘Come on, Mr Worthington.’

Excitedly, Mr Worthington dashed ahead, stopping to circle back for her every few seconds. He spotted a piece of driftwood and wrapped his jaws around it, sand and all, plonking it at Mamie’s feet.

She obliged and threw it high towards the water line.

Angela and Faith watched her from the drier sand.

‘Inuits?’ asked Faith. ‘What, like, living in an igloo?’

‘Hmm.’ Angela frowned slightly. ‘I can’t always tell which of her stories are real, embroidered or simply fiction.’

‘Who was supposed to have given her that fur coat again?’

‘A man she met in Marrakesh. He told her it had been left behind in a restaurant by Rita Hayworth, who had never returned to claim it.’

‘Who’s Rita Hayworth?’

‘The most alluring film star of her day.’

Faith wrinkled her nose. ‘Weird.’

‘Nice coat, though.’

‘Yeah, like wearing dead animals on your back is like a good thing. As if the poor things were, like,’ Faith raised the pitch of her voice to mimic a small mammal, ‘oh yeah, please murder me and wear me as a coat. I’d be honoured.’

‘Well, let’s not get into that right now. That was then and this is now and Aunt Mamie is Aunt Mamie and … oh my goodness, she’s fallen over.’

Mamie had been bowled over by an overenthusiastic Mr Worthington and was now on her knees clutching at the shifting sand as a huge wave crashed over her, soaking her hair, leaving her gasping for breath, and tugging her further out.

As Faith and Angela ran to her, shouting, ‘We’re coming. Hold on,’ they heard strong footsteps racing behind them. Angela turned and saw Piran.

‘My aunt! She’s fallen in,’ she shouted.

Piran made no answer. He simply ran to the water’s edge and strode into the icy waves. Mamie had found her feet and was staggering in the swell but the next wave knocked her over again and pulled her further out. Piran shouted to her but his voice was just a rag on the wind. Now up to his waist, he plunged in, swimming with admirable strength, as Angela and Faith were later to attest, towards a helpless Mamie.

‘He’s got her,’ shrieked Faith to her mother, panting. ‘Hang onto him, Auntie Mamie,’ she shouted.

At last, Mamie was towed in, arriving breathless and tumbled.

‘Oh goodness.’ She rested on Piran’s shoulder, trembling and trying to pull her hair from her eyes. ‘How can I thank you?’

‘What the bleddy ’ell do you think you were doing, woman?’ Piran said tersely, gripping her shoulders and pushing her off him.

Mamie let go of him and pulled herself up straight. ‘Thank you so much for saving my life. Very kind of you. Though you are hardly Prince Charming.’

Piran saw the coal-like glitter in her eyes. He glared back. ‘And you’re no Cinderella.’

Angela looked from one to the other. ‘Please. Stop. It’s all been a shock.’ She put her hand on Piran’s arm. ‘Thank you for saving my aunt, Piran. Perhaps you’d like to come back to the vicarage where I can give you some dry clothes and a hot drink?’

‘Thank you, no.’ He shook out his sodden jumper and looked up the beach to where Mr Worthington and a Jack Russell were chasing each other. ‘Jack, heel.’

‘Please send my love to Helen.’ Angela attempted a smile. ‘It was so good of you both to come to the party yesterday.’

‘Had to give Simon and Penny a good send-off, didn’t we? We’m going to miss them.’

Angela felt squashed. ‘Yes. Well. Simon has left big shoes to fill.’

‘Too bleddy right he has,’ Piran retorted.

Jack sauntered up and sniffed at Mamie’s leg. Her arms aching, her teeth chattering, her heart banging, she could only watch as the little dog raised his rear leg and peed on her foot.

Piran wiped a demon’s smile from his face with a huge hand. ‘Come on boy,’ he said, his eyes still dancing with amusement. ‘Home.’

‘What a horrible gorilla of a man!’ Mamie complained as she squelched through the back door.

‘I’m going to run you a bath,’ Angela said. ‘Give me your clothes and I will launder them.’

‘What an absolute oaf,’ Mamie said emphatically, peeling off her sodden things.

‘Who is?’ asked Robert as he ambled into the kitchen and backed out again at the sight of his aunt-in-law in bra and pants.

‘Don’t be so priggish,’ responded Mamie. ‘Never seen a woman in her underwear before?’

Angela gave him a warning glance. ‘Make yourself useful and put the kettle on. Mamie fell into the sea and Piran saved her.’

‘Good old Piran.’

‘I saw nothing good in the man.’ Mamie’s anger grew and filled the kitchen. ‘He was unspeakably rude to me and insulted Angela.’

‘Really?’

‘I don’t think he meant to. It was all very heat-of-the-moment stuff,’ said Angela, moving to the kettle that Robert had ignored. ‘Tea? Anyone?’

‘Tea?’ Mamie was unimpressed. ‘I need some brandy.’

‘Robert, please get Auntie Mamie some brandy and fetch her dressing gown and a warm towel from the airing cupboard.’

‘The pink silk wrap on the bathroom door, Robert,’ Mamie added. ‘Toot sweet, if you could. I’m freezing my jacksie off here.’

After a hot bath and a change into warm pyjamas, Mamie came downstairs to find the sitting room fire had been lit. A proper afternoon tea was laid out on the piano. Cheese sandwiches, ham sandwiches, scones and cake. Angela was setting down the teapot.

‘Angela, what a spread,’ Mamie exclaimed. ‘The country is doing you good.’

Angela sat heavily on the sofa and sighed. ‘The leftovers from yesterday’s farewell party for Simon and Helen. I hope the sandwiches are not too curled at the edges.’

Robert entered with an armful of logs. ‘Simon has a fine log store round the side of the house.’ He crouched in front of the crackling grate and balanced a log onto the blaze. ‘Very impressive. Simon knows what he’s doing obviously. A good log store takes understanding and time to …’ he looked up at the unimpressed faces of Angela and Mamie and changed tack, ‘Ah. There you are, Mamie. Better after the bath? Another brandy?’

‘If you don’t mind. Then I shall tell you all about this afternoon’s misadventure.’

After he’d heard the story, he was torn between respect for Piran and a desire to go round and punch his lights out. ‘I had my doubts about the man when I met him yesterday.’

‘Did you really?’ Angela contradicted. ‘I thought you said you were looking forward to going fishing with him.’

‘Going fishing with him and liking him are two entirely different things.’

‘He’s a swine.’ Mamie tipped the brandy into her mouth and held out the glass for Robert to refill.

Angela plonked the remains of a Victoria sponge onto her plate and sat down. ‘I think he was in shock. Remember, Robert, when Faith was small and we lost her in that hypermarket in France? When we found her you shouted at her until you were hoarse.’

‘That was with relief.’

‘Quite. And I believe that Piran was feeling the same. Relief. Shock. The poor man was only out on a walk with his dog and ended up fully submerged in the icy Atlantic, saving the life of a strange, fully clothed woman.’

Mamie growled, ‘I was the victim.’

Angela pulled a face of disbelief. ‘You have never been a victim. I shall go and see Piran and Helen tomorrow and pour oil on troubled waters. We have only just arrived and I want to be friends with everybody. I want this year to be a success.’ She glared at her aunt and husband. ‘You two have to buck up and be nice. Understood?’

Mamie pursed her lips and looked over at Robert. ‘I suppose I could,’ she said reluctantly. ‘If Robert will.’

‘I will,’ answered Robert slowly. ‘Just as long as no one else takes a pop at either of you.’

‘Good. That’s sorted.’ Angela smiled at them both and pushed a large chunk of Victoria sponge into her mouth.

Two hundred yards away, across the village green, Helen was having words with Piran in her cottage.

‘How could you? You have insulted Angela by suggesting she’s not welcome here, and you have been extremely rude to an elderly lady.’

‘She ain’t no lady. I can tell. Smelling like a tart’s boudoir and pouring herself all over me when I put her down. You should have seen her face when Jack cocked his leg on her foot. Priceless.’

Helen picked up Piran’s wet jumper from the rail of the Aga and threw it at him. ‘Goodbye.’

Piran caught the jumper in astonishment. ‘Now what’s got into you? I thought you was cooking supper?’

‘I am cooking supper. But not for you. I don’t like it when you go all Neanderthal. Go to the pub and get something there.’

‘But my trousers are still damp.’

‘Well, go back to your house, get changed, and then go to the pub.’

Scowling, Piran went to the door, whistling up Jack behind him. ‘Come on, Jack. Someone’s had a sense of humour failure.’

Helen winced as he slammed the front door. Piran was one of the kindest, gentlest men she had ever met. But, unfortunately, he still had rather a large slice of chauvinism in his blood.

Helen abandoned the idea of making a lasagne, and took a Scotch egg, some salad and a bottle of wine out of the fridge. Putting the small meal together she went to her snug front room and turned on the television. A romantic comedy starring Ryan Gosling was just starting. Helen settled into the sofa and balanced her plate on her lap. She took a sip of wine and put her feet up.

‘He’ll be back,’ she said to herself. ‘Idiotic man.’

6

‘Good morning, darling.’ Mamie put her face around the door of Angela’s office where Angela was on her knees stacking books onto Simon’s emptied shelves. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Always.’ Angela heaved herself up and kissed her aunt. ‘How are you after yesterday? No bruises or chills?’

Mamie laughed her throaty laugh. ‘It’d take more than a dunk to kill me off. And in retrospect, my rescuer was rather handsome.’

Angela shook her head. ‘He’s taken.’

‘My dear, I have never stooped to stealing a man.’

‘Well, don’t start now, please.’

‘Even when John was having a “break” – I think that’s the modern term – from Yoko, I told him firmly, no.’

‘You mean …?’

‘Yes. And he was sweet. But so was she.’

Again Angela shook her head in amazement. ‘Why have I never heard about that before?’

‘One forgets all that one has done in one’s past,’ Mamie replied airily. ‘I am going to explore the village shop. Get some stamps … and some local gossip.’

Queenie was sitting in her comfy old armchair in the Pendruggan village store chatting to Tony, the village gardener.

‘So I wants some window boxes this year. Make the shop entrance even more enticing.’

Tony scratched his nose. ‘Do you want me to write things down?’

‘Help yourself to one of them notebooks on the shelf behind you and there’s me pen on the counter. I was thinking apricot geraniums.’

Tony sat back down and opened the school exercise book he’d found. ‘I’ll write that down.’

‘And maybe some light blue pansies.’

‘Right you are.’

‘And African marigolds. My husband loved marigolds. Now he did have green fingers. Just like you.’

‘Mrs Merrifield says that too. I don’t know what she mean. Mine fingers are brown,’ said Tony, looking at his weather-beaten hands.

‘Yes, but that’s what makes them green.’

The bell above the shop door rang and Mamie entered, distracting Tony from this puzzle.

Queenie was on her feet in a flash. There was nothing she liked more than a stranger.

Mamie towered over Queenie’s arthritic frame. ‘Good morning.’ She flashed her most charming smile.

‘Good morning,’ replied Queenie, looking the glamorous woman up and down critically, absorbing every detail to recount to her customers. She folded her arms and hitched up her bosoms. ‘Can I help you?’

Tony was sitting with his mouth open, entranced. ‘Is that your Jensen Interceptor sports car outside the vicarage?’

Mamie smiled. ‘Yes. Do you like cars?’

‘No. But I like yours.’

‘Thank you.’

‘A 1976 seven-point-two litre,’ he recited.

‘Yes. My goodness,’ smiled Mamie. ‘You sound very knowledgeable. Would you like a ride in it?’

Tony bobbed his head down quickly, blushing furiously. ‘No. I don’t like going in cars. They make me all bobbled up.’

Mamie put her head to one side and assessed this man-child in front of her. ‘I see. But perhaps you’d like to look at it one day?’

Tony, keeping his head down, nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Any time you like.’ She stuck her hand out. ‘Hello. I’m Mamie. I am the new vicar’s aunt.’

Tony kept his hands by his sides and, without looking at her, said, ‘I’m Simple Tony. I do gardening. But I like washing cars.’

‘What a marvellous thing.’ Mamie took her hand back. ‘She needs a good wash and polish. When are you free?’

‘I’ll go home and get a bucket and a sponge now.’ He looked at Queenie. ‘Am I allowed to?’

‘Of course you are.’ Queenie was pleased to get Mamie all to herself. ‘Off you go.’

The two women watched him leave, his dark shiny hair as sleek as a mole’s.

‘He’ll do a good job. Don’t worry,’ Queenie reassured Mamie.

‘I’m sure he will.’ Mamie looked around at the shelves in the shop and took in the time warp of goods on offer. Blakey’s heel studs. Bra strap extenders. An impressive news stand laden with gossip magazines. Faded stationery items. Tinned mandarins, frankfurters and processed peas. A vast display of cigarettes, vapes and pipe tobacco. Cheap plastic dolls and boxes, small and large, of jigsaw puzzles. Mamie twirled on the spot to take it all in. ‘This isn’t a village store,’ she breathed in admiration. ‘This is an emporium.’

‘Oh, yes, me duck, it is that. I can send a parcel to Peru from me post office counter and feed you a homemade pasty, all in the same five minutes.’ Queenie moved a tatty lamp with a pink-fringed shade out of the way and took herself behind her ancient wooden counter. ‘So, how can I help you?’

Mamie pointed a fiery red fingernail at a jar of red sweets. ‘May I have a quarter of the aniseed twists, please?’

Silently Queenie weighed her up. She recognised something in the woman in front of her, one gossip to another. ‘What have you really come for?’

Mamie held her hands up in surrender. ‘I’m new and want to know the ins and outs of the village.’

‘Take a seat.’ Queenie pointed at Simple Tony’s empty chair. ‘I’ll put a pot of tea on.’

‘Coffee, love?’ Robert nudged the office door open with his elbow. Angela had filled all the bookshelves but the very top one, and was now balanced on a chair with several hardbacks in her hands. ‘Let me do that,’ he said.

She reached up on tiptoes but still couldn’t quite reach. ‘Couldn’t find the stepladders.’

Robert put the mugs down on the desk. ‘Come down. I’ll do it.’ He put his hands on her waist and effortlessly lifted her to the floor. ‘Drink your coffee.’

‘Thank you.’

She sat and watched as he pushed the books into their new home. ‘Any more?’

She shook her head. ‘Done.’ She sipped her coffee and put a foot on his lap as he pulled the chair he’d been standing on closer and sat down.

He rubbed it gently. ‘Where’s Faith?’

‘In her room grumbling about the Wi-Fi. Has the Sky TV man fixed the telly?’

‘Oh, yes. My fifty-four-inch pride and joy is now receiving all the favourites and Love Island.’

‘Couldn’t we lose that one?’

‘And lose Faith too?’

‘Life would be quieter …’

He nodded. ‘And cheaper.’

They quietly acknowledged this truth.

Robert broke the silence. ‘Nice view of the village green from here.’

‘Mr Worthington likes it.’

‘Where is he?’

‘On Faith’s bed.’

‘I thought we said no …’

‘We did but he persuaded me she needed him.’

‘You’re too soft.’ He stopped rubbing her foot. ‘Other one.’ She swapped. ‘That’s why I love you,’ he said. ‘I love all of you. Even your cheesy feet.’

She smiled. ‘I can’t thank you enough for coming all this way. Uprooting yourself, and Faith, to support me.’

‘I am a saint.’

‘You are!’

‘Is there a Saint Robert?’

‘Yes. I’m looking at him.’ She drained her coffee and took her foot back. ‘How many more boxes have we got left to empty?’

‘The last few are in the sitting room. Only my books. I thought I’d put them on the shelves by the fireplace?’

‘I’ll help you and then we could take Mr W for a walk?’

There was a sharp knock on the front door. ‘And so it begins.’ Robert stretched his arms above his head. ‘A parishioner. I’ll bet a fiver.’ There was a second impatient knock. ‘Definitely a parishioner. I’m off to hide in the sitting room.’

On her own, Angela opened the front door.

Audrey Tipton pushed her way over the threshold. ‘Ah, Angela. I must talk to you.’

Angela was zipping through her mental Rolodex, trying desperately to remember the woman’s name. She finally got to it. ‘It’s Audrey, isn’t it? Do come into my study.’

Back in the village store, Queenie was rolling a cigarette. ‘And that’s his story.’

‘So he doesn’t mind being called Simple Tony? Only it’s very un-PC.’

‘It’s what his mum and dad called him and he’s happy. But don’t think he’s stupid. Far from it. Innocent. Trusting. Kind. But not stupid. He has his odd little ways but, by God, half the gardens in this village, let alone the churchyard, would be in a terrible state if it weren’t for him.’

‘And he looks after himself?’

‘Oh, yes. He has a little shepherd’s hut in Polly’s garden. She’s at Candle Cottage. Ambulance paramedic and white witch. Lovely woman. She keeps an eye on him. And next door to her is Helen. Londoner, like me. Came down a few years ago after her husband had done one too many naughties.’ She cocked an eye at Mamie. ‘You get my drift?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, she’s going out with Piran. Lovely bloke. Kind as they come.’

‘I’ve met them.’ Mamie pulled a face. ‘He pulled me out of the sea yesterday. I fell in.’

‘Did you?’ Queenie was all ears. ‘How’d you manage that?’

‘A dog. A stick. A big wave.’

‘Oh my Gawd. I bet Piran weren’t too happy about that.’

‘No, he wasn’t. He was rather rude and told me off.’

Queenie began to laugh. A warm wheezy chuckle that ended in a coughing fit. She wiped her eyes and the corners of her mouth with a small handkerchief, then tucked it back under the cuff of her cardigan.

‘He don’t like strangers.’

‘Clearly. Handsome bugger, though.’

‘Keep your hands off.’ Queenie frowned. ‘He’s Helen’s.’

Mamie laughed. ‘Darling, that’s not my thing. I made a promise to myself when I was young. So many men with “attachments” are only too keen to cheat, but it’s the women they pursue who get the blame.’

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Queenie crossed her arms and gave Mamie a hard stare. ‘So, tell me your story.’

‘So you see, there is an awful lot of work left to me,’ Audrey boomed, ‘because the village rely on my organisational skills and artistic flair, constantly.’

Angela was trying hard not to quail. ‘From this list,’ she held the five A4 pages in their clear document case that Audrey had thrust upon her, ‘I see there are many things.’

‘Indeed.’ Audrey buttoned up her tweed jacket and brushed the pleats of the matching skirt. ‘Now, if I may just take a look around …’

‘Around?’

‘Yes,’ Audrey said in astonishment that this mousy woman should challenge her. ‘I am keeping an eye on things while Rev Canter is away.’

‘There is no need,’ Angela said firmly, moving to open the study door and get this woman out of her home.

Audrey was not used to being disobeyed. ‘Mrs Whitehorn, this is not a slight on your abilities …’

‘Please call me Angela or Reverend Whitehorn.’

Audrey’s lips tightened. So did Angela’s.

Robert’s voice called from the sitting room, ‘Ange. Come and have a look. Is this OK?’

Audrey took her chance and pushed past Angela, heading for the sitting room.

‘Mr Whitehorn. Good morning,’ she announced triumphantly. ‘I just dropped in to talk one or two things through with your wife.’ She advanced towards the tall, dark and handsome Robert. ‘I’m Audrey. We met at the vicar’s leaving party.’

Robert responded firmly, ‘Or, as I like to call it, the new vicar’s welcome party.’

Audrey surveyed the room. Much as she hated to admit it, Penny Canter had good taste and had left the room perfectly furnished while removing only the more personal possessions. She walked to the bookshelves and inspected the titles.

‘I have a penchant for crime stories,’ Robert felt obliged to explain. ‘Love a good murder mystery.’

Audrey scanned the spines of the books, then spun on her heel to face him. ‘I’ve had the most marvellous idea. You shall give the WI a talk on crime writers and great detectives of literature. I’ll check the diary and find a suitable date.’

‘But I have never given a talk to the WI, or anybody else for that matter. Let alone on crime. I could perhaps talk about my work as a political writer?’

‘Well, that’s two talks you will give. What a productive morning. Now I must get on, good day to you both.’

Queenie was engrossed in Mamie’s life story. ‘You never did.’

‘I certainly did.’ Mamie leant closer. ‘He was absolutely charming, but a rogue.’

‘I loved his voice. I had lots of his records. Gave them to a boot sale.’

‘He sang “Fly Me to the Moon” once, over dinner. He was on the tonk, of course. Never truly sober.’

Queenie gave a whoop of joy. ‘You’ve lived, entcha! Did you ever meet Elvis?’

‘We locked eyes over a crowded room once. He was a man with grace and animal magnetism.’ Mamie halted at the memory, then sighed. ‘But he was with Priscilla so …’

‘Cor, I’d’ve been at him like a rat up a pipe.’

‘Queenie! You shock me.’

‘I haven’t had such a good chat for ages.’ Queenie settled into her chair, groaning slightly as she stretched her old legs in front of her. ‘Getting old is no bleeding fun, is it?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Mamie laughed. ‘By the way,’ she pointed at Queenie’s tobacco pouch and Rizla papers, ‘have you ever smoked a little pot?’

‘You what?’ Queenie was bemused.

‘Had a little toke? A swifty? A bifta?’

‘Are you talking about – marryjuana?’ Queenie frowned.

‘Well, yes,’ smiled Mamie.

‘No,’ Queenie said slowly, ‘but I’ve wanted to have a go.’

‘Then,’ Mamie looked around her for prying ears and whispered, ‘shall we? Just a little? Excellent for arthritis.’

‘Is it? When?’

‘I’ll let you know when I have some.’ Mamie smiled naughtily. ‘I haven’t done it for years but seeing how good you are at rolling your cigarettes, what would be the harm?’

The two women, both so different outwardly, but inwardly so similar, locked eyes as sisters.

‘Grab life by the horns, my mum always said,’ Queenie said. ‘That’s what she told me when I was evacuated from the East End. Gawd, I missed her, but one of bloody Hitler’s bombs didn’t. That’s why I stayed here after the war. Nothing to go back to. Met my husband here and I grabbed life by the horns, like she told me.’

Mamie nodded. ‘I think you and I are going to be friends.’

‘We already are, girl. We already are.’

7

It was the morning of Angela’s first Sunday as vicar of Pendruggan.

Now, she was standing in the vestry, staring into the old speckled mirror at her reflection. ‘Do I look all right?’

Robert looked at her with a nod. ‘Perfect.’

‘My heart is hammering.’

‘I should hope so!’ he laughed.

‘You know what I mean. I’m so nervous.’

‘The bloody bells are enough to make anyone nervous. Do they have to be so loud?’

‘The ringers are doing a special “welcome” peal. Isn’t that nice of them?’

‘Lovely.’ Robert looked at his watch. ‘Right. I’d better find my seat. Faith and Mamie are keeping it warm for me.’ He kissed her lips tenderly. ‘Love you. Good luck.’

Not long after, standing at the back of the church, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The ringing bells in the tower behind her finished on three deep gongs. The vibration shook the ancient stones under her feet and she took a moment to offer a silent prayer of thanks and support.

The organist started the opening notes of ‘Lord of all hopefulness’ and Angela began her walk down the aisle. Heads turned as the parishioners stood to catch sight of her and offer friendly smiles.

She got through the welcome, grateful that she had decided not to make any major changes to Simon’s traditional service. Two more hymns and readings, and now the time had come for her to climb into the pulpit and deliver her first sermon.

In the front pew, Mamie’s shaking fingers found Robert’s hand. She squeezed it with a nervous smile.

Robert looked up at Angela and winked.

Angela swallowed hard and began.

‘Good morning, everyone.’

A few voices returned her greeting. ‘Morning.’

‘I must say I am a bit nervous to be standing in front of you this morning.’

The congregation smiled back, giving her some confidence.

‘I am very new to this as I was ordained only at the end of last year, but I feel so lucky to have landed here in Pendruggan. My first proper job as a vicar. And the first woman to preach here. You may have had some misgivings about me coming here and want to know something about me. So here goes. Robert, my husband, and I have been married for almost twenty years. We met when we were both working for a paper called the Manchester Evening News. Fresh out of university, I thought I’d found my career. The cut and thrust of the newsroom excited me. There wasn’t a cat up a tree or a lost dog that didn’t get my full attention. My sympathetic interviews with devastated pet owners and my incisive writing skills led me to have none of my stories ever printed. All spiked by the editor, a seasoned hack with a bottle of Scotch in his desk drawer and a tongue as sharp as vinegar.

‘One afternoon, following my regular daily routine of chasing a story, typing it up, having it rejected and spending half an hour in the ladies weeping, I bumped into an impossibly handsome man, who was heading to the Gents’ as I came out of the Ladies’. By the time I got back to my desk, the office gossip machine was red hot. All the women were discreetly powdering their noses and applying lipstick, but I had no such tricks to employ. There was nothing in my bag that would camouflage my swollen red eyelids. My friend Tess, sitting opposite me, whispered a name. Robert Whitehorn. The new political correspondent.

‘From that day on he became the office pin-up. Funny. Talented. Handsome, and mysterious. He politely declined all offers from the office vamps of a drink after work and skirted any questions about his private life. This made him one hundred per cent more attractive. I kept out of the way. Why would he be interested in me? The only contact I had with him was the occasional shared ride in the lift or in the canteen coffee queue. He didn’t look at me once. But one day, I was rewriting a late story for the editor, who had loudly berated me across a packed newsroom for being a useless idiot, when a cup of coffee was placed on my desk. I looked up to thank whoever it was and nearly choked. Robert was standing there. “I thought you might like one of these,” he said. I was so surprised, I jumped up and knocked the desk, which tipped the piping hot coffee all down his trousers. And that is how our romance blossomed.’

‘Aahh,’ said all the women in the congregation, and a couple of men too.

‘We got married six months later and, almost immediately, Robert landed a job on the London Evening Standard so we moved south. I managed to wangle a job in the BBC newsroom as a copy taster, reading through the stories as they came in and passing the more interesting ones on to the news editor. At the newsroom Christmas party I introduced Robert to the head of news and the rest is history. If I hadn’t been called to this job, I would have made a great showbiz agent.’

The congregation laughed loudly.

‘I dearly wanted to start a family but Faith, our daughter, didn’t come easily. After a couple of years we were referred to an IVF, test-tube baby, specialist and on the third attempt, and after many prayers, Faith was born to us.’

Angela glanced down at Faith who was blushing furiously, pursing her lips and frowning. She smiled down at her. ‘And now I have embarrassed her.’

Robert reached for Faith’s hand but she shook it off, muttering, ‘Get off.’

‘It was around then that my calling to the Church began to take root. My father died before I was born and my mother had very little time to take me to church, but my faith grew with me hardly noticing. It was just there. Inside me. Seven years ago I told my husband that my life lay in the Church. He reacted by pouring two large gin and tonics. But he never tried to dissuade me. So while he was standing outside Number Ten or Chequers, reporting on the state of the nation, I was at the kitchen table studying until the small hours. He has been my support and mainstay all this time.

‘My mother became ill during that time. I suspect many of you have been in a similar position. The balance of keeping a day-to-day life going while bearing the pain and responsibility of watching a loved one suffering and fading. I would be lying if I told you that my faith hadn’t been shaken at that time. What use were prayers? Where were the answers? I took six months off from my studies to nurse her. Where was God when she cried out in pain? When she died, my strength deserted me. I became depressed. From being the carer, I became the cared for. Robert and Faith were my carers. A horrible, frightening time for them. I was lost.’

She looked around at the rapt faces of her congregation. ‘I can’t tell you that I am the perfect woman, wife, mother or vicar, but my relationship with God grew again once I stopped raging at him and slowly began to see the good in our world. Walking over from the vicarage this morning, seeing the primroses in the churchyard, the birds beginning to build their nests, the number of you who have bothered to come here this morning – all these things fill me with renewed energy and a determination to give all I have to you. I stand here and make my promise to you. Whatever happens over the next twelve months, I will do my best to help you. Build an even stronger community for Simon to return to. I’m particularly interested in empowering women. Show them the opportunities within their reach. A chance to fulfil their latent potential.’

A few of the older generation looked around at friends and partners with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, sending the silent message to each other. Didn’t we tell the bishop that a female vicar, with ridiculous modern ideas about equality, would bring trouble?

Angela saw the exchanges but ignored them. ‘Do come and talk to me. I want to get to know you well. Share problems, joys, ideas, anything. I maybe the newcomer but my vicarage is open to all comers.’

A young woman sitting in the body of the church began to clap. Next to her, Helen joined in, starting a wave of applause through the majority of the congregation.

The organist wiped a dew drop from the end of his nose and struck up the opening notes of ‘Love Divine, all loves excelling’.

‘Darling, you deserve a sherry.’ Mamie shooed Angela into the big vicarage sitting room. ‘Robert, get her a sherry please, and a G and T for me.’

Robert, on the point of entering the room, made a U-turn, and went to the kitchen.

Mamie relaxed into the sofa and kicked her shoes off. She patted the cushion next to her. ‘How did you feel that went?’

Angela sat down. ‘I think it went OK. What did you think?’

‘Darling, you were wonderful! They adored you. You gave them everything.’

Robert returned with a drinks tray and Faith. Mr Worthington followed and hoisted himself next to Angela, before yawning squeakily and burying his whiskery face in her lap.

‘I was just telling Angela how wonderful she was,’ Mamie told Robert as she took the G and T from his proffered tray. ‘Thank you, darling.’

Robert passed a glass of coke to Faith, who had opened a bag of crisps and was tickling Mr Worthington’s tummy, and sat down in an armchair, opening his tin of beer.

‘She really was.’ He lifted his tin. ‘To Angela, the new vicar of Pendruggan.’

‘To Angela,’ said Mamie.

‘Mum,’ said Faith.

‘My wonderful wife,’ smiled Robert.

‘I couldn’t have done any of this without you, my family,’ Angela said, her voice soft.

‘Now now, none of that,’ Robert chided gently. ‘This is your time to shine.’

‘And I wouldn’t be able to do it if you hadn’t taken this year off, away from the job you love,’ she said.

He waved a hand airily. ‘Piffle. You have stood in my shadow too long. It’s time I stood aside.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘Women can make their own way now, you know. Like, they don’t need a man to “stand aside” to help them achieve things in life. We are liberated from that sort of patriarchal nonsense, you know.’

Robert was hurt. ‘That’s not what I’m saying at all. Your mother is an independent, free-thinking adult woman, but in the past she has been the partner who has supported me while neglecting, maybe, some of things she wanted to do.’

‘Huh. Maybe? Listen to yourself, Dad. She definitely missed out while you were out building your career. How many times were you home in time to read me a bedtime story? How many times were you already at work by the time I woke up? How many times did you take me to school or pick me up or watch sports day?’

Robert was wounded. ‘And who do you think paid for your holidays and looked after you and Mum?’

Angela interrupted them. ‘Hey. Stop it. You make me sound like some sort of downtrodden drudge. Let me make this clear. Making a home and caring for you both was and still is, A Job. One that I love. I would change nothing … other than to still have Granny with us today.’

Faith and Robert were chastened. ‘Sorry.’

Angela took a sip of her sherry and leant back into the softness of the sofa. ‘Now then, this independent, brilliant, superwoman would like her lunch on a tray, right here, watching a movie. And while you lot make that happen, Mr Worthington and I are going to have forty winks. Scoot.’

Later that evening, the phone rang in the hall. The women were watching Poldark, leaving Robert to get up and answer it.

‘Hello?’ he asked tentatively, not certain he would know who was calling.

‘Hi, Robert? It’s Helen here. Helen Merrifield?’

Robert remembered the attractive woman from Simon and Penny’s party. ‘Hello, Helen. How can I help you?’

‘I was wondering if you and Angela would like to come round for supper this week. Would Tuesday be good? Listening to Angela in church this morning, I was thinking how brave she was.’

‘She’s a tough cookie,’ Robert laughed.

‘Yes. And I thought, we tough cookies need to stick together.’

‘That’s very kind, Helen. Hang on, I’ll ask her.’ He put the old-fashioned receiver down on the hall table and popped his head around the door of the sitting room.

‘Who was it?’ asked Angela, not taking her eyes from the television.

‘Shh,’ snapped Mamie and Faith, who were watching a strapping young man gallop a horse across Cornish cliffs, his ruffled white shirt open to the navel and billowing in the breeze.

‘Helen,’ whispered Robert. ‘Wants to know if we can have supper with her on Tuesday night.’

Angela looked at him with bright surprise. ‘Love to,’ she mouthed. ‘Does she want us to bring anything and what time?’

‘What do you want me to put the linen napkins out for? You’ve only got to bleddy wash an’ iron after. Don’t make sense.’

Helen, chopping fruit for a salad pudding, said firmly, ‘Just do it, Piran.’

‘She’s the vicar not the bleddy Queen of Sheba, is she?’

‘Oh, Piran, please, I simply want to make tonight nice.’

‘It’s nice without having to put out the bleddy linen napkins.’

Helen pushed a handful of chopped grapes into a bowl and put her knife down. ‘What’s wrong with you? You normally like a kitchen supper with friends.’

‘I don’t trust him.’

‘Robert?’

‘Too smarmy by half.’

‘He’s charming. And devoted to Angela. Two things you could learn from him, actually.’

Piran chuckled at that. He hadn’t seen Helen for a few days and had missed her. He walked towards her and put his arms around her. ‘You ’ad smooth and devoted from that womanising idiot you was married to, remember?’ He nuzzled into her neck, his beard tickling her. ‘But I reckon I suit you better.’

Helen felt her shoulders relax. She had missed him too. ‘I need to turn the roast potatoes.’

‘They’ll be fine for a couple more minutes.’

She ducked out of his arms with a kiss. ‘The reason you and I work is because you give me the space to be me and I give you the space to be you.’

Piran’s eyes, as dark as the night ocean and as deep, softened. ‘I don’t say this often, but thank you for putting up with me. I know I’m a pain in the arse at times.’

‘Most of the time, actually.’

‘But we belong together. I don’t know what I would do without you.’

Helen frowned comically. ‘Who are you? What have you done with Piran Ambrose? The grumpy, selfish, commitment-phobe I call my boyfriend?’

‘If you’re gonna be like that, I’m off to the pub then.’

There was a knock at the door.

‘That’s them.’ Helen looked around at the untidied kitchen. ‘Shit.’

‘All right. All right. I’ll let them in.’ Piran moved to the door. ‘You get a bottle out of the fridge.’

‘I do love you,’ she said.

Piran growled a bit before saying, ‘Likewise.’

‘This is so kind of you.’ Angela handed her coat to Piran. ‘Our first night out for a long time, isn’t it, Robert?’

‘I can’t remember the last time.’ He looked around at the inside of Gull’s Cry, Helen’s cottage. ‘This is lovely.’

‘Very small,’ said Helen, passing her guests a glass of cold wine each. ‘But I love it.’

‘Typical cottage for this area,’ said Piran. ‘Villagers round here didn’t have money to build mansions like up in London.’

‘I love the way the front door opens straight into the lounge, it’s so welcoming. And the fireplace is wonderful.’ Angela smiled. ‘Can I see the kitchen?’

‘Sure. It’s almost the same size as the sitting room. Come and see.’

‘Another Aga! I’m not sure how to use the one in the vicarage. I’m learning as I go but maybe you could give me some tips?’

‘Of course.’ Helen was liking Angela more and more. ‘It’s basically like a camp fire. Use common sense. When you have time I’ll come over and show you. Penny couldn’t get her head round it at the start either but now she really is a good cook.’

Over dinner, Angela had to get something off her chest. ‘Piran, I must apologise for our first meeting on the beach, and also thank you for saving my aunt’s life. She was very rude to you.’

Helen answered, ‘I suspect Piran may have been less than charming to your aunt. He doesn’t always remember to take his charm pills.’

‘The water was bleddy cold, woman!’ Piran said. ‘It didn’t improve my mood. But I am sorry if I caused offence to an old lady. I may have been a bit gruff.’

Robert stepped in. ‘You’d better not let her hear you calling her an old lady. She believes she’s still in her prime.’

‘She is!’ said Angela. ‘More stamina than any of us. But she does tend to be free with her opinions and that day she was less than gracious to you.’

‘Was she OK? Afterwards?’ Piran asked.

‘Right as rain,’ smiled Angela. ‘But thank you again for rescuing her.’

Helen stood up and collected the empty plates from her guests. As she put them in the dishwasher she asked Piran, ‘Would you get the fruit salad and ice cream out the fridge, darling?’

‘Ice cream? No clotted?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t get any. Did you?’ Helen asked pointedly.

‘Why would I get clotted cream?’ he said, pulling the bowl of chopped fruit out of the fridge.

‘Well, if you like it, you can get it,’ smiled Helen. ‘That’s the way things work around here.’

She took the bowl from him and placed it into the centre of the table while he pulled a tub of Cornish vanilla ice cream from the freezer.

Piran sat down and said to Robert, ‘Women ’spect us to be bleddy mind readers. Sometimes, I come in here to see Helen, and from the look on her face I can tell I have failed a test I didn’t even know I was taking.’

Robert looked at Angela and thought better of agreeing with Piran. ‘Well, you know, sometimes perhaps we are just preoccupied with our own things and forget that. I mean, Angela and I have decided to reverse our roles for this coming year. She has always been the one at home, keeping the home fires burning, shouldering the child care. I never had to think about anything domestic. She did it all while I worked in the world I love. Now, I shall do the same for her while she’s here.’

‘Oh, aye? Gonna be one of them househusbands, are you?’ growled Piran.

‘Yes,’ smiled Robert. ‘And happily.’

Helen passed a bowl of fruit to Robert. ‘Well, I think that’s wonderful. It’s high time some of the men in this village had a bit of a shake-up and began to value what the women do around here.’

‘Was that aimed at me?’ Piran said gruffly. ‘’Cos you know perfectly well, Helen Merrifield, that I treat all people as equals.’

‘I do know,’ Helen answered, ‘you treat all people equally badly.’ She handed a bowl to Angela, laughing. ‘And yet, beneath that beard and hard exterior, this man here is the kindest man I have ever known.’

Piran tucked into his pudding with a dark look.

‘You are, Piran. And you know it.’ Helen took his free hand and addressed Robert and Angela. ‘He and the Reverend Simon have known each other since they were boys. They swam, fished and surfed together. When Simon was deciding to go into the Church, it was Piran he turned to. And when the opportunity to help in Brazil came, Piran was the one who encouraged him. And when Piran had a difficult time some years back, Simon was there for him.’

Angela was sympathetic. ‘May I ask what happened?’

Piran put his spoon down and rubbed his chin. ‘My fiancée was killed by a hit-and-run driver.’

‘Shit,’ said Robert.

‘’Twas,’ Piran said bluntly.

‘It’s why Simon and Penny’s daughter is called Jenna. In honour of the memory of Piran’s girlfriend,’ Helen finished.

‘That’s lovely,’ said Angela. ‘You must be missing Simon, Piran.’

‘Yeah.’

The four of them sat quietly in the low light of the kitchen.

After a couple of minutes Piran got up. ‘Fancy a beer, Robert?’

‘Erm …’ Robert checked his watch. ‘What do you think, Angela?’

Helen was suspicious. ‘Are you going to the pub, or having it here?’

‘Oh, here, here,’ said Piran, pretending the thought of the pub had never entered his head.

‘Go on,’ Angela said to Robert. ‘I’ll help Helen clear up.’

Piran took two bottles of Doom Bar from the fridge and, followed by Robert, carried them into the lounge and began stoking up the dwindling fire.

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