the village vicar 15

 

Chapter 15 Turn the other cheek does not apply in cricket

 

“Oh, Vicar! Someone has bought the meadow!” cried Mrs. Hadley.

“Yes; it was me,” said Chaz. “I’m going to cut just enough grass for a wicket, and put up a hut for the Church cricket club, which the scouts can use for water if they want to camp there, and otherwise I’m leaving it as it is, stream and all. But it’s a bit hush-hush; we need to practise on the Q.T. before I challenge Sir Tarleton.”

“Oh, that dreadful man!” said Mrs. Hadley. “He has it in for poor Ross, and poor Lucy. You should have heard what he said about her entrapping you when you read the banns on Sunday!”

“It’s my Christian duty to feel sorry for him,” said Chaz, blinking slightly to hear Sgt Blake referred to as ‘Ross’ by one who had criticised him.

“People like that Sir Tarleton do not invite sympathy,” said Mrs. Hadley. “I am not as good a cook as you, but Lucy and I can combine to make sandwiches for cricketers.”

“Excellent!” said Chaz. “I might need her to bat at the moment, though. Summer is running for Ross Blake. Wendel has not played cricket since he was at school, but hands that can catch excited animals trying to flee without hurting them should be safe hands for a cricket ball.”

“Would you exclude people like... you know, Catholics, Methodists, and so on?”

“Not in the least, so long as they’ll bat for God in their own way,” said Chaz.

“Well, the Roman Catholic priest has been heard to say he wouldn’t mind a game of cricket if it wasn’t for having to play with the godless. He meant Sir Tarleton,” she explained, unnecessarily.

Chaz brightened.

“An all-churches team? That would be worth doing. And religion a banned subject, but taking turns to lead pre-match prayers,” he said.

“Oh, dear, what have I started?” said Mrs. Hadley.

“A drubbing for the Ungodly,” said Captain Cunningham, escaping briefly from the reverend.

“Well, when you put it that way....”

 

oOoOo

With the chubby, but enthusiastic Catholic priest on board, and two elders from the Methodist chapel, the All-Churches Cricketing Club, or the Triple-C was born.

There were a few clashes of personality, but Chaz went with the advice Wendel gave him; treat them all like disobedient dogs at dog training classes, keep the loudest on short leashes, and reward good behaviour with treats.

So far, it was working.

The group was not a team yet, but they were getting there.  And if there was an underlying sense of purpose of trouncing Sir Tarleton Rickett, that Unchristian and Uncharitable thought was at least unspoken. And acknowledged as unlikely; Sir Tarleton’s team had been playing together for years, and one of them had once been a Household Name, at least, to those who were glued to the commentary of Richie Benaud on Radio 4 in their misspent youth of smuggled transistor radios during revision periods of school exams.

This did include Chaz.

He was accosted by Sir Tarleton in the village shop.

“What’s this I hear about you putting together a scratch eleven to give us some practice, reverend?”

“Oh, I think we’ll give you more of a challenge than just some practice, Sir Tarleton,” said Chaz, sitting firmly on the captain within who wanted to find a glove to strike Sir Tarleton across the face.

“Well, well, I hope your lads won’t make a mess of our pitch, when you come to bat; but it’s a date. What about the twenty-seventh?”

Chaz made himself smile brightly.

“So long as it’s in the afternoon; I’m getting married in the morning.  It will be a lovely celebration of teamwork as epitomised by marriage. I’ll give a sermon on it. And we can convene to the church for after-match eats combined with the reception.”

“Haw haw, the bridegroom wore whites, eh? Maybe you’re entitled to it.” The joke was heavy; Sir Tarleton knew fine well when Chaz and Lucy were getting married and had hoped to make Chaz look disobliging, by failing to accept.  Being let down on that, he could not resist the dig at Lucy.

“Oh, I can’t claim virginity,” said Chaz. “I lost that to Matron’s daughter when I was sixteen.  I was a bit of a bad boy in those days; it drove the women wild. And I had the sort of moped which looks like a real bike, full leathers, long hair, and a tattoo of Betty Boop on my bicep. I could make her wriggle.”

“Very fine tattoo,” put in Ajit Patel.  “Do you still have it?”

“Alas, no; the Bishop said it had to go,” said Chaz. “Still, making Betty dance was one of party tricks in the army. I’m sure Sir Tarleton knows the sort of high jinks young men get up to.”

Sir Tarleton, who had never been through the usual channels made the sort of noise usually spelled as 'harrumph’ and left in a hurry.

 

 

“My love,” said Chaz to Lucy, “I lost my temper a bit with Sir Tarleton and we’re playing the match on the day of our wedding.”

“Before, or after?”

“After.”

“That’s not a problem, then, I won’t have to worry about wedding photos with a husband limping , or with  a black eye from taking what should have been a six in the face.”

“You’re a wife in a million,” said Chaz.

“Get married in your whites,” said Lucy. “Just to remind us in future years.”

“I will, then,” said Chaz. “He suggested it and cast aspersions on you not being able to.”

“I’m wearing blue. Mrs. Hadley has a nice blue dress with subtle clouded white flowers on, with matching jacket in plain blue and white piping, and she helped me make Summer a dress in a colour very close to her own, and it has layers of daisies around it,” said Lucy. “I confess, I let her take me over rather.”

“She is a bit of a force majeure,” said Chaz.

 

oOoOo

 

The day of the wedding dawned, and Chaz rose bright and early, along with the Bishop, who had arrived the previous evening, to stay over and do the job properly, as he had cheerfully said.

He had also been roped in as twelfth man for the cricket match.  It was being refereed by the local radio commentator, but the bishop did not mind playing on the side of God.

He had heard of Sir Tarleton.

The campanologists gave it their all, and Chaz sighed happily on his way into church to hear the mellow sound ring out across the countryside.

He could not have told anyone the highlights of the ceremony later, even though it was one he knew by heart; but when the Bishop told him that he might kiss the bride, he swept Lucy into his arms, and did just that.

Dave and Lily-Kate had come, of course, and the rest of the group ‘Apocalypse’ and were to organise the music at the reception. They presented Chaz with the group’s first CD, ‘Apocalypse – Pending,’ and Chaz laughed.

“That sounds like any children’s party,” he said.

“Well, we’re hoping to flog a few copies as well as entertain your parishioners,” said Dave. “Thank goodness you didn’t rope us in for the cricket; I’m a cricket muppet, as you know, and Lily’s dangerous with any kind of bat.”

“I heard she routed some hoodlums at the church where she’s serving as curate,” said Chaz, smiling at the diminutive newly-ordained Lily, whose hair was pink in honour of the wedding, as she had explained to a slightly bemused Lucy.

“I had an old hockey stick I was using to reach with my duster,” said Lily.  “And I asked them to go nicely first, but they thought they might have what they called some ‘fun’ with me, and then spray up the church. So I whacked ‘em, and whacked ‘em, and whacked ‘em. They were very glad when the fuzz arrived to take them off to the safety of jail.”

 

They all dined in the vicarage on a chicken salad which Chaz had prepared earlier, and Lucy and Summer changed in what was now their rooms. The bishop was wearing whites under his cassock, just in case, and Summer had whites to run for Sgt Blake.

 

oOoOo

 

Chaz won the toss, and elected to field first. It would steady his team down. The former professional went in to bat first, opposite Sir Tarleton, and Chaz opened the bowling with his accurate fast bowls. The professional chalked up a respectable twenty-five runs before Chaz added a googly to his bowling, and the professional went down, caught behind, by Wendel.

A wicket change had Chaz facing Sir Tarleton. Chaz, aware that Sir Tarleton was not above gamesmanship, appealed LBW whenever it might be feasible, with a ‘howzat?’ to the referee.

This made Sir Tarleton hopping mad, and he swiped hard at the ball, which was caught at silly mid-off by old Charlie.

Chaz let the next pair settle to slugging it out against his fast bowling, and put Charlie in, and four wickets fell quickly. Alternating, the final four were despatched with despatch, for an overall score of fifty four all out.

Chaz stood opposite Blake for their opening in bat, Summer eager to run. The old sergeant would tell her when to run, at their turn; and the opening pair notched up twenty runs.

How close the match might have been, had not Sir Tarleton been a vindictive man, is debateable.  But he managed to get a ball to bounce and hit Chaz in the box, still a painful thing to happen even with the protection.

“Haw haw, sorry, reverend, spoiled your wedding night there, a bit,” said Sir Tarleton. “Better turn the other cheek... and retire hurt.”

“I’m fine,” said Chaz, fighting nausea. “I’ll keep playing.”

The captain inside won the battle for supremacy, and Charles Cunningham, capped for Eton and Oxford for his batting as much as his bowling, thrust aside the reverend, and his nausea, and sent the next ball for a resounding six.

Thereafter he placed all his boundaries into random, and different, locations, inspiring Blake to bat almost as well, and the score stood at three hundred and two when the professional managed to bowl a deceptive curve ball which took Chaz’s bails off. He retired gracefully to watch the rest of his team struggle on for a further fifty all out.

Tea was welcome, and then Sir Tarleton’s team were back in to bat.

Sir Tarleton was flustered, it had to be admitted, but to be caught out, and by Summer, first ball was the end of his tether.

The fact that several people were quacking at his duck was not helping.

He threw his cap on the ground.

“Damn you, Cunningham, where did you get them?  Did you hire professionals to help you?”

“The only pro is on your team, Rickett,” said Chaz.  “You know all the team members; they all live in the village. Our bobbies are new, but you should know them. You might not have met the Methodist church wardens or Father Michael from the Catholic church but my team are all locals.”

“I... you must be cheating!” cried Sir Tarleton.

“I will anticipate an apology for that infamous suggestion,” said Chaz, coldly. “Now stop being childish and let your next player in.”

The match was won by two hundred and four runs and eleven wickets, as the established team did not manage to match the first innings of the Combined Church eleven.

“Most entertaining,” said the Bishop.

“Well, there’s a feast in the church, but I’m going home with my wife and relying on Summer to steal us a basket of food to eat later,” said Chaz.

Summer giggled, being more than equal to doing just that; and Rev. and Mrs. Cunningham retired to the vicarage to explore their marital vows.

 

the village vicar 14

 

Chapter 14 The greatest of these is Love

 

Chaz was having tea with Sergeant Pete Noakes and Constable Timothy Cotton.

“So, how is it working out with Vivienne?” asked Chaz.

“We’re engaged,” said Pete, grinning broadly. “And she loves the idea of getting married in a country church with a nice peal.”

“It’s certainly decent, now,” said Chaz.

“You look tired, Vicar,” said Timothy.

“I am. Rachel had me in and out of bed half the night,” said Chaz.

Timothy raised an eyebrow.

“New girlfriend?”

“Well-established cat,” corrected Chaz. “Normally, she rides on my shoulder to bed, comes down the duvet and settles.  Zebulon goes ratting with my shoelaces for a while, and then settles on the end of the bed. But last night, Madam got restless, and demanded out, and then sang outside the window until I let her in, and then repeated the performance an hour later.”

“And you’re a sucker?” said Pete.

“Last time I refused to let her out when she asked, she crapped in my socks,” said Chaz.  “I wasn’t about to let her make a smell of all smells if she had an upset tummy.”

“I see the dilemma,” said Pete.

“So, any news on the policing front?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what you call news,” said Pete.  “You know that the big hardware store was losing money and couldn’t figure out where the thefts were being committed?”

“Yes, and I’m glad they kept the name Sanders & Michaels, and didn’t go for initials like so many of them seem to these days,” said Chaz.

“Well, I figured it out,” said Pete. “It helped my promotion to Sergeant on strength of figuring it out.  Well, we set up a presence to watch, and there were still losses.  I searched the wheelbarrow of the staff member who has permission to take away odd broken slabs for his own use; and he doesn’t seem to be breaking stuff deliberately, and there was nothing underneath it. Can you guess, though?”

“Nicking wheelbarrows by filling them with what he’s allowed and wheeling them out,” said Chaz.

“You ought to be a ruddy detective sergeant,” said Pete. “We managed to get a lot of the wheelbarrows back that he’d nicked, but there he was, wheeling them out under the eye of whichever constable was watching him, and the bugger was laughing up his sleeve at us.”

“You do appreciate sin when you’re in my job,” said Chaz.  “Did he come quietly?”

“Did he, hell!” said Pete. “He tries the ‘I identify as a wheelbarrow, officer, and I was looking for a lover.’”

“What did you do, nick him for running a wheelbarrow brothel?” asked Chaz?

“Not quite, though if he makes a fuss, I’ll keep it in reserve,” said Pete. “I said, ‘I identify as a police officer, and I’m nicking you for public lewdness with your girlfriend.’”

“He caved, then,” put in Timothy. “He called us the sort of names The Captain wouldn’t tell The Reverend.”

“How shocking for those poor, innocent wheelbarrows,” said Chaz.

“So, when are you marrying your Lucy?” asked Timothy. “Here’s Pete and me, about to embark on matrimony, and you’re still hanging her about.”

“When Matrimonial duty’s to be done, to be done, a policeman’s life is quite a hectic one,” sang Chaz. “I... uh, haven’t asked her yet.”

“Well,  whyever not?” demanded Pete.

“Inertia,” said Chaz.

“Get over it,” said Pete. “You sorted us out; we’re sorting you out. Now! Go on – we’ll take care of your house.”

“And your iced lemon biscuits,” said Timothy.

“The other batch are hidden, so no detecting,” said Chaz.

He took the dog, Adam, with him, for moral courage. And a small box which had been burning a hole in his pocket for a while.

He went round the back, as usual, and found Summer doing somersaults on the lawn.

“Hello, Rev Chaz! Hello, Adam!” said Summer.

“What are you doing out of school?” asked Chaz.

“I developed a rash and they sent me home,” said Summer. “I told them it was only a grass rash from cutting the grass but they made like I was a leper and the deputy head had forty kinds of fit about Mummy sending me in with a rash, and I said I hadn’t had a rash until I got to school because they’re cutting the field for its last haircut of the term, and when there’s cut grass, it’s too tempting not to have a grass fight. Only it makes me come out in spots. It doesn’t itch much,” she added.

“You want to watch out for ticks,” said Chaz, absently. “They can give you Lyme disease which is seriously nasty. Though on a frequently trimmed school field you should be safe enough. Even if not treated to a number two skinhead like Sir Tarleton’s cricket ground.”

“And that goes bald round the stumps,” said Summer. “I play cricket at school; can we have a church team, and knock the spots off Sir Tarleton?”

“You know how to poke a Reverend to let out the Captain, don’t you?” said Chaz, ruefully.

“Of course; I’m practising for when you marry Mummy because girls are supposed to wind their daddy round their little fingers,” said Summer.

“Well, then, the question I was going to ask you is superfluous as you seem keen on the idea,” said Chaz. “Well, in that case, perhaps you will keep Adam company?

“Of course; we’ll go and visit Sergeant Blake next door, and see if he wants to join the cricket team.”

“He’s a handy bat, but you’d have to run for him.”

“Oh! I can do that.” Summer skipped off through the hole in the hedge with Adam. Chaz went in the back door.  Lucy was in the breakfast room which she used as her studio for the north light, drawing a black labrador dog diving down a hole.[1]

“Tea’s in the pot, Chaz, pour me one while you’re at it, I made one and then got an idea. There are some of your biscuits left, but please keep them away from my end of the table, I don’t want to smear chocolate chip on Harvey here.”

Chaz made tea and helped himself to a biscuit, and moved fast to stop Lucy from washing her paintbrush in her tea whilst picking up the chipped cup with water in to drink.

“Oh! Thank you, Chaz,” said Lucy, blushing. “I’ve got that sorted now; a bit of a rush job.”

“How would you like the chance to make art a hobby?” asked Chaz.

“Depends what the catch is,” said Lucy. “I’d love to make art a hobby, but it does cover the bills.”

“The catch is being a vicar’s wife and letting him do most of the cooking,” said Chaz.

Lucy’s mouth fell open.

“Chaz! Was that a proposal?”

“It was a piss-poor one for a man who is accustomed to Corinthians chapter 13, wasn’t it?” said Chaz. “Lucy, will you do me the honour of being my wife? And moreover will you be afraid to keep the Church cricket team in order?”

“Oh! Yes, Chaz!  I... I thought you wouldn’t ask me because of my irregular past.”

“You’re a widow in my book; and even Mrs. Hadley thinks it’s about time I married you.”

“She’s not a bad old trout when she stops being judgemental,” said Lucy. “Do you think she’d like to be the matron of honour?”

“She’d love it,” said Chaz. “I’ll have to get bellringers in, though as two of our team will be tied up getting tied up, as you might say.”

Lucy laughed and blushed; she had been an enthusiastic volunteer in learning change-ringing now the church had a peal of five decent bells.

“And what’s all this about the church cricket team? I didn’t know we had one.”

“We have you, me, and Summer, and I am relying on her to persuade Ross Blake if she will run for him.  I heard Wendel is accounted a useful bat and tolerable wicket keeper; any man who can field cats who didn’t want to go to the vet has to be a born wicket keeper.”

“Five, almost half a team.  Young Evan Queave can throw straight,” said Lucy. “Now the police are part of the village, you might ask Pete and Timothy. Charlie Wilkes used to be on Sir Tarleton’s team but he got thrown off for saying you were a proper Christian.

 “I had no idea; I’ll ask him, and the fuzz,” said Chaz. “Now! Don’t distract me, Mrs. Cunningham-to-be; I have a ring for you.”

He retrieved the box from his pocket and slid the blue diamond and diamond ring onto her finger.

“Chaz! That’s a ring for someone out of my league!” gasped Lucy.

“No, my love; it’s the ring for a woman I value above any other, because I want to demonstrate to the idiots who put you down how much I value you,” said Chaz. “Which is not in the least proper behaviour for a vicar, but I am human too.”

“It’s lovely! Is that a sapphire?”

“No, it’s a blue diamond, from the mines of Kimberley. I wanted to match your eyes, and sapphires are too dark.”

Lucy blushed again.

“It’s lovely,” she said.

“I’ll put up the banns then,” said Chaz. “May I kiss you?”

Lucy went to his arms, and the kiss was long and tender.

“It feels like coming home,” said Lucy. “Why am I crying?”

“Because sometimes tears are bright diamonds of joy as well as the raindrops of sorrow,” said Chaz.

“I love it when you are whimsical,” said Lucy. “I have no idea how good I may be at cricket, but I’ll stand my ground with grim determination to thrash Sir Tarleton.”

“Attagirl,” said Chaz. “I’m going to go and enlist Pete and Tim and Charlie whilst I might.”

oOoOo

 

“A second cricket team? Count me in, reverend,” said Charlie. “I ain’t no good at fast bowling, but I can do slow ones which break to the offside.”

“Nice,” said Chaz.  “Ajit Patel is their fast bowler, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and he’s a steady bat as well, but he can be rattled by slow balls,” said Charlie. “Most of the team are what Sir Tarleton calls ‘county’ and the ones who go to church usually go somewhere posher than a little village church.”

“Well, I shall look to you for a run down on all of them,” said Chaz. “I’m going to buy the meadow which was up for sale for development, and keep it for cricket, dog-walking, and leisure. We may need housing, but we need nice green spaces too, and turning a stream into a sewer I will not have.”

“Hear hear!” said Charlie. “I thought that’d be a right shame if the meadow was turned into ticky-tacky boxes, which won’t be housing for the poor nowise, but shoddily-built expensive five-bedroom places for them as have more money than sense.”

“Just what I thought,” said Chaz.

 

 

---

[1] ‘Harvey And the Black Hole’ and ‘Harvey and the Big Red Bus’ are charming stories by my friend Heather King, illustrated by yours truly. I do recommend  them for 5-8 year olds. 

Village Vicar 13

 

Chapter 13

 

“Vicar, I hear that the council have bought one of the houses on Stable Way,” said Mrs. Hadley, anxiously. “I do hope it won’t be for a home for delinquents, or a homeless shelter.”

“Well, now, Mrs. Hadley, did you know that there are more than twenty passages in the Bible, exhorting one to be generous to those who travel and have no place to rest?” said Chaz.

“Theory and practice are two different things, when it’s a case of young hoodlums,” said Mrs. Hadley.

“The idea of rehabilitation centres is that they are supposed to be learning not to be young hoodlums... but as you say, theory and practice don’t always coincide there,” sighed Chaz. “However, I can set your mind at rest, it isn’t a hostel for young offenders. Though the Salvation Army want to open a centre and a small homeless hostel here.”

“Oh dear,” said Mrs. Hadley.

“Why, Mrs. Hadley, suppose a beat-up transit van, marked ‘J. Davidson, Joiner’ pulled up outside, and a man, rumpled from travelling, and his beard and moustache in need of neatening, gets out, helping a young and very pregnant girl, and asks for somewhere to rest as his wife is near to giving birth?”

“I’d take in the girl and tell him to find somewhere, and I’d phone the police to find out if she was a runaway or had been abducted,” said Mrs. Hadley. “And I’d get her to tell me how she ended up with this man.”

“A good, practical solution. And when she says she wants him with her, because he married her so her child would have a father?”

“I blame the parents,” said Mrs. Hadley. “You taught me that I was wrong to make assumptions about a girl’s status. And by the way, I wish you will marry Lucy soon; it will keep the less altruistic women in  the neighbourhood from trying to get you into compromising positions like that wretched Harrison female.”

“Oh, it was a deliberate act for her to kick away the ladder when doing the flowers so I was expected to rescue her, was it?” said Chaz, recalling an incident of the last week.

“Yes, and I imagine you were glad I was there as a chaperone.”

“I was never so pleased to see you in my life,” said Chaz.

“I know you think it unbecoming that I think the worst of people, but honestly! I saw her hovering with the flowers, waiting for you to go in, so she had you alone, so of course I slipped over,” said Mrs. Hadley.

“And under the circumstances, you were making a valid assessment, not a judgement call,” said Chaz. “But back to my hypothetical couple.  Consider what a transit does, and compare it to the time before motor vehicles, and think about Joe Davidson, joiner...”

The penny dropped.

“I see,” said Mrs. Hadley. “I’d still send him over to you while I looked after the girl, to find out if it was perfectly regular or if the authorities needed to be involved. I’d fail my duty to the unborn child and his mother, divine or otherwise, if I didn’t find out if she was under any duress.”

“I think the Good Lord would approve of such sentiments,” said Chaz. “But remember, He is in any stranger come amongst us.”

“I’ll go so far as to give garden work to any of the homeless the Salvation Army has, and I’ll do my turn in a soup kitchen, but no more,” said Mrs. Hadley.

“Can’t say fairer than that,” said Chaz. “Now I’ll put you out of your misery; the council reckons we rate a police house; we’re going to have a sergeant and a constable.”

“Well! That’s a relief,” said Mrs. Hadley.

“And we are to have Sergeant 167 Pete Noakes, and Constable 233 Timothy Cotton,” said Chaz. “The pair who come out from Collingham when called. Pete’s had a recent promotion, and asked for a transfer. I don’t know why, I thought he was happy, but I am sure I will get to the bottom of it.”

“Yes, we don’t need a disaffected policeman on the beat,” said Mrs. Hadley, with a sniff. “I’m glad I apologised to Patty Raikes, though, and asked if she would come back to do for me; she told me that Timothy Cotton is her fiancé.”

“Yes, and she’ll be Mrs. Cotton in a month or so,” said Chaz. “I’ll be calling the banns for the first time on Sunday, now he’s resident in the district.”

 

oOoOo

 

Pete Noakes sat in Chaz’s kitchen at the well-scrubbed table, eating fairy cakes and drinking coffee.

“Now, what’s got you in a twist?” asked Chaz.

Pete flushed.

“Well, when I got promoted, I figured I could legitimately let Sgt  Vivienne Parkley know that I find her attractive, right?” said Pete.

“Reasonable,” said Chaz. “Your feelings are not reciprocated?”

“I... I thought they were,” said Pete. “I took her out for a burger and fries, and we went to a nightclub, and then...” he looked acutely embarrassed, “Then I was called out for a suspected burglary by a scared sounding kid, who was alone between his parents being out and his aunt and uncle coming over to babysit. He’s over twelve, so it’s not illegal to leave him alone, but he heard what he thought was a break-in. So I went over to the house, big, expensive place, and the burglar had already fled – the kid looped some heavy metal music slowed right down through his sound system, it was pretty scary! – and I wanted a statement whilst I waited for the SOCO boys to come and take prints. And then his aunt and uncle walked in, and the aunt was Viv, done up to the nines, glittering with diamonds and all. And I assume her husband, or boyfriend.” He stared gloomily into his mug of coffee.

“Or, if the kid’s uncle and aunt, might have been her brother. Did you ask?”

“No, I put in for a transfer. I couldn’t compete with the sort of lifestyle she seems to have; how she must have laughed at me for taking her for a burger!”

“And yet she went on another date with you,” said Chaz. “Speaking as someone from the sort of lifestyle you describe, and since she seems to have given no clues about her apparent wealth, it sounds as if she’s trying to make it on her own.”

“Well, I’ve burned my boats now,” said Pete, gloomily.

Chaz said nothing, but later that day he drove into Collingham, and went to the police station.

“Could I speak to a sergeant named Vivienne Parkley?” he said.

“Sure,” said the desk sergeant. “Come on into an interview room, vicar; they aren’t impressively comfortable.”

Presently a good-looking blonde woman came in.

“What’s the problem, reverend?” she asked.

“I understand you might have a boyfriend called Pete, and he might have been scared off by the bloke he saw you with the other night,” said Chaz.

“Oh, hell,” said the sergeant. “I was out with my brother-in-law because he needed an escort, and my sister is in hospital with problems with her pregnancy. I wasn’t two-timing Pete.”

“He’s got the idea that he couldn’t compete with your lifestyle,” said Chaz, mildly.

“My lifestyle? It’s the same as any sergeant in the police, overworked and underappreciated,” said Vivienne. “Yes, I come from a wealthy family, but I don’t play the politics game, and I am making my own way.”

“Well, good for you, but you really need to tell him, you know,” said Chaz.

“He’s avoiding me.”

“Then you’d better get down to Lingley and see him,” said Chaz.

 

Two days later, Pete was wearing a smile large enough for three.

“Thanks, reverend,” he said.