handkerchief. 'I suppose there has to be an unruly element in any community, and unfortunately you bumped into the worst of ours. They're not bad lads really, just at odds with themselves and at loose ends with the world itself.'
'I'd almost forgotten about it,' I lied (funny how you tend to lie more to men of the cloth, assuming a kind of false piety). 'No real harm done anyway.'
'Good of you to take it that way. We're usually a peaceful community, Mike, and perhaps we have too gentle a lifestyle in some respects for this day and age. However, it suits most people hereabouts and I can't imagine any drastic changes taking place over the next decade or so. Unless they decide to build a highway through our part of the forest, that is, but I don't think it's very likely.'
He gave a short laugh, but I had the uncomfortable feeling he was watching me closely. I fervently hoped he was not going to suffer from the same hysteria as our friend Kinsella had yesterday.
We discussed the weather, the countryside, and briefly touched on the state of the nation, and I had the impression that he was awaiting Midge's return before going on to more personal topics.
Return she did, and not before time (I'm not very good at small talk), carrying a tray of glasses and iced lemonade. I took pleasure in the distraction of her slim legs, now lightly tanned and, as ever, velvety smooth from top to toe. I caught Sixsmythe having a sneaky look too, but then he was only flesh and blood despite the sweat- smudged white collar.
Midge sat next to me on the bench and poured lemonade from the jug. It was another glorious day—that summer had to hold some kind of record for continuous sunshine—and the very pleasantness of my surroundings allayed my nervousness from the night before. Almost. There was still that niggling unease at the back of my brain, a disquiet that couldn't be sensibly clarified. I sipped lemonade and tried to keep my attention on the cleric, and not on the woods behind him.
'So, Margaret,' said Sixsmythe, having swallowed half his drink in one go, 'are you working on a new book at the moment?'
'Oh no. Mike and I decided we wouldn't take on any more work for at least a month, not until we'd made ourselves comfortable in Gramarye. You could call it an adjustment period, too.'
'Very wise. And what is your line of business, Mike? Are you an artist also?' He was genuinely interested, his clear, schoolboy's eyes eager bright.
'I play guitar, write songs when I can.'
He seemed disappointed. 'I see. You don't work regularly then?'
Midge and I laughed.
'Yes, he does,' said Midge, still amused but indignant too. 'Mike plays at recording sessions mostly, although occasionally he goes on the road.'
'On the road?'
'I back other performers,' I told him. 'You know, as part of a touring band.'
'Ah.'
'And when he's not doing that, he works
'Midge . . .' I warned good-naturedly.
'Sorry.' She squeezed my leg, then said to Sixsmythe, 'We have an agreement that we never talk about ideas for future projects in company. Mike and I feel it takes out some of the energy for the work itself.'
'Yes, I think I understand that. I suppose pre-explanation can take the edge off creativity.'
'You got it,' I said. 'Too many good ideas, particularly in my business, get talked to death before they even get off the ground.'
'My word, but what an exciting time you both must have.'
We chuckled again at that.
'When a new book is published, or work's going really well—that's when things get exciting,' said Midge. 'Otherwise, it's usually self-disciplined hard slog.'
'Nevertheless, you must meet some very interesting people,' he insisted. 'I do hope you won't get bored too easily with us simple folk.'
'Believe me, half the reason Mike and I moved here was to get away from certain so-called 'interesting' people. We find country life quite refreshing.'
'Yes, I was being somewhat harsh on myself and my parishioners. You'll find that many of us are not quite as dull as you might at first think.' He nodded to himself, then gazed up reflectively at the cottage walls. 'Yes indeed,' he mused, 'there are quite a few interesting characters in these parts. I think you'd have found Flora Chaldean fascinating, for instance. A most extraordinary individual.'
Midge rested her elbows on the table, clasping her hands before her. 'Did you know her well?' she asked.
'Flora? No, I'm afraid nobody knew her well. Very much of a recluse, you see. But the villagers and many of the local people came here to see her in time of trouble.' He smiled almost wistfully. 'In fact, many of those I failed to help would visit her, and perhaps she was of greater comfort to them than I. Oh, they never let me know of their visits, kept them very much a secret. But I knew. I knew their old country ways.'
I shifted on the bench, and I could tell Midge was intrigued.
'What sort of help did Mrs. Chaldean give them?' I asked. 'Was she just one of those who people like to tell their troubles to?'
'More than that. Yes, much more, I believe.' He suddenly frowned. 'She was a great healer. A healer of the spirit as well as the flesh, apparently. Sadly, I'm hopeless at the latter, and only sometimes good at the former. It seems that Flora had a gift that was centuries old.'
Birds fluttered close, landing near our feet. If Sixsmythe hadn't been there they would have been on the table itself, chirping for food.
'Her solicitor did mention that she was a healer of sorts,' said Midge. 'Are you telling us now that she was a faith healer?'
'Not exactly. Oh, I'm sure that much of her effectiveness was due to people's utter belief in her powers to cure, but that wouldn't have explained everything. She made up potions of the kind you might find in books on ancient remedies, those that are passed down from generation to generation, but she also had the ability to cure without any such medicines, by talking, or laying on of hands. Not that she would oblige just anybody! Goodness no! There were some she would not let inside her garden gate!' He shook his head, grinning like a ventriloquist's dummy. 'And then, of course, she had a wonderful way with animals. Could cure them of ailments almost overnight, I'm told.'
Midge stole a quick glance at me.
'You'd quite often find a sick cow or pony tethered outside here for a day or so, who were inevitably in fine fettle by the time the owners arrived to take them home again. Dogs, cats—quite a menagerie on occasions! Now you can't tell me that animals had faith in her powers, so it's hard to fathom how they became well again. Yes, yes, a wonderful gift had Flora. Pity that I only got to know her toward the end of her life. May I have another glass of lemonade, Margaret? It's rather cooling on a day like this.'
She poured and was obviously engrossed with the cleric's account of Gramarye's previous owner. 'I'm surprised her fame wasn't more widespread from what you've told us.'
'Heavens, no! All kept very secret in these parts, you know. Yes, very hush-hush. Flora would bind those who came with their problems to secrecy before she would even attempt a cure. However, as with all such delightful mysteries, there were always whispers, a confidence here, a hint there. I think the locals felt that to admit these things openly would somehow break the old lady's spell.'
'That's an odd word for a vicar to use,' I remarked.
He looked reasonably abashed. 'Yes, I admit 'spell' has certain mumbo-jumbo connotations, but I'm merely recounting what went on in the minds of the local folk. I think it's quite charming, don't you?'
'Uh . . . yeah, I suppose so. I'm just surprised to hear a vicar talk in those terms.'
He laughed aloud at that. 'Quite so! I can understand your surprise. But spells, incantations and yes, Magic itself, have a lot to do with my particular trade, wouldn't you agree? When we clergy preach the almighty power of the Lord's divine goodness, we are, after all, speaking of Magic.'
'I . . . hadn't thought of it like that,' I admitted.
