'Why?'
'I think he was too ashamed to tell anyone it was church money that was stolen in the burglary.'
Joy frowned. 'He didn't say anything to me about it.'
'He wouldn't, would he?' said George. 'You didn't see him to speak to.'
'1 mean he could easily have phoned.' The rector sighed heavily. 'But you must be right, George. This puts everything in a different light.'
'How do you mean, sir?'
Otis Joy's brain was in overdrive. 'Knowing Stanley as I do, it would be a body blow to lose church money through carelessness. Devastating. The cash must have been lying around in the house. Usually he banked everything at the first opportunity. He'd take this as a personal failure. I don't like to think of the torment the poor man suffered.'
George Mitchell was saying nothing.
'So,' the rector summed up, 'you've got your explanation. Poor Stanley. He made up the money from his own savings rather than let anyone know. And even then he couldn't live with the shame of it.'
This plausible theory seemed to find favour. George nodded, wiped his forehead and replaced his police cap.
'George, you must come here again when you're off duty,' said Joy. 'Do you play chess, by any chance?'
'Not my game, sir.'
'Well, I wouldn't challenge you to Cluedo. With your police training, you must be red hot. Scrabble?'
'I get the tiles out with my wife once in a while.'
'Let's indulge, then. How about Monday evening?'
George looked bemused by the prospect of Scrabble with the rector. 'All right, sir. Monday evening it is.'
'Shall we say seven-thirty? And do call me Otis. Everyone does.'
Six
Stanley had a bigger send-off than any departing Fox-ford soul in years. People were standing at the back of the church. There just wasn't room for the extra chairs from the church hall. Former pupils and teaching colleagues came from miles around. The school choir filled the front pews and the singing was glorious.
The Reverend Joy was equal to the occasion. He was in his element that morning, telling the mourners it had become the custom to treat funerals as the celebration of a life and that Stanley's life was worthy of more than that-of a fanfare- regardless of the tragic circumstances of his passing.
He told an enchanting story to illustrate Stanley's devotion to the church: 'Sometimes at the end of a service, when we look at the offerings on the collection plate we find a foreign coin-put there by mistake, I'm sure, along with the occasional button.'
He waited for some murmured amusement, and got it.
'And you can't get anything back for foreign coins, unfortunately. The exchange bureaux refuse to accept them, so what do we do with them? For years, and long before my time as rector, they were put in an old tin that once held toffees. This troubled Stanley, this money earning nothing for the church. So when he went on holiday to Spain last year-I think it was his first foreign holiday-he said he would take the half-dozen or so peseta coins with him. I said yes, we'd be glad to get shot of them and perhaps he would like to chip in a few English coins in their place. But no, Stanley's idea wasn't to spend the money. He meant to find a Spanish church that kept their foreign coins and do an exchange. A lovely thought, typical of Stanley's thoroughness.
'I think he must have spent most of his time on the Costa del Sol calling at churches instead of relaxing in the sun. Eventually he found a priest who produced a wooden box containing foreign coins, some of them English. They did their little deal, and Stanley returned with six coins of the realm. I congratulated him. He said yes, it was progress, but unfortunately the coins had been kept a long time. They were pennies of the old sort, no longer legal tender. However, he hoped we might be able to sell them. They went into the toffee tin.
'Not to be beaten, he got in touch with a coin dealer, who offered to come and look at them. Pennies of certain years when not many were minted can be worth quite a bit of money, we discovered. Our hopes were raised. But the pennies from Spain turned out be common ones and the dealer wasn't willing to make an offer. Then-of all;things-the dealer took an interest in the toffee tin. It was at least fifty years old, he said, and people collected old tins, so he gave us a fiver for it. Five pounds for a rusty old tin! Truly the Lord works in mysterious ways. So now we keep the pennies with all the foreign coins in a plastic Tupperware box and whenever I see it I think of Stanley's broad smile when his efforts finally paid off.'
After the service, the coffin was taken to a local crematorium where the close family took leave of Stanley at the short committal conducted by Otis Joy. A younger brother from Leicester said a day that could have been an ordeal had been made uplifting by the rector's sensitive handling.
Back at the cottage, Stanley's family had got in a few salad things, some cooked meats and cheeses. And there was wine. It didn't amount to anything so riotous as a wake, but everyone was welcomed and the mood was relaxed and positive.
Stanley's brother Edward brought the rector a cup of tea and said, 'I was wondering if by any chance you're from Market Harborough. There are quite a few Joys there.'
'I'm sure there are. No, I've been asked before. No connection. I'm not sure where my family originated. Father travelled all over Europe. He was an acrobat.'
'What-with a circus?'
'You name one-he was in it.'
'And did you learn circus skills?'
'Am I one of the Joys of Spring? Not really. My parents died when I was seven. I could juggle a bit, once.'
'Don't you keep it up?'
The rector laughed. 'Not much call for juggling in the Church of England. As for walking the tight rope …'
'Well, you need confidence to stand up and preach a sermon, I'm sure.'
'True. But I have off days. Then I'm tempted to wake everyone up by walking up the aisle on my hands.'
He moved into another room, spotted Rachel, and went over.
She was coping quite well one-handed, drinking tea, until he approached. The hand with the cup jerked and some slopped onto the carpet.
'Clumsy,' she said, annoyed with herself. 'Will it stain?'
'It won't trouble Stanley if it does.'
The ends of her mouth curved. 'True.'
'I was about to ask how you're coping.'
'Quite well until a moment ago.'
'Back at work yet?'
'Yes. They make allowances.'
He looked about him to make sure no one else was listening. 'Ever done any simple accounting?'
Rachel pricked up her eyebrows in a look of mild alarm. 'I leave all that to my husband.'
'But you know the principles, I'm sure. Double entry bookkeeping, that sort of thing?'
'We had a few lessons at school. I don't think I shone, exactly. Why?'
He shrugged. 'A wild guess. You have this aura of efficiency. I can picture you whipping out a calculator when you go shopping.'
She was laughing. 'An aura of efficiency! I've had some things said about me, but that's a first.'
'Sorry,' he said. 'I guess that's the last thing a lady wishes to hear. I'm not very tactful, am I? I tell the prettiest woman in the village she's efficient.'
She flushed scarlet. 'That's a first as well.'
He pointed to his collar. 'With this on, Rachel, I can speak the truth without fear or favour. You know more about figure-work than you let on.'
He moved off to another, group. Rachel remained where she was, dazed and disbelieving., j
