The Reaper

'At your suggestion.'

'Well, that's true.' Now he turned to her, and their faces were tantalisingly close. His hazel eyes locked with hers, slipped away and then returned. 'I wanted you for this. I know you'll do it well. The others simply agreed with me.'

'Why me?' she pressed him.

He turned aside, clearly reluctant to say more. 'This job doesn't really require a professional. What matters is how it's handled. The right touch.'

She wished she had waited until after the wine to ask that question. She might have got the answer she was fishing for.

She said the eats should be ready and he said he hadn't expected anything, but he sprang up and offered to help with the carrying.

'Wine?' he said when she gave him the tray with the glasses.

'You do drink red, I hope? I thought you must, so I opened it before you came.'

'An act of faith.'

'You do drink it?'

'When I get the chance.'

The savouries smelt delicious. She took them from the oven and followed him in from the kitchen and reclaimed her place beside him on the sofa.

He was sitting further back, slightly more relaxed. 'Let's drink to your success.'

'Yours,' she said. 'You talked them into it.'

'Ours, then.' They touched glasses and drank. 'Hey, this is a cut above, isn't it? What are we drinking?'

'Chateauneuf-du-Pape, ninety-six.'

'Papist? Doubly wicked.' He reached for a filo-wrapped bite. 'You shouldn't have.'

'It's a treat for me. Gary's a beer drinker. I don't buy wine normally. One or two glasses and I get bosky.'

'Bosky. That's an old-fashioned word.'

Old-fashioned situation, she thought, a man and a woman sharing a sofa, sitting up primly like this. 'I expect you're very level-headed.'

'I wish. I'm not a regular drinker either. Can't afford it. There's a cellar in the rectory where Waldo Wallace made his beer, but now it just has cobwebs and old copies of the Church Times.'

'It must be difficult being a priest. At certain times, I mean.'

He gave the wrong answer. Totally off message. 'Not at all. I wouldn't change it for the world. It's a real high being a front man for God.'

'Yes, but there must be times …'

'You can't compare it with ordinary jobs, Rachel. I could earn more cleaning windows, yes, but what I do is immensely satisfying. Even if you put aside the spiritual highs, I have the status, the dressing up, the preaching, the sense of being needed. I get invitations all the time. I can't say I always strike lucky as I have tonight-your hospitality, I mean-but I meet people, lovely people.'

'They can't all be lovely. There must be some you'd rather not spend time with.'

'Not many.' His eyes flashed. 'And if I play my cards right, I can get the PCC to outvote them.'

She had another try to get him off this topic. 'Being good all the time must be a strain. Everyone knows who you are.'

He laughed. 'I'm not good all the time. Good at covering up. That's the first thing you learn.'

She smiled back, doing all she could to fan this faint spark. 'I expect your sins are very tame compared with other people's.'

'Don't count on it. But I never talk about them. Bad public relations. May I have another of these? They're yummy.'

'And a drop more wine?'

'Only if you join me.'

'I'll fetch the bottle.'

'No. Let me.' He was definitely lightening up.

When he sat down again he was closer to her. Their faces almost touched when he turned to speak. 'There's one more thing I'd like to mention.'

'Yes?'

'About the books.'

The bloody books. She couldn't believe it. 'Oh, I thought we'd-'

He talked across her, as if he hadn't a clue what she was leading up to, or trying to. 'An arrangement I had with Stanley that I hope you'll go along with. It's to do with the quota we pay to the diocese. Did I tell you about the quota?'

'I know what it is.'

'A large chunk of our income, that's what it is, Rachel, and they've hiked it up in recent years. I don't mind shelling out what I think is fair, but small country parishes like ours pay way over the odds.'

'Shame.' Flippant she may have sounded, sarcastic even, but she didn't need church politics at this stage of the evening.

'That's putting it mildly.' He missed her reaction completely. 'And the more successful you are in fund-raising, the more they penalise you. So I talked it over with Stanley and we opened a new account called the contingency fund. I use it for my expenses-which is why they're so modest.'

'The what fund?'

'Contingency. A sort of hedge against the unexpected.'

'I didn't notice it in the books,' she said, beginning to pay attention.

'No, you wouldn't. That's the point. It's separate from the bank stuff. A building society account.'

'And it doesn't go through the books?'

'Exactly.'

'Is it legal?'

'All above board, yes. It's in my name. They tax the interest at source.'

'But if it's church money …'

'It goes on church expenses.'

She wasn't at all sure about this. 'But where does the money come from?'

'Extras. There are always dribs and drabs that come in late after something like the fete. Instead of inflating our bank account I put them into the contingency fund.'

She was alerted to something irregular now. 'There must be a statement to show how much is in there.'

'Among these things? No. We don't want the diocese making waves and putting up the quota, do we?'

'Is that certain to happen?'

'Certain as the Creed. Some churches have been forced to close because they can't pay their way. People have worshipped in St. Bartholomew's for a thousand years. We can't let it go just because in the twenty-first century the Diocesan Board of Finance is too grasping.' It was a passionate speech. Not the one Rachel had hoped to hear, but strong in emotion.

She was uneasy. She didn't like the sound of this contingency fund. She would be treasurer, and treasurers carried the can.

She must have sighed, or perhaps her face gave too much away, because he placed his hand over hers. 'Rachel, you see the point of this, don't you?'

She turned to look at him, responding to his touch.

Those amazing eyes of his were wide in anticipation, melting her.

She nodded, telling herself sometimes you have to go with the flow. 'Yes, I see.'

And now their faces were so close that it seemed the most natural thing for their lips to meet lightly, as if to seal an understanding, and so they did.

The hell with the contingency fund.

As they drew apart she grabbed the back of his neck with her good arm, pulled him towards her again and