The Reaper

handlebars and a pair of marrows in the wire basket between them. She spotted Rachel and came to a rasping halt and jumped off the saddle. A couple of onions fell out of one of the bags and rolled across the road. Rachel stepped out of her garden to retrieve them.

'You're a bit overloaded, aren't you?'

'Harvest supper on Saturday. It's all left to the WI as usual.'

'I'd forgotten.'

'You're coming, I hope?'

Rachel hesitated. 'I'm not sure. I may give it a miss this year.'

'You can't do that. It's for church funds. Now you're the treasurer, it's a must.'

'It doesn't mean I have to turn up to every event.'

'You always have.' Quick on the uptake, as usual, Cynthia peered at her friend. 'Something upset you, did it?'

'I'm fine. Just busy.'

'Tell you what, darling. If you come, I'll reserve the seat next to Otis for you.'

Rachel felt the blood rush to her face. 'No, don't.'

'You're a big wheel on the PCC now. You're entitled to sit beside the rector.'

'You sit beside him.'

'Be like that,' said Cynthia. 'Last time we spoke you'd have given your eye teeth for an offer like that. What's up? Is Gary back from the States?'

Rachel glanced up at the curtains, still across the bedroom window. 'He is, as it happens, but that's got,nothing to do with the harvest supper. You know he never comes to anything like that.'

'He's smelt a rat, has he? Bad luck.'

'What do you mean?'

'Your fling with Otis.'

For a moment she was flustered, and it showed. How on earth had Cynthia found out? She made a show of denying it. 'Cynthia! Leave off, will you? There's no fling, as you put it.'

'Joking,' said Cynthia.

'People will get the wrong idea.'

'He picked you for treasurer.'

That was all she meant, thank God. 'Because no one else wanted the job.' Purely to divert Cynthia from the subject of Otis, she said, 'I wouldn't mind helping out in the kitchen.'

Cynthia assessed the offer. 'No, I can't upset my team. Daphne, Joan and Dot do the cooking every year. Besides, you're not WI.'

'They'd be glad of some help. They all know me.'

'You want some credit for helping out.' Satisfied that she understood what this was all about, Cynthia unbent. 'I suppose I can stretch a point and find you a job if it's the only way we'll get you to come.'

It was agreed that Rachel would help with the preparation and serving. Cynthia eased back onto the saddle and wobbled to her next engagement.

On the same September morning Peggy Winner was shopping in Warminster and decided to treat herself to a coffee in Rosie's, a teashop located in a whitewashed cellar below the high street. Peggy had a special affection for the place. Years ago, under different management, it had been Chinn's Celebrated Chophouse, perfect for intimate trysts with the tall Mauritian evening-class teacher she had for conversational French and much more. Alain had long since returned to his own country and surely forgotten all about suppers in Warminster, but Peggy still felt a sense of adventure going down the steps and through the stone passageway, if only for an innocent coffee and scone.

The interior was divided into three. You came first to the cooking area where you could inspect the cakes on offer, and, dipping your head to avoid the beam, progressed to the two rooms where the tables were. Peggy usually went right through to the back where it was quieter.

This morning someone was at the table she thought of as her own. Silly to be like that, only she was. She stared at the young man as if he was something she had trodden in, and then did a double-take. It was Burton Sands, from the village, in his business pinstripe and drinking black coffee. Their eyes met and she couldn't very well sit at another table. Blast him, she thought.

'You don't mind?'

He shrugged and shook his head. She might as well have been a stranger, and it seemed she was to him.

Peggy had enough charm for both of them and decided to help him out. 'Funny, two Foxford people meeting down here. I'm Peggy Winner. I decided to reward myself for doing the shopping. It's so snug, isn't it? What's your excuse?'

'I work here.'

'What as?'

'I'm a chartered accountant. We have an office over the road, above the newsagents.'

'Yes, of course, you were up for treasurer. I'm on the parish council.'

'I know,' said Sands without animation.

The waitress came for Peggy's order. She asked if the scone could be warmed.

'I feel like a traitor when I use the supermarket instead of the village shop,' Peggy said, to be conversational. 'I suppose we're all guilty of that, and one of these days we'll lose our shop.'

'Why wasn't I chosen?'

He wasn't willing to talk about the village shop. 'That's not for me to say,' Peggy guardedly said.

'I was better qualified.'

'In book-keeping, you mean? True, but there are other considerations.'

'Such as?'

The intensity of the young man put Peggy off her stroke. Before she knew it, she was giving him the inside information she had meant to keep to herself. 'Mrs. Jansen was the rector's candidate. That has to count for something. After all, he has to work with her.'

'She's treasurer to the parish, not to him,' Sands pointed out.

'Yes, but in practice …'

'You don't want someone who's in the rector's pocket. You want an independent treasurer.'

'I'm sure she isn't in his pocket, as you put it.' In his trousers, maybe, Peggy thought in passing. 'And I'm confident she'll do the job conscientiously.'

Burton Sands took a sip of coffee and flicked his tongue around his lips. 'Someone hinted to me that she got the job because the rector fancies her.'

Peggy laughed as if she hadn't heard a whisper of the rumour. She believed it, but she had to be discreet. 'Even if it was true, which I doubt, it wouldn't be the first time a woman got the job for her good looks. How can anyone tell?'

'He's a man of God. He's not supposed to look at women in that way.'

'Oh, come on, Burton,' said Peggy impulsively. 'Lighten up. Vicars are only human.'

'If she was given the job because the rector lusts after her, then it's little short of deplorable.'

'You sound like the Old Testament. I didn't say that was why she got the job. Don't put words in my mouth.'

'Especially as she's married.'

'You'd better watch what you say.'

'1 don't mind speaking out if it's the truth.'

'But is it?'

He looked into the dark dregs of his coffee as if the answer was there. 'I'll find out. When I start on something I always see it through. Always.'

She could believe him. He looked obsessive. If by some mischance this man got together with Owen Cumberbatch, the result would be explosive.

He pushed the cup to one side and said, 'I'm going back to the office now.'