Rachel made scones for Otis and the whole cottage filled with the smell of baking. She was sure from her visit to the rectory kitchen that he was no cook himself. The shelves had looked bare except for tins and cereal packets. No doubt he lived on convenience foods. Impressing a man with her cooking might not do much for her feminist credentials, but she was sure she could make a real difference to his quality of life. She wondered if his wife-the one who had died so tragically-had been a good cook. It wasn't certain. The French make a big deal of their culinary skills, but they often go out to eat.
The right way was to be subtle about it. Let the scones make their own suggestion.
He arrived on time, buoyant as usual, saying it was a peach of a day for the time of year. Rachel thought he was overplaying the heartiness a bit, probably to gloss over (what happened the last time he came. To avoid more embarrassment on the sofa, she asked if he minded coffee in the kitchen, and he was in there like a terrier scenting rabbit.
They faced each other across the kitchen table, formal as privy councillors. 'We agreed instant coffee,' he reminded her as she reached for the cafetiere.
'That was a joke.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
'You secretly wanted real coffee?'
'No, I mean if you can joke at a time like this, you're winning. Here's one you may not have heard: the first pair ate the first apple. Geddit?'
She managed a smile, but she didn't want this to be a laugh- in. She said straight out, 'There wasn't any love between Gary and me. I'd be lying if I said there was.'
He shifted awkwardly on his chair.
She had to say more now she had started. 'You must have realised. But it's still a shock, becoming a widow, I mean. Well, you understand. You lost your wife suddenly, didn't you?'
He looked even more uncomfortable. He was bound to respond seriously. 'It wasn't so much the way I felt in myself. There was grief, but I could handle that. It was the reaction of other people-like you told me on the phone. They cut you. They don't know what to say, most of them, so they stay clear.'
She nodded. 'You feel as if you've got the plague.'
'It doesn't last long. Do the things you normally would and they'll be more relaxed with you. Christmas is coming up. Make a point of joining in things, the carol concert, the midnight service. Parties, if you want.'
'So soon?'
'We've left the Victorian age behind. I mean, you don't have to overdo it. I wouldn't walk around waving a sprig of mistletoe.'
'Not this Christmas,' she said.
She hoped for a positive response. Certainly his eyes opened wider. Too wide. He looked startled. Otis Joy was shockable.
'These are great,' he said, holding up a piece of scone, but Rachel wasn't to be sidetracked. She was more in control than when he last came here. Disposing of Gary had strengthened her.
'It must have been different for you, losing your wife.'
He looked away. All too obviously, he didn't like talking about his wife. 'How do you mean?'
'I expect you were very close. Gary and I weren't. You know how he went off to America for three weeks.'
He seized the chance to talk about Gary. 'It was important to him, wasn't it-the jazz? Chance of a lifetime?'
'And I thought I was going to share it with him,' Rachel said, 'but it turned out to be a guys-only trip. Actually I realised while he was away that I was happier without him around.'
'You feel guilty about that?'
'Now that he's dead? No. Why should I?'
'Right,' he said without much conviction. 'You gave him a wonderful send-off.'
'I couldn't have done it without your support, Otis.'
He blinked at the mention of his name. 'It raised a few eyebrows among the clergy, but they know me by now. And so what? There was reverence in what we did. I think the Lord approved, even if the Lord Bishops didn't.'
'Did you get into trouble over it?'
'No, thanks to good timing. We don't have a bish until the new one is enthroned. Marcus Glastonbury wouldn't have been too thrilled, I have to say.'
She smiled. 'You mean he wasn't a jazz man?'
He grinned back, avoiding the cheap quip about the kind of man the bishop was. 'Still, you must be pleased that Gary got to New Orleans.'
'Yes-and it wasn't a letdown, as it could easily have been. They had a; terrific time. Met lots of other! jazz fanatics.' She paused, pacing the conversation, fascinated to see how he would react to the next statement. 'Wasn't that strange about the Canadian Otis Joy who was training to be a priest?'
He said quite smoothly, 'Curious, yes. I've got some sympathy for anyone else with a name like mine who goes in for the Church.'
'This man must have been about your age, too.'
'Is that so?' He was trying to sound casual about it.
'I wondered if he could have been you-if you were ordained in Canada.'
He shook his head. 'Boring old Church of England, I'm afraid. I spent some time in Canada, but my college was in Brighton.'
'There's nothing boring about you,' she told him. 'You don't mind me asking? I'd love to know more about you, where you were born, that kind of thing.'
He took a moment to butter the second half of his scone, spreading it evenly. 'Well, it wasn't Canada. I'm from Norfolk originally.'
'And your parents died?'
'Did I tell you about that? A car crash. 1 was seven at the time.'
'That's terrible.'
'I'm over it now.'
'But losing your parents at that age …'
'I survived. No thanks to the nuns. They were Catholics, my parents, so I was sent to Ireland, to this orphanage run by the Sisters of Mercy. Not well named. The scripture was beaten into us. And I went to a Jesuit school where the principal teacher was the strap.'
'Poor Otis. You've had more than your share of hardship.'
'Slings and arrows,' he said dismissively. 'We all face them at some time in our lives. Some poor beggars take more hits than others. No sense in complaining. They gave me a wonderful grounding in the Bible. I can argue theology with anyone.'
Something in his tone made her say, 'But there's more to life than theology.'
'It was a narrow education, yes. Knowing the Beatitudes by heart wasn't going to make me into a brain surgeon. After quitting school I found it very hard settling to anything.'
'Then you went to that wedding you told me about?'
'Right, and turned my back on the Church of Rome.'
'Revenge?'
He laughed. 'These days I get along fine with the good Fathers.'
'Losing your parents like that must have traumatised you.'
'Kids are resilient. It helps me understand how my parishioners feel when they lose someone.'
'You've been there, done that, yes?'
'Got the T-shirt.'
'Read the book, seen the video.'
'As the Reverend Sydney Smith once put it, 'I have, alas, only one illusion left, and that is the Archbishop of Canterbury.''
'How do you remember all these wicked quotes?'
