Shape of Snakes

'I'm not surprised if you had no clothes on. She probably thought you were a rapist.'

'Ha-bloody-ha!'

'I suppose you shouted at her?'

He rolled over to face me, propping himself on one elbow. 'I told her I'd have her guts for garters if she didn't learn to tell the difference between liebfraumilch and a priceless sauvignon blanc. Matter of fact, I nearly asked for her birth certificate in case we got raided. She didn't look more than twelve.'

He had a pleasant face, my husband, with laughter lines raying out around his eyes and mouth, and I thought how well he wore his years and how little he had changed in the quarter of a century I'd known him. He had the kind of temperament that people felt comfortable with because he was slow to anger and quick to pacification, and his face was the mirror of his geniality. Most of the time, anyway.

Now, he eyed me thoughtfully. 'How was your day? Did the Reverend Stanhope tell you anything useful?'

I shook my head. 'I hardly spoke to him.'

'Then why so late back?'

'I talked to his wife,' I explained. 'She kept a photographic record of their time at St. Mark's and she's lent me pictures of some of the people who were living on Graham Road in '78.'

He studied me for a moment. 'That was lucky.'

Perhaps I should have seized the opportunity to be honest, but as usual I couldn't decide if then was the right time. Instead I just nodded.

'I suppose she knew all their names?'

'Most of them,' I agreed.

'And could tell you every last thing about them?'

'Bits and pieces.'

He pushed a strand of hair off my forehead with the tips of his fingers. 'There can't be many vicar's wives who photograph their husband's parishioners.'

I shrugged. 'She was semiprofessional, used to cover the weddings of the poorer couples. It grew out of that. She's rather good actually. If she was forty years younger, she'd have made a career out of it.'

'Even so'-he let his hand drop to the counterpane-'you could have driven all the way to Exeter to find some dumpy little homebody who'd never done anything more interesting than bake cakes for the Mothers' Union. Instead you come up with David Bailey. That's pretty amazing, don't you think?'

I wondered what was bugging him. 'Not really. At the very least I knew she must have some photographs of Annie's funeral. Don't you remember her taking a picture of us with Libby Williams? She's a very striking woman, tall and gaunt ... like a vulture ... rather difficult to miss.'

He shook his head. 'How did you know she was the vicar's wife and not a press photographer?'

'Julia Charles told me. Apparently, Wendy-Mrs. Stanhope-took pictures of Jennifer's christening so Julia knew her quite well.' I paused as he shook his head in unhappy denial. 'What's the matter?' I asked.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, disbelief crackling out of him like small electric charges. 'Larry came to see me this afternoon. He says you're stirring up a hornets' nest by asking questions about Annie. He wants you to stop.'

'I hope you told him it was none of his business.'

'Quite the reverse. I sympathized with him. Apparently Sheila nearly had a breakdown the last time she got involved. She was hauled before the BMA after your precious vicar accused her of neglect. It was all rubbish, of course-she was cleared immediately-but Larry doesn't want a repeat.'

He walked to the window where sounds of laughter drifted up from the terrace. I kept my fingers crossed that Tom wouldn't choose that moment to power up his sound system to full volume, which was the one thing guaranteed to drive his father 'round the bend.

'What else did Larry say?' I asked.

'He wanted to know what brought us to Dorchester. Claims he's not much of a believer in coincidences.' He frowned at me in hurt recrimination. 'I told him he was wrong ... that it was a coincidence ... that there was no way we could have known in advance where Sheila was working. So he accused me of being naive. Your wife knew, he said. She went into the surgery the day after you moved here to register specifically with Dr. Arnold, then asked for a copy of Sheila's work roster so that she could be sure of getting her.'

I frowned back. 'Where would he get a story like that?'

'He asked Sheila's receptionist if Mrs. Ranelagh had known in advance which doctor would respond to her request for a home visit.'

I sat up and crossed my legs. 'I thought that kind of information was confidential,' I murmured.

He waited for me to go on and when I didn't he stabbed a finger at me. 'Is that it?' he demanded. 'You make me look a complete idiot, then talk about confidentiality.'

I gave an indifferent shrug. 'What do you want me to say? Yes, I knew this house was in Sheila's practice, and that's why we're renting it.'

'Why didn't you ask me?'

'Ask you what?'

'If I was happy about it.'