“Ah.” Churchill barked approval of this situation, while Jude looked around the vast sitting room. “So it’s just the two of them living in this house, is it?”
“Rory does very well,” said his mother-in-law, as if that answered the question. And perhaps, Jude reflected, by Winnie Norton’s standards, it did. Rory Turribull was making a lot of money as a dentist; therefore it behoved him to buy a large house on the Shorelands Estate. That was a fact of life, nothing to do with how much space he and Barbara actually needed. “Of course,” the old lady went on, “he never really was our sort, but Barbara’s done wonders with him.”
Jude began to understand why Rory Turribull needed his intravenous drip of whisky down at the Crown and Anchor. But Winnie Norton was prevented from casting down more of her poisoned pearls of wisdom by the arrival of her daughter with Jude’s coffee.
“Now you mustn’t monopolize our guest, Mummy. Incidentally, ‘Jude’” – like Carole, Barbara Tarribull still couldn’t quite say the name without a penumbra of quotation marks (a fact which amused its owner hugely) – “we are hoping that Roddy himself will drop in later.”
“Roddy?”
“Canon Roderick Granger, to give him his full title. He’s the vicar of All Saints’. A tower of strength locally.” Barbara lowered her voice and gave the newcomer a look whose beadiness matched her mother’s and Churchill’s. “You are a believer, aren’t you, Jude?”
“Oh yes.”
The easiness of the reply brought visible relief to Barbara lurnbull’s face. “Thank goodness for that. In these benighted times there are lots of people who don’t even put ‘C of E’ on forms.”
“I didn’t say I was a believer in the Church of England,” Jude pointed out.
Her hostess looked horror-struck. “You’re not Catholic, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
Another sigh of relief. “There are a lot of them down here, you know. Arundel’s quite a centre for the Rock Cakes.”
“Is it?”
“Mm. It’s a Catholic cathedral there, you know.” Barbara moved on. “You’ll find All Saints’ is a friendly church, with quite a lot of social activities. Roddy’s very keen on that side of things. He always says it’s too easy for church-goers to get po-faced about religion.” A little chuckle. “He’s such an amusing man.”
If what she’d just heard was an example of the vicar’s wit, Jude wasn’t convinced. What was clear, though, was that, in her hostess’s eyes, Canon Roderick Granger could do no wrong. She was almost coquettish when she talked about him. It was quite possible that the Canon was held up to her husband as an exemplar of all the things that Rory Turnbull wasn’t.
“Anyway,” Barbara went on, “if you don’t see him this morning, you’ll catch him at the morning service on Sunday. Roddy’s sermons are quite something. Lots of jolly good laughs on the way, but a real core of serious truth.”
“I’m not a church-goer,” said Jude.
“Oh.”
“I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I accepted your invitation because I wanted to meet some local people, not because I’m ever likely to step into All Saints’.”
Barbara Turnbull gaped like a beached fish.
“But I’ve nothing against the Church of England,” Jude reassured her with a huge smile. “Everyone should be allowed to believe in what they want to believe in – don’t you agree?”
Barbara’s expression showed that she certainly didn’t agree. Allow everyone to believe in what they want to believe in? That, her look seemed to say, is a short cut to anarchy.
But her transparent thoughts remained unvoiced. “Do let me introduce you to some other people, ‘Jude’.” This time she managed to get a double set of quotation marks round the name.
With the newcomer in her wake, Barbara bore down on a bird-like woman with spiky white hair who was saying, “And this is meant to be a civilized country. I ask you, is it civilized to park a boat trailer so that the mast goes over the hedge into one’s neighbour’s garden by a full three inches? I mean, is that the action of a civilized human being? I’d say it was the action of a boorish lout, if you want my opinion.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Barbara Turribull cooed, “but I’d like to introduce you to someone who’s a very near neighbour of yours, Sandra.”
The bird-like eyes darted to take in Jude and form an instant opinion of her.
“This is Sandra Chilcott.” It was said in best hostess manner. “And here’s the new owner of Woodside Cottage, whose name is…”
“Jude,” said Jude, taking Sandra Chilcott’s thin hand in hers.
“Jude, of course! I’ve heard all about you from Bill. Though, of course, being a man, he didn’t tell me anything very interesting. I really do think men walk around with their eyes closed, don’t you, Jude? They never notice anything.” She smiled slyly. “Didn’t take you long to find your way to the Crown and Anchor, though, did it?”
Jude was then introduced to the two women either side of Sandra, who’d acted as audience for the diatribe about her neighbour. “Well, ‘Jude’,” one of them asked, “have you come down to Fethering in search of the quiet life?”
“No, not really. I think quietness is an internal thing, don’t you?”
The two women looked at her in some puzzlement, as Sandra took her cue. “If it’s quietness you’re after, I’m not sure that you’ve come to the right place. You’ll find quite a lot of exciting things happen in Fethering.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes.” Sandra Chilcott warmed to her task as news-bearer. “For example, this morning a dead body was found on the beach.”
? The Body on the Beach ?
Ten
“Yippee!”
Carole gave her visitor an old–fashioned look. Her head was still aching and she still blamed Jude for leading her astray. It was a bit premature for her new neighbour to arrive again so soon at her door – and unannounced. And particularly shouting, “Yippee!” That wasn’t the way things were done in Fethering.
“What is the cause of your celebration?” Carole asked, rather frostily.
Jude was blithely unaffected by the deterrence in her tone. “You were right. There was a body on the beach. I met Bill Chilcott’s wife, Sandra, at Barbara Turribull’s – and she’d heard about it on local radio.”
“Yes, I heard too. I met Bill in Allinstore.”
“So you’re vindicated, aren’t you?”
“Well…”
They’d been standing on the doorstep almost long enough for the situation to become awkward. Carole would have to either invite her neighbour in or quickly invent some excuse and get rid of her.
But Jude solved the social dilemma before it developed. “Anyway, I was thinking there’s bound to be something about it on the local news at lunchtime.”
She looked at her watch, a huge white dial which appeared to be tied on to her chubby arm with a broad velvet ribbon. “In two minutes. So I think we ought to watch that.”
“Yes.” Carole had been intending to do so anyway. But before she had time to say, “Thank you very much for the reminder. I’ll see you later,” and close the door, Jude had grabbed her by the hand.
“So come on, let’s go and watch it at my place.”
“What?”
“I’ll knock up something for lunch. And we can open a bottle of wine.”
“In the daytime?” Carole responded instinctively.
“Sure, why not?”
“I think I probably had quite enough wine last night.”
“Oh, feeling the effects, are you?” There was no judgement, only sympathy in the way the question was
