The woman in the long mirror looked younger than her mid-thirties as if time had stood still since she had entered the religious life. Her figure had remained trim, fortunately since she was below the average height; her skin was tight and rosy with a scattering of freckles across the snub nose; long lashed blue eyes looked out at the world from the frame of white wimple and veil. When she smiled at herself her nose crinkled slightly. Jacob had often teased her about that.
You’re a nice looking woman, she told her reflection silently. The religious life suits you.
There was no vanity in the realization, merely the acknowledgement of a fact. She bent in the cramped space to remove her shoes and pull on the jeans, relieved to find that they fitted well. Taking them off again, refastening her shoes, she left the cubicle and was paying for her purchase at the check-out before it dawned on her that she hadn’t even bothered to look in the mirror again.
The rain had ceased and the sun was gilding the street when she emerged from the supermarket. Around her shoppers eddied and swirled. There was still plenty of time before she had to meet Sister Hilaria. She contemplated a spot of window shopping and rejected it. Window shopping was definitely time wasting. Much more sensible to put her parcel in the back of the car and then go and wait for her companion.
She was relocking the boot of the car, straightening up when a gleam of sunlight dazzled her momentarily. Putting up her hand to shield her eyes, turning slightly from the glare, she read clearly across the road at the other side of the parking space, FOREIGN HELP, the au pair agency from where the Olives had hired Kiki Svenson and now Jan Heinz. That she should notice it now seemed like a clear signal. Putting the car keys into her purse along with the five pounds change for Mother Dorothy she walked briskly across to the agency with its pleasant reception area, brightened with pot plants and with easy chairs contrasting with businesslike filing cabinets and a desk at which a grey-haired woman sat.
‘Good afternoon, Sister. May I help you?’ The voice was amiable as was the smile. If the woman wondered what a nun was doing in an agency that specialized in the hiring of foreign domestic help she didn’t allow it to show.
‘Good afternoon. I’m Sister Joan from the Daughters of Compassion — oh, no, I’m not collecting for anything.’ She flushed as the woman reached for her handbag with a resigned air. ‘I came to make enquiries about a girl — an au pair.’
‘For the convent?’ The other allowed her surprise to peep out.
‘No, not exactly. A girl called Kiki Svenson — she worked for the Olives—?’
‘She came very highly recommended,’ the other said.
‘I was surprised to hear from Mrs Olive that she’d left. If she had been dissatisfied she could have come to us and we would have tried to relocate her.’
‘She didn’t come to you?’
‘She stayed barely a month and then took off. Mrs Olive was most put out about it. However we were able to fix her up with a young man just on our books who wishes to spend a year learning to speak English. I do hope—?’
‘Jan Heinz is proving most satisfactory, I understand,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I did wonder if you had Kiki Svenson’s home address. I’d like to get in touch with her — it’s a private matter, you understand. I hardly like to ask Mrs Olive.’
‘Miss Svenson didn’t mention she was a Catholic.’ The woman turned to extract a file from one of the cabinets. ‘Ah, she gave two addresses. Her home address which Mrs Olive will also have and a London address. I believe she mentioned having done some hotel work in London before deciding she would like to sample rural living. I can give you both, Sister.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Sister Joan said, watching the other copy the two addresses. ‘You didn’t contact her yourself after she left?’
‘We had no reason to do so. The girl was of full age and quite competent. Sister, there isn’t anything wrong, is there?’
‘I hope not,’ Sister Joan said as she put the slip of paper in her purse. ‘I do hope not. Thank you.’
Hurrying out, she was aware of the woman’s concerned gaze following her.
Seven
Sister Hilaria, looking somewhat paler than even her usual delicate colour, was in the waiting-room, scarf to her face, when Sister Joan arrived.
‘The tooth‚’ she said indistinctly, ‘had to come out. Fortunately it’s a side one and won’t affect my chewing. The dentist said I ought to have a warm drink, so I wonder if we might have one in a local cafe before we drive back?’
‘And a couple of aspirins,’ Sister Joan said, her own jaw beginning to ache in sympathy. ‘There’s a nice cafe just down the street, Sister, and a chemist’s right next door.’
‘I have some pocket money.’ Sister Hilaria looked around as if she expected it to drop out of the sky.
‘My treat. I have some pocket money too.’
The change for Mother Dorothy would go back untouched. Of the five pounds a month given to every sister out of which she could buy small necessities, postage stamps and the like, Sister Joan still had four pounds and sixty pence. Wondering vaguely what she had
