‘This is quite a little indulgence,’ Sister Hilaria said happily, fanning her coffee cup with a paper napkin. ‘Really, I feel quite dissipated, Sister. In the nicest possible way, of course. It is almost worth having a tooth out.’
Between her and Sister Margaret there was a great similarity, Sister Joan thought as she sipped her own coffee. Both had the gift of serenity. Nothing marred their private space. She wondered if she would ever achieve the same untroubled purity of spirit.
‘Isn’t that the gentleman who brings fish to the convent?’ Sister Hilaria asked, glancing through the window.
‘It’s Padraic Lee, yes.’ Sister Joan half rose but he had spotted them and was entering the cafe.
‘Sister Joan, I thought as how it was you. Sister.’ Seeing her companion he touched his forelock in an old-fashioned gesture that should have looked ridiculous but didn’t.
‘Sister Hilaria is the novice mistress,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She has just had a tooth out.’
‘Nasty.’ He clicked his tongue in sympathy. ‘Sister Joan, I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been everywhere I can think of to ask but there’s no sign of Petroc. I went back to the camp but nobody’s seen a sign of him. Young Hagar said they took a walk up by the pool last evening but it looked like rain so she came back. She’d had a row with her brother, Conrad, on account of him telling her she didn’t help out sufficient, so she went off in a paddy and met Petroc up by the willows.’
‘And? — please, sit down. I’ll get you a cup of coffee,’ Sister Joan said.
‘Nothing for me, thank you. I’ve a fancy for something stronger to tell you the truth and that’s not like me.’ He pulled up a spare chair and sat down, his brow furrowed. ‘I questioned Hagar close and she said she’d let off steam a bit about Conrad and Petroc said he saw her point of view and then he said he had to go and ran off and she came back to camp.’
‘He didn’t say where he was going?’
‘Not according to Hagar. She called after him that it looked like rain and he called back that he’d soon be under cover. That’s all. Sister, I fear we’ll have to report he’s missing, little though I enjoy meddling with the law.’
‘That’s a very sensible decision,’ Sister Joan approved.
‘In fact I was on my way to the station when I saw you through the window‚’ Padraic continued. ‘I was wondering if you might — possibly—?’ He hesitated.
‘You would like Sister Joan to report it‚’ Sister Hilaria said surprisingly.
‘That’s the way of it. Truth is that I’m never — comfortable in a police station‚’ he said. ‘Mind, I’ve no criminal record but I never did trust a uniform.’
‘I’m sure Sister Joan would be happy to help out‚’ Sister Hilaria said. ‘If you can wait while I take another aspirin—’
‘Sister Hilaria, you ought to be back at the convent resting, not running around Bodmin‚’ Sister Joan said, observing the other’s increasing pallor with alarm.
‘I fear you are correct, Sister. The injection has certainly made me feel not quite myself‚’ Sister Hilaria admitted. ‘Mr Lee, if you would be so kind as to take me back in your vehicle then Sister Joan can follow in the car when she has made her report to the police officers. I will explain the circumstances to Mother Dorothy.’
‘It’s only a lorry‚’ Padraic said doubtfully.
‘Splendid. Sister Joan, thank you for the coffee. Most refreshing. Mr Lee?’ She rose, pulling the scarf up to her swollen cheek, and preceded Padraic to the door.
‘You’ll make it clear, Sister‚’ he lingered to say, ‘that the kids are well looked after? I’d not want them social workers messing round.’
‘I’ll do my best‚’ she promised, and watched him hurry after Sister Hilaria.
The police station was at the corner of the next road, a panda car drawn up outside, the young policeman behind the wheel giving her an incurious glance as she went up the steps. Or had he been as young as all that? Perhaps she was ageing more rapidly than she had fancied.
‘May I help you, Sister?’ The policeman behind the desk was certainly verging on middle age. Sister Joan drew a breath and launched forth.
‘I am Sister Joan from the Order of the Daughters of Compassion. I also teach at the school up on the moor.’
‘Yes?’ A faint spark of interest had come into his heavy face. Probably he recalled the events of the previous year that had ended so tragically for some.
‘One of my pupils has been missing since last evening. His uncle has asked me to report the matter.’
‘Why not come in himself?’
‘The child is from the Romany camp.’
‘A gyppo, eh?’
‘A Romany child,’ she corrected, wincing slightly. ‘I said that I would come in and give you the details.’
‘Right then. Oh, come round and sit down, Sister.’ He lifted the wooden barrier, indicated a chair, and drew a form towards him.
‘The child’s name is Petroc Lee,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He’s twelve years old, tall for his age, slim with dark eyes and hair, olive skin, gold ring in one ear. I don’t know what he was wearing — jeans and sweater, I imagine.’
‘Would his uncle be Padraic Lee?’ The policeman looked up.
‘Yes. The boy’s father is in gaol — a minor offence, I believe, and his mother left. Do you know Mr Lee?’
‘I do and a right — pleasant gentleman he seems to be,’ the policeman said, meeting
