Felburgh

by Ivan B

  Tuesday morning was decidedly odd. Firstly Caroline arrived at 8:30 in the morning with Tammy and Susan in attendance. Tammy and Susan took to carrying armfuls of dustsheets and glass jars upstairs, and then Susan and Tammy left only to be instantly replaced by Patricia and Millie who took a load of lighting equipment upstairs. They left and Josephine and Geraldine arrived with crate after crate of painting equipment; Peter noticed that one crate contained a paint stained kettle, coffee, tea and a selection of Pot Noodle snacks. They left at 9:45 as if it had been a closely planned operation; but Peter suspected this teamwork arose out of much practice. While this was going on Caroline asked Peter if she could plug in her text phone anywhere and if he had a web cam and Internet connection on his computer?

  “Internet connection yes, web cam, no.” He replied.

  “Do you mind if we fit one; I could then talk to Henry from time to time?”

  “Be my guest.”

  She pulled out a mobile phone and sent off a text message. She smiled at Peter.

  “Mobile phones have done more to help the deaf communicate on the move that the manufacturers imagine.”

  She then signed.

  “I’m about to start work now. I believe Henry has said that I prefer not to be disturbed.”

  “Don’t worry I won’t disturb you, but there is one problem – Aquinas.”

  “Aquinas?”

  “My sheepdog.”

  As if on cue Aquinas wandered in from the kitchen and surveyed Caroline. She held out her hand and Aquinas obligingly sniffed it. She tickled him between the ears and he was immediately like putty in her hands.

  “He’ll be no problem. I’ll leave the attic door slightly open so he knows I’m not a burglar.”

  With that she went upstairs just as Tammy arrived.

  “Web cam service”, she said, “where’s the machine?”

  Peter showed her his study and the computer and left her to fit the web cam. It took her less than ten minutes.

  As she was leaving she stopped at the door.

  “Henry’s told you about how she works?”

  “Yes, but I find it difficult to believe.”

  “Don’t. Roger disturbed her while she was doing the golfing mural; she threw a coffee mug straight at him. She was sorry afterwards though, it was her favorite mug!”

  Peter laughed.

  “How long will it take?” He asked.

  “As long as it takes,” was Tammy’s reply. “For a picture this size it could be as much as ten days. Her record is thirty-three.”

  “Thirty–three!”

  “Yes, but that was on a horizontal ceiling, so stepping back to get perspective was difficult.”

  As Tammy left Jo arrived grinning from ear to ear.

  “Didn’t know you were famous, or should I say infamous,” she said handing him an old magazine. As he started unbelievingly at the article in it she prattled on.

  “I went to the dentist and in his upstairs waiting room was this pile of really old magazines; I pulled one out for a browse and there you were. Did you know about the article?”

  “No, and I’m glad I didn’t.”

  “Did you really lose an entire Sunday school?”

  “Come and have a coffee and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  They wandered into the kitchen and Peter couldn’t help noticing that she had changed slightly. Her sloppy jumper had been replaced by a tighter fitting one and her fading denims replaced by a pair of smart slacks. Her makeup had also become one shade less hideous: a move from the merely hideous to the unusual. As Jo made the coffee she turned and grinned.

  “Spill the beans or I’ll post this article on the church notice board.”

  Peter laughed.

  “OK. OK. The Sunday school wanted to arrange a trip to a local theme park, but they needed a coach to get them there. I found this coach firm who gave a really cheap price because they didn’t have to give us the coach for the whole day. We would use the coach to travel from the Church to the theme park and the coach then went on to take a group of pensioners from the theme park off on holiday to Yorkshire. The idea was that a different coach would pick us up and bring the kids home. Everything went smoothly until the return trip; a coach from the same company drew up and the driver said to me ‘Sunday school outing?’ And so I got everybody to climb on board except a churchwarden and me, as the coach wasn’t big enough for all of us. When I got back to the church the coach hadn’t arrived, but twenty minutes later a coach pulled up. On board was a very perplexed Sunday school outing from a different church. They were expecting a trip to London and the Albert Hall and had ended up at our church gates. You can guess what had happened. Would you believe we had eighteen adults on that coach and not one of them noticed that they were hammering down a motorway towards London for over an hour and a half when the original journey took fifty minutes? We had to send a police car after them to stop the coach. The rest is history.”

  Jo grinned and passed the magazine over to Peter.

  “You’d better keep this in a safe place. The article says you left the church shortly afterwards; is that true?”

  “Yes, but only because I’d finished my time as a curate, not because of this. Somehow this fiasco made me more popular.”

  They chatted some more and then the doorbell rang.

  “Wedding couple,” Peter explained before leaving the kitchen.

  He suddenly reappeared.

  “A word of warning; Caroline is painting in the attic; apparently you risk life and limb if you disturb her.”

  When Peter opened the door his sixth sense told him something was wrong. He’d interviewed many wedding couples, but somehow the body language from this pair was all wrong. They were holding hands, but more like a mother and child than a couple. He showed them in his sitting room and for some reason, unbeknown to him nipped back and locked his study door. The couple introduced themselves as Eva and Juan and said that they wanted to get married in eight months time. Peter started taking down their details, but they were often hesitant in their answers. After about ten minutes Eva asked if she could go to the toilet. Peter took her into the hall and showed her the toilet door; once she had gone inside he nipped back into the kitchen, Jo was washing the floor. He pointed to the toilet.

  “Jo, there’s a woman in the toilet I don’t trust; can you keep an eye on her when she comes out?”

  He went back to the sitting room. When he sat down, Juan suddenly said,.

  “What’s your policy on marrying homosexuals?”

  Peter went on to full alert.

  “Are you one?”

  “Good grief no!”

  “Then it’s not relevant to our discussion.”

  “Is it true you’re prepared to baptize bastards?”

  “Do you have one, or are you one?”

  Juan squirmed just as Jo’s voice rang out in the hall.

  “I’m sorry that’s Peter’s study. The sitting room door is here.”

  Eva returned and sat down. Peter had had enough and decided to try a wild guess.

  “And which paper are you from?”

  Eva had the grace to look embarrassed, but Juan, if that was his real name, tried to bluster on.

  “What makes you think we’re from a newspaper?” he asked somewhat belligerently.

  “Because the only Eva and Juan I know are the Peron’s of Argentina.”

  Juan said, “Fair enough,” and got up to go.

  But Peter wanted some information. “Why?” he asked.

  Juan just shrugged.

  “Because you are here;” but Eva was more honest, “Bill thought it may be interesting to try and set you up.”

  “Bill Grunley?”

  She nodded. Peter opened the door to let them out just as Jasper was arriving. As Juan passed Jasper Peter heard him say, “Nice vicar, but he has a very peculiar wife.”

  Peter remembered Jasper’s previous visit and hoped that on this occasion nothing would go wrong.
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br />   However, as Jasper entered Jo came out of the kitchen.

  “Nosy bitch was trying to get into…”

  But before she could complete her sentence she saw Jasper and virtually ran back into the kitchen. Jasper eyed Peter.

  “Well I suppose this time she has got some clothes on.”

  Peter ignored the remark.

  “What can I do for you?”

  But before Jasper could reply Caroline came downstairs carrying a large plastic water bottle. She smiled her ‘stop them dead in their tracks’ smile and also went into the kitchen.

  Jasper again eyed Peter.

  “Got rid of the redhead and going for a blond now? Or is that an addition to your harem?”

  Peter decided that he had to end this joke before it got out of hand.

  “That’s my churchwarden’s wife, she’s using my attic to layout a mural she’s been commission to undertake in Alnwick Cathedral.”

  Jasper smiled menacingly.

  “Rubbish. The Dean of Alnwick is a good friend of mine and they’ve commissioned Carola Massey, not some bimbo from Felburgh.”

  Peter had had enough.

  “Come into my lounge,” he said and dragged Jasper through the doorway. Once in the lounge Jasper stared round the room open-mouthed. The Bible scenes in particular intrigued him and he ticked them off one by one.

  “Wedding at Cana; Moses and the burning bush; Lazarus; Jesus walks on water; parable of the Good Samaritan; Parable of the lost sheep,” and so on. Eventually he stopped at the little brown dog. He glanced at Peter, “is this a genuine… I mean did you…? Is she…” Eventually he swallowed and shook his head. “I had no idea that Carola Massey lived in Felburgh.” Then an awful thought hit Jasper, “I hope she didn’t hear me call her a bimbo!”

  “Don’t worry,” said Peter, “I can assure you she didn’t.”

  Jo meanwhile had crept into the hall. She was very nervous of Jasper and hoped that Peter wasn’t in trouble again. She heard them talking about Caroline’s mural and then all of a sudden Jasper coughed.

  “And what of the little meretricious woman in the hall; she always seems to be here, what is your relationship with her?”

  Peter replied.

  “Jo is a good friend of mine and she also happens to assist me in keeping the house clean.”

  “And that’s it?” said Jasper, “seeing as every time I come she is always here.”

  “You’ve only been here twice; that’s hardly a statistical representation,” responded Peter.

  Jasper then seemed to switch tack again; Jo wondered whether this was part of his repertoire.

  “Just why have you got your lounge painted like this?”

  Jo then thought they were moving towards the door so she shot back into the kitchen. So, she thought, Peter classed her as a good friend. Was this progress?

  Eventually Jasper ceased his interrogation and sat down.

  “I’d better tell you the reason for my visit. Mark you, I am not sure about this at all, but the Bishop thinks it will be a good idea, and I think you need an anchor.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Peter, “have I missed something?”

  Jasper rolled his eyes.

  “We, that is mainly the Bishop, are offering you a curate.”

  “When from?”

  “Two or three week’s time.”

  Peter’s suspicions were suddenly aroused.

  “That’s a bit sudden isn’t it? When do I get to interview them?”

  Jasper shuffled slightly in his seat.

  “Actually you don’t. It’s sort of take it or leave it.”

  “Why the haste?”

  Jasper kept quiet for a moment then obviously decided to come clean.

  “To be honest the poor chap has got himself in trouble, some sort of relationship that went wrong; we thought that a move may be the best answer.”

  Peter had a million questions, but needed more information.

  “How far in the curacy?”

  “Just under a year.”

  “Which Parish are they from?”

  “Berwick.”

  “Berwick in Northumbria?”

  “Yes”

  “Not this Diocese then.”

  “Goodness gracious, no!”

  Peter still smelt a rat somewhere; this looked more and more like the old-boy network working. Jasper had already intimated that he was good friend of the Dean of Alnwick and here was a curate popping up from virtually the next town up the coast. However, Peter could not say much about this; after all he’d probably got the job at Felburgh via the same network.

  “Where would they stay?”

  Jasper squirmed a little more.

  “Well the diocese is trying to rent a house in the harbor area, but that won’t materialize until the summer so we wondered if… You have been complaining that this house is too large…”

  The light dawned.

  “And you think a curate here might cramp my style with the ladies.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is there really a house in the harbor?”

  “Possibly, but if not there is somewhere else in the town.”

  Peter felt that Jasper was being deliberately vague.

  “I want to see the rental contract before I say yes.”

  “But you will say yes then?”

  Peter thought of his options; and the poor state this curate must be, not only trying to relate all the theology they’d learned at college to the real world, but also suddenly thrust from pillar to post.

  “Yes, but I’ll have to ask the churchwardens.”

  Jasper gave his menacing smile again.

  “I’ve already talked to George and he says it sounds like a good idea. He rang me on my mobile as I arrived; apparently Henry is amenable to the idea as well.”

  To Peter this smelt more and more like a stitch up.

  “Does this curate have a name?”

  “Charlie Parker.”

  Peter laughed.

  “Does he play the saxophone?”

  Jasper gave him a blank look.

  “The American, Charlie Parker, who played the jazz saxophone and is credited with inventing bebop?”

  “Never heard of him; really Peter you do carry some irrelevant information around in your head!”

  Jasper then got up to go and Peter showed him out.

  Jo appeared from the kitchen like a rabbit out of a box.

  “I didn’t get you into trouble again did I?”

  Peter smiled inwardly at her concern.

  “No everything is OK. And thanks for your help with that couple; they were reporters trying to create a story.”

  Jo also went to leave, but as she went through the front door she stopped.

  “What does meretricious mean?”

  “You don’t want to know,” said Peter, “you don’t want to know.”

  Peter then managed an hour to himself before Mark arrived. He arrived dead on one o’ clock. He walked in and waved his arms.

  “Can’t dump the paper at sea, it contains some nasty chemicals and it would be bad for the fish.”

  “Bad for the fish?”

  “You wouldn’t want to eat a contaminated fish would you?”

  Peter took Mark into the kitchen and put a steaming mug of tea in his hand.

  “Thanks for your help on Saturday.”

  “That’s OK, Lucy said she would come this week.”

  They then chatted over the best approach to the group. Eventually Peter said it was time to get started and they opened up the hatch and walked through to the air-raid shelter.

  “I thought we might try following the wires,” said Peter, “they must lead somewhere.”

  “What about counting the money?” replied Mark eagerly.

  Peter chuckled.

  “Power first, counting after.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  They went to the desk and studied the wiring.

  “We should have done t
his before,” said Peter as they followed the power cable from the four-gang rubber socket on the floor. It led behind the metal cabinets. They pulled out the first one, but to no avail. Then the second. Then the third. Behind the last two was a shallow alcove about two feet deep and in the floor of the alcove a double hatch that was slightly open; the power cable passed through the open gap, which was stuffed airtight with old newspapers. Screwed to the back of the alcove was a tarnished brass plaque, it was simply engraved with the words H.M.S. Cedd. Mark tapped it.

  “That’s the navy for you; they always name everything like a ship, even shore establishments.”

  They then opened the hatches, which obligingly clipped back into catches held in the ceiling of the alcove. The power cable disappeared down the shaft into blackness. This time there was no light switch, just a line of metal hoops set in the side of the shaft and vanishing into the dark below.

  After a few moments Peter went and retrieved his torch from the doorway and shone it down the shaft.

  The beam did not penetrate far enough.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Peter, “is why there is no water in the shaft. It must penetrate below the water table?”

  “Don’t look at me,” said Mark, “I’m as mystified as you are.”

  They squatted for a few minutes at the top of the shaft wondering what to do. Mark stood up and stretched.

  “I’ll go and get some really good lanterns from the boatyard. You start counting and I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

  Peter passed him the front door keys.

  “Lock it behind you; we don’t want unwelcome visitors.”

  Mark left and Peter moved over to the cupboard with the money. He started on the shelf with ten pound notes. They were bound in bundles of one hundred notes and Peter counted two hundred and fifty one bundles plus fifteen loose notes. He sat down, that’s £251,150 he though. Then he said aloud, “Good grief! That’s a quarter of a million!”

  Peter was still pondering this when Mark reappeared carrying an old carpenter’s type tool bag.

  “How’s it going?”

  “Quarter of a million so far.”

  “What!”

  Mark sat on the edge of the table.

  “That puts a different perspective on the whole affair. If Reginald owed this money to someone, or borrowed it from them, then they are definitely going to want it back.”