St Jude’s, Saxonhurst, was bare of such natural ornamentation. There was something else it was bare of too, that Sunday morning. A congregation.
No organist sat in the loft playing the introduction to the first hymn – they had last had one in 1962. Entering from the vestry, Adam launched into the opening verse of O Worship The King, his solo baritone echoing along the nave and up to the vaulted ceiling.
What a magnificent place this could be, if only the pews were full, the choir stalls peopled.
But his work lay before him, and he was hopeful.
So hopeful that he did not abandon the service, but continued doggedly, singing all the verses of the hymn, then moving on to the liturgy proper, leaving spaces for the responses that never came.
The neglected air was chill and damp on his skin, but he read the lesson regardless of its musty odour, enjoying the way his voice rang out across the empty benches.
The sermon he had prepared the night before, working at his desk until past midnight, would be wasted, but it would not be abandoned.
He closed the book on the lectern and struck his usual pose, a finger beneath his chin to signify curiosity, his crooked elbow resting on the ledge to suggest accessibility and modernity, his brow furrowed to bring the weight of profound thought to the ensemble.
‘I wonder, brothers and sisters,’ he opened, ‘if we have lost sight of a simple thing, a thing so important to our forebears in this village, a quality that has suffered over the years from a kind of weathering, resulting in its erosion to something hardly resembling what our ancestors knew.’
He paused for effect. Leave the congregation some time to guess what he might be talking about, that was the advice he’d been given by his mentors.
‘That thing,’ he resumed after counting the requisite half a minute’s beat, ‘is decency.’
He looked up, all the way to the font, catching imaginary eyes with his frank and commanding gaze. Now they would be questioning themselves. Am I decent? Does he mean me?
He caught his breath when a figure moved at the back of the church, behind a stand containing unlit votive candles. It looked like her. Was it her?
‘Decency,’ he continued, in a lower tone than he intended, wavering slightly, ‘used to mean something quite different. It has become a catch-all phrase that encompasses all behaviour of a generally moral nature … Hello? Don’t go.’
She had left through the optimistically open back door, a slight figure in a bright red dress, hair streaming gloriously down her back.
Adam looked about him, torn briefly between determination to see the service through and the urgent need to catch Evie.
Urgent need trumped professional determination, and he left the lectern and hastened along the aisle, robes billowing when he broke into a run near the arched exit.
‘Evie,’ he called. ‘Evie Witts!’
But when he arrived at the porch, there was no sign of her.
The morning was bright and sunny again, another perfect day in the ripening Vale, but here in this forgotten corner of the village it was shadowy and chill. Beyond the church, the graveyard was unkempt and overgrown, the lichened tombstones half smothered in vetch and cypress spurge. Valiant sunlight forced its way through a clump of yew trees lining the perimeter wall, but the fitful penumbras thus produced only intensified the sinister atmosphere.
Keeping to the weed-strewn path, Adam skirted the building, looking for a tell-tale scarlet flash, finding nothing until he came to the oldest part of the grounds, its uneven gravestones like lines of rotting teeth, the 16th century dates hewn upon them sealed up with moss.
He stopped, hugging his arms to his body, hearing at first only the breeze sighing through the leaves. Despite the unearthly calm, he felt that he was not alone.
Then he heard it. A sound that blended with the suspirations of nature and yet stood apart from them, heavier and more urgent. A human sound, panting perhaps. And then an unmistakable sigh of – of pain? Upset? Or base pleasure?
He had heard that same sound, from those same lungs, before.
‘Evie!’ he called again, angrily now. ‘Where are you?’
He strode around the bell tower and then he saw her.
Lying on a flat granite slab, surrounded by a low wall and festooned with the only fresh flowers in the entire graveyard, was Evie. Her legs were bent so that the silky skirt of her red dress was rucked around her waist, baring her knickerless crotch to the gaze of any passer-by. She gazed up into the sky, one hand cupped around a breast, teasing its stiff nipple with a lazy thumb.
Her face was rapt, eyes glassy, and her back was arched. The flush of her cheek was just as it had been when he saw her the day before, taken by her string of lovers. She had been – doing something unspeakable – here in the churchyard.
For a moment, he could do no more than stare at her, his eyes drawn rudely to what was displayed between her thighs.
Then he took a long stride forward, reaching out for her arm to yank her off the slab. She anticipated him and rolled on to her side, ending up on all fours with her silk-encased bottom thrust up towards him.
‘I’ve been a bad girl, vicar,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Are you going to spank me?’
All self-control flying out of reach, he raised his hand to do exactly that. It wasn’t until it had fallen, with a crack that sent the birds flying from the trees overhead, that he collected himself.
‘Dear Lord, send me strength,’ he muttered, staggering back until the stone of the bell tower supported his spine.
Evie put a hand on her backside, rubbing at the spot he’d made such impressive impact upon, then she rose and beamed impishly at him.
‘That’ll leave a mark,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘But I deserved it. I shan’t tell anyone.’
He resisted the impulse to thank her, though he knew that his action could have spelled the end of his career.
‘Yes, you deserved it,’ he said. ‘How dare you desecrate the graves of the dead in this way? You are brazen and sinful.’
‘Just like her,’ said Evie, casting her gaze down at the horizontal gravestone with its curlicued script. ‘My great-great-great-grandma. There might be another couple of greats in there. I dunno.’
Adam stepped closer, reading the name.
‘Evangeline Mary Witts. You’re named for her?’
‘Yeah, strange though, ’cos she weren’t exactly a role model. We’ve got a lot in common, me and Granny Evangeline, if you know what I mean.’
‘Do you think she’d approve of what you were doing on her grave?’
Evie looked as if she were struggling with some undefined emotion.
‘I ain’t looking for approval,’ she said at last.
‘That’s obvious. But sometimes you get what you aren’t looking for when you least expect it.’
‘What d’you mean by that?’
‘I mean, Miss Witts, that you are coming with me.’
She didn’t resist when he took her wrist. He was both elated by and suspicious of her compliance, but he said nothing as he drew her along the path, through cobwebs and brambles, towards the vicarage.
‘I was coming up here anyway,’ she volunteered, in explanation for her lack of resistance. ‘To see my aunty.’
‘Who?’
‘Your housekeeper. She’s my aunt. I come up and have Sunday lunch with her sometimes.’
‘Oh.’ He fumbled in his pocket for the keys. ‘Mrs Witts. Of course. I hadn’t made the connection.’
‘She’s doing roast lamb today. Mint sauce. Roast potatoes. Carrots and stuff.’
‘Roast lamb can wait. We have things to discuss first.’
‘Do we?’
‘Oh yes. Take a seat.’
He showed her into the living room, then went to find his housekeeper, who was peeling potatoes at the sink.
‘I wasn’t expecting you, vicar – that was a quick service. Ain’t you meant to be going over to Little Minching before lunch?’
He’d forgotten his commitment to the late morning service in the neighbouring hamlet. But he still had half an hour before he had to be there.
‘Yes, yes, that’s all in hand. I meant to tell you, Mrs Witts, that your niece is here.’
‘Our Evie?’
‘Yes. I want to talk to her first. Could you make tea?’
‘Talk to Evie?’ Mrs Witts put down her peeler and cackled. ‘She ain’t the religious type, I have to warn you.’
‘Well, be that as it may … Tea, please.’
‘Of course. Biscuits?’
‘I think, no. Just tea.’
He returned to the living room to find Evie running her finger along the bookshelves, letting it bump from leather spine to leather spine, over the gold leaf lettering.
‘You read all these?’ she asked idly.
‘Yes.’
‘You must have a lot of time on your hands. Don’t you have work to do? Visiting the sick and whatnot?’
‘Of course. I am a spiritual guide and mentor – which brings me to you. Please sit down.’
‘You want to guide me?’ She turned and let her lips slowly curve upwards. ‘Aww, that’s nice, love.’
‘I said, please sit down.’ Exasperation wasn’t far beneath the surface of the cool, firm tone he had rehearsed to perfection.
‘Dunno if I can, vicar. Got a sore bum, you see.’
He drew in a breath, waiting, trying to ignore the gathering tension in his trousers. She relented and plumped herself down on the sofa.
He subsided into the arm chair opposite and steepled his fingers, preparatory to making his first line of attack.
‘Mind if I wash my hands?’ She pre-empted him, her eyes alight with devilment. ‘My fingers have been where a good girl’s fingers shouldn’t go this morning, if you catch my drift. S’OK, I know where the downstairs lavvy is. Wait a mo.’
She got up and scampered off, leaving Adam utterly disarmed and with an erection he couldn’t do anything about.
He prayed silently, head in hands, until Evie’s absence became conspicuous by its duration. Had she walked out?
Erection successfully banished by devout thoughts, he went to investigate.
He found her in the kitchen with her aunt. Both of them stopped talking the moment he appeared and looked at the floor.
‘Evie,’ he said, as sternly as he could. ‘We haven’t had our talk yet. Bring the tea things through, Mrs Witts.’
His second attempt began with a little more success. Once tea was poured and Mrs Witts dispensed with, he leant forward and gave Evie a long, hard look.
‘What do you think I want to talk to you about?’
‘Flowers? I’m good at flower arranging.’
‘Not flowers. I’m worried about you, Evie. Deeply concerned.’
‘You want to put me out of your head, vicar. I’m never going to be anything but what I am. I enjoy life, I don’t hurt nobody, I don’t start wars nor tell people what they can and can’t do. I reckon that makes me OK.’
‘OK? You, you’re a pornographic …’ He couldn’t complete the sentence.
She shrugged. ‘I’ve fucked a few people on camera. Sorry, God. Please don’t smite me now.’
He put down his tea. His hand was shaking too much to hold the handle steady.
‘Do you truly see nothing wrong in what you do?’
‘Wrong? Let me see. You tell me what’s wrong with this. After I got to Kasia and Seb’s last night, I got changed into a little bikini thing, all spangly it was, just a little G-string and the bra top had cut-outs where the nipples peeked out. We were doing a poolside scene, see.’
Adam thought, recognised, knew he should stop her. But the words wouldn’t form.
‘Now, I wasn’t in no fit state for full-on shagging. You know why. Don’t you?’
Adam spilled his tea, starting forward as if stung. She knew he’d been watching her at her cornfield orgy?
‘Don’t try and deny it, you dirty sod. Voyeur, that’s what you are. But don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul. Just like I won’t let on about you laying a finger on me in the churchyard. All your secrets are safe with me, vicar.’
She winked, watching him splutter and struggle to find a repudiation until she seemed to tire of the scene and continued.
‘Anyway, my cunt weren’t looking too clever, so we decided to do a girl on girl scene. Me and Bellissima – that’s Kasia’s girlfriend and co-star. She ain’t really called Bellissima. Her real name’s Shyanne and she’s from Croydon. Artistic license, though. I call myself Angel Harp. Dunno why, just sounds nice.’
She laughed. He was having difficulty masking his horror and dismay.
‘I know it’s a bit inappropriate. An angel is the last thing I am. But it’s pretty. Like me. Do you think I’m pretty, vicar?’
She didn’t wait for a reply.
‘Anyway, back to the poolside. Me and Bellissima were sitting on the edge of the pool, making out. She’s got a pierced tongue and I love the way it feels when she pushes it all round the inside of my mouth. I like to flick the tip of my tongue over it, all smooth it is. So we were really getting into it, deep kissing, and we started feeling each other’s tits, pulling down the bikini tops, though she didn’t have to do that, what with my nipples poking out anyway. Can be a bit rough sometimes, Bel, and she was twisting them a bit, but I just stroked hers. Gorgeous, they are, really full, I think she’s a double E cup.’
Adam uttered a bleat of “Stop” but it was so weak Evie didn’t hear it. Or perhaps she pretended not to.
‘They felt all heavy in my hands and I just wanted to squeeze. When Seb’s filming, he likes to leave the action to us, let us take it where we want to go. We have directions that we know about before we start – like, we knew how the scene was going to end. But just for now, we were having fun, exploring each other’s bodies. Her skin’s so smooth and sleek, it’s golden brown, you know, almost shines. Anyway, she was first with the hand down the bikini briefs. She took off her false nails before we started, thank God, so her hand just slipped in there, nice and easy. I spread my legs for her and she rubbed my clit nice and slow, still with her tongue in my mouth, frenching me for all she was worth.
‘I started to feel like she was getting all the control, ’cos she can be a bit of a bossy bitch sometimes, and I wasn’t having that. I wanted to be the dominant one in this scene. So I took her hand out and smacked it and pushed her down on the tiles.
‘Her bikini bottoms came down and I threw ’em in the pool before she could grab them back. I made her spread her legs and I got between them and lay on top of her, dry humping her until she let me finish the kiss.
‘Then I got stuck into her nipples, giving them a good licking, a few nips with my teeth. She’s got big nipples, vicar, real dark, like bitter cherries. They taste gorgeous, she uses some lotion that smells of mangoes or passion fruits, not sure which, always get them two mixed up. She’s not soapy, just a kind of sweet, salty flavour. I can’t get enough of it. By then, I’d got my fingers into her cunt and believe me, she was wet. You could hear the sucky noise of it every time I put them in and took them out.
‘I said a few words of dialogue, I told her what was coming to her. “You’re gonna get fucked like a bitch, Bel,” I said to her. “Like my bitch, on your knees with your arse up while I give it to you with my strap-on.” That was her cue to start fighting me. I had to let her, it was in the script, but I didn’t want to stop fingering her and sucking those fucking luscious nipples. Directions are directions, though, so I let her roll out from under me and escape into the pool.
‘Their pool’s lovely, vicar, just the temperature you want, like a warm bath. You’ll have to go for a swim there some time. Anyway, I chased Bel around the water, but first I took off my bikini, ’cos who needs it? I dived in and got hold of her, but that took a while ’cos Seb couldn’t get the shots he wanted. We had to do about eight takes. Finally he was ready for the big finish. I dragged her to t
he poolside and bent her over the edge. Gave her a few smacks on her wet bum – that hurts more, you know. Next time you spank me, remember that.
‘Got her on her knees and spanked her again until she promised not to fight me. Then I whipped on the old strap-on and sank it right in. It’s a big ’un, but she can take it. She stretched really wide, so I took it slow at first, made sure she was comfortable. Oh, you should’ve heard that girl, vicar. She’s got one of those voices, kind of hoarse and throaty, you know. When she moans, she really moans. Fuck, she turns me on.’
‘That’s enough!’ Adam forced the words out, the effort muffling them somewhat, but he accompanied them with a bold sweep of his arm.
‘You all right, vicar? Your face is dead red.’
‘What on earth do you think you’re playing at?’ He rose unsteadily. The phrase “Next time you spank me, remember that” flickered in and out of his mind, threatening his resolve and doing nothing to relieve the bulge in his trousers. ‘Why are you spouting this –this – filth? In my living room? What are you trying to do?’
She widened her eyes and blinked, a classic faux-ingenue.
‘I don’t know what you mean, vicar. But if I was trying to turn you on, I reckon I’ve succeeded.’
She glanced down at the lump in his cassock, her lips twitching.
‘I don’t pretend,’ he started stiffly, ‘that I am not mortal. I suffer the temptations of the flesh, just like any man. But I don’t yield to them. I don’t let them rule me. That’s the decent way, the right way. You need instruction in that way, Evie, or you are lost.’
‘You want to teach me, vicar?’ Her voice was soft and breathy.
He knew she was toying with him, but this didn’t deter him. There was a long journey to be taken, but it had to start with a single step.
‘Yes. I think you should come here in the evenings and take instruction from me.’
‘Learn the error of my ways? Correct my dirty habits?’
‘It won’t be easy.’
‘I know. You can’t make me do anything I don’t want to, though, can you?’
‘I realise that. I will rely on your – free will. Your God-given free will.’
Saxonhurst Secrets Page 3