The Mills of God

by Deryn Lake

  ‘Ever so pleased to meet you,’ said one, while the other murmured something incomprehensible.

  Nick did his stuff, shaking hands and smiling pleasantly while his eye ran over the plates of somewhat dry-looking sandwiches and fancy fairy cakes.

  ‘Quite a spread you have there,’ he commented amiably.

  ‘It’s just an ordinary tea,’ answered Mrs Emms, then after a moment added, ‘Would you like a sandwich?’

  ‘No, thank you all the same. I must get back to the vicarage. I’ve got a meeting at four o’clock.’

  ‘Do hope you’re settling in all right,’ Ivy said, giving him a smile and thrusting her glasses close to his face.

  ‘Perfectly, thank you. Well, ladies, I must be off. Hope to see you all in church.’

  ‘I shall be there,’ Ivy said loudly while the other two shuffled their feet.

  ‘Goodbye then,’ Nick answered, gave his odd polite bow, and departed somewhat speedily.

  He hurried back to the vicarage and went quickly through the front door, realizing he had ten minutes before Richard Culpepper was due to arrive. The ginger cat he had found in church was sitting waiting for him and advanced towards him, arching its back as it stretched out of its sleeping position. Nick bent to stroke it.

  ‘Hello Radetsky,’ he said, a name he had given to the cat after the famous march written by Johann Strauss the Elder. The cat purred loudly by way of reply.

  Enquiries in the village, including notices put up in the supermarket and The Great House, had yielded no clues about the animal’s owner. In fact there had been no response at all. So the vicar, quite gladly as it happened, had adopted the creature which had moved into the vicarage with alacrity.

  It was an odd sort of set-up, Nick thought as he prepared the tea things. One male, one neutered cat and one ghost all sharing the same roof. In fact if anyone had told him three months earlier that this was how he was going to end up he would have laughed in their face. But in actuality he quite enjoyed the unusual situation and was whistling cheerfully to himself when the front door bell rang. Richard Culpepper, wearing an Austrian jacket and looking as if he’d just stepped out of a production of The Sound of Music, stood there.

  ‘Do hope I’m not late,’ he said. His breath had an undertone of alcohol.

  ‘Not at all. Please come in. I’m just making some tea.’

  He ushered Richard into the sitting room and went to the kitchen where he retrieved a tray.

  ‘Now, how do you like your tea?’

  ‘Strong, please. And I think I’ll take a dash of sugar today. I need the energy.’

  ‘Oh dear. Nothing wrong I hope?’

  ‘No, no. Just one of those things.’

  ‘How’s the acting?’ asked the vicar, sitting down and sipping his Lapsang Souchong.

  ‘Going quite well actually. I’ve been offered a role in a fringe theatre production.’

  ‘Oh really. What’s that?’

  ‘It’s the part of a forensics expert in a play about John Major.’

  ‘What’s it called? The Man in Grey?’ asked Nick and fell about laughing at his own joke.

  Richard looked very slightly huffy. ‘The title has not yet been decided upon. No, the trouble is it will probably mean staying in London, which will annoy my wife of course.’

  Nick pulled his features into a serious expression. ‘I am sorry to hear that. How long will you be away?’

  ‘Oh about six weeks I would imagine.’

  ‘And you can’t get back on a Sunday?’

  ‘No, unfortunately we perform on that day too. Which brings me to my next point. I shall have to let you down as churchwarden for a short while. How do you feel about that?’

  Nick thought. The service on his one and only Sunday in the parish had been conducted by the Reverend Mills, a dear old man who helped out when the vicar was ill or away, and who had acted as priest during the period between the departure of the Reverend Simpkins and Nick’s arrival. He would be there at Nick’s debut and introduce him to the congregation. Everything would be fine.

  ‘I am sure we will be able to manage perfectly well. Mrs Cox will smooth out any wrinkles.’

  Richard put on a pleased expression though his mouth hardened a little.

  ‘Well, in that case I have no need to worry. I shall send my wife along to deputize for me, of course, and I am sure she will cope. Have you met her yet?’

  ‘No. I look forward to doing so.’

  ‘Her name is Roseanna. She used to be an actress, years ago. We met when we were both filming.’

  Nick finished his tea and bit into a biscuit. ‘Why did she stop?’

  Richard looked a little vague. ‘Well, she wanted a family but, alas, that did not happen. Then when she gave up on that idea and tried to make a comeback there just weren’t the parts around for a woman of an âge certain.’

  The vicar did not know quite how to react, so he just sat there, looking wise.

  Richard finished his cup and stood up. ‘Well, Father Nick,’ he said cheerfully, ‘as you’ve given one of your wayward parishioners leave of absence I think I had better go. I must be in town early tomorrow. We start rehearsals at ten o’clock. We are working with the author.’

  ‘How nice. Who is he? Anyone I would know?’

  ‘No, he’s only a young chap but he won the St Pancras Award with a previous play.’

  Nick mentally gave up. It was all getting way beyond him. He had never heard of the St Pancras Award and had a fated feeling that he might never do so again.

  ‘Oh, well done,’ was all he could think of saying as he bowed Richard Culpepper out of the front door.

  Radetsky looked along the hall from the kitchen where he was busily digging into his feeding bowl. The vicar approached him.

  ‘Well, Rad, what do you think?’

  The cat stared at him solemnly from his enormous green eyes. Then gave a great yawn and went out through the cat flap which the vicar had had installed when nobody had replied to his advertisement. Nick could see him through the window washing his face thoroughly.

  Very much as he had anticipated the church was packed to overflowing on the following Sunday. In fact while donning his vestments Nick had a decided feeling of panic. Already the line was starting to form up to march down the aisle towards the altar and he knew that he was going to be the object of a great deal of scrutiny. He swallowed hard and the Reverend Mills turned to him with a kindly expression.

  ‘Nervous?’

  ‘A little.’

  ‘No need, dear boy, no need. God will see you through.’

  And with that the vestry door was flung open and a young man carrying the gold cross high before him strode out. He was followed by two other assistants and then came Nick, Mills walking a step or two behind him, leading out the choir who, singing lustily, processed to the stalls in their long gowns. Reaching the altar the new vicar turned to face the congregation and said, ‘May the Lord be with you.’ And was greeted by a ringing, ‘And also with you.’

  Afterwards when he stood outside the church, greeting his new parishioners, the vicar felt a moment of great pride. Most of Lakehurst had been there to see him and Olivia had turned up to put the icing on the cake. He shook her hand with a certain amount of warmth.

  ‘So you came then.’

  ‘You know I did. You gave me communion.’

  ‘I’m afraid things were a bit blurred. I didn’t really notice.’

  Her eyes sparkled. ‘How very remiss of you. But despite that let me say welcome to Lakehurst, Father Nick.’

  ‘Will you come to my party? It’s a fortnight on Friday at the vicarage.’

  ‘I will if I’m here. I’ll go home and look in the diary.’

  ‘Please do.’ And with a final squeeze of her hand he reluctantly passed on to the next person.

  It took Nick the best part of an hour to greet everyone and by the time he had bidden farewell to the last of the choir he suddenly found that he was standing alone, ev
en kindly Reverend Mills having returned to his lunch of roast pork and vegetables cooked by his sister. Nick went back into the church and offered up a brief prayer of thanks before heading purposefully for The Great House.

  Already he recognized several people. Giles Fielding was standing with a group of local lads, leaning up against the bar, his hair quite fiery red where it caught the early afternoon sun. Jack Boggis was sitting in his usual corner, back to the room, reading an item in the Sunday paper. Standing alone and downing neat vodka was Kasper Rudniski, looking soulful and extremely handsome. Nick was most relieved to see that Olivia was not with him. He went over.

  ‘Hello, Kasper. How are you today?’

  The doctor brightened. ‘I am well, thank you. I have just come from the Catholic church. I support the opposition, you see.’ He grinned disarmingly.

  ‘There’s only one God,’ Nick answered briskly. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

  ‘Vodka, please. I drink it unadorned.’

  ‘So I noticed. Don’t you find it rather strong?’

  ‘It is very warming to the stomach.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nick – though he didn’t – and put in his order for the doctor and himself.

  Giles came up to them and extended a work-worn hand.

  ‘How you getting on then, Vicar?’

  ‘Very well. I played to a full house this morning.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’

  A voice spoke beside them. ‘Oh Father Nick, I am so glad to catch up with you at last. I was in church this morning but arrived somewhat late, I fear, so I had to sit near the back. But I sang up lustily, I can tell you.’

  Nick turned and looked into the face of Gerrard Riddell.

  He was very much as he had been described, clearly homosexual with a high, somewhat irritating voice, and an old-womanish manner. He smiled at Nick displaying a row of formidably tiny teeth. The vicar held out his hand.

  ‘How do you do? I’m sorry but I seemed to miss you when you left.’

  ‘Oh, I hurried out. I remembered that I had left a candle burning in my house and had to dash back to put it out. Fortunately, nothing had gone amiss.’

  ‘That’s as well then,’ put in Giles. ‘You can have a lot of trouble with burning candles.’ A foxy look came over his rugged face. ‘Was it alight in front of your Buddha, Gerrard?’

  Mr Riddell’s face suffused to a purplish shade. ‘I don’t see that that is any of your business, Fielding.’

  Giles laughed loudly. ‘Oh, it’s Fielding now, is it? Well, suit yourself, “Mr” Riddell. Bit of a change from when you wanted to buy a leg of lamb cheaply, as I recall.’

  Mr Riddell said snappishly, ‘You can recall anything you like, as far as I am concerned. Good day to you.’ And he ostentatiously turned his back on the sheep farmer before he asked, ‘You were saying, Vicar?’

  Nick, who had been extremely uncomfortable during the previous exchange, replied, ‘Nothing of any importance. Let me buy you a drink.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll have a gin and Dubonnet, just like the late Queen Mother.’ He let out a soprano laugh.

  Kasper joined in. ‘How are you feeling, Mr Riddell?’

  ‘Quite well, thank you. Dr Haskell is very pleased with me.’

  If this last were a dig at Dr Rudniski’s place as the most junior doctor, Kasper let it pass him by. ‘I am delighted to hear it,’ he said serenely, and raised his glass.

  There was a sudden burst of sound from the local lads, whom Giles had gone to rejoin. Nick turned to glance in their direction and momentarily had the oddest sensation of not being part of his surroundings, of merely being an observer. He saw everything as if he were looking through a telescope. He saw Jack Boggis rocking with silent laughter over something in the Sunday Telegraph, not a paper usually known for its hilarity. He noticed without jealousy that Kasper had film-star looks; that Gerrard Riddell had a waspish pinched expression, rather as if he were expecting a bad smell to erupt; that the fire needed another log on it. He also noticed that there was no sign of the beautiful Olivia anywhere.

  With an effort Nick pulled himself together and, concentrating hard, applied himself to his role of sympathetic listener and reliable man who did not experience strange flights of fancy.

  FIVE

  It was the night of Nick’s welcoming party and the vicarage was a blaze of gentle light. Candles had been placed in the downstairs rooms and fires lit in the sitting and dining rooms. With Mavis Cox expressing disapproval in every way possible the vicar had switched all but the essential overhead lights off so that the old house had a charming and somewhat romantic atmosphere. Nick’s one hope was that William would not make this an occasion for one of his noisier exhibitions.

  Everyone connected with the church was present. Mavis, of course, even more disgruntled because the vicar had taken over the organization of the food. Instead of sausage rolls and vol-au-vents he had plumped for a ham, a large salmon and a side of beef, all of which he had cooked himself. He had then prepared several salads, though he had to admit to buying coleslaw and cheese. Truth to tell, Nick was extremely useful in the kitchen, a fact which had been carefully noted by his former girlfriends.

  Along with Mavis came Sonia Tate, Ivy Bagshot, the woman from the post office, Ceinwen Carruthers – clutching a poem welcoming the new vicar – and various other assorted females all of whom looked terribly well meaning. And then the doorbell rang and there was Olivia, much to Nick’s delight and relief.

  ‘So you managed to get here,’ he said as he let her in.

  ‘It was clever of you to make it a Friday,’ she answered, giving him a glance that sent him reeling. ‘And to pick one of my nights off.’

  ‘I looked in my crystal ball,’ he replied lightly as he ushered her into the sitting room.

  Already gathered there were the handsome doctor Kasper, Giles Fielding – who was playing it extremely cool with Gerrard Riddell – and, unbelievably, Jack Boggis, who had refused wine and was standing with a frothing pint of beer in his hand. As Olivia entered the room he brightened up and Nick made a mental note that Jack still fancied his chance with the ladies.

  ‘Hello,’ Boggis said in a broad Yorkshire accent, ‘aren’t you the fiddle player?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she answered.

  Kasper intervened. ‘Miss Beauchamp is one of the country’s leading performers, Mr Boggis.’

  ‘Oh ah! I stand corrected. But they’re all fiddle players to me any road.’

  He gave a contented smile and looked round the room and it occurred to Nick that the man was playing the part of a typical Northerner, ‘where’s there’s muck there’s brass, by gum.’ He wondered what actually lurked beneath.

  There was a swell of laughter from the dining room, where most of the women had foregathered in that peculiar way the English have of automatically segregating the sexes at social gatherings. Nick looked round.

  ‘I must go and dig out the ladies if you’ll excuse me.’

  He wandered off.

  Kasper rolled his glorious eyes in the vicar’s direction. ‘A very pleasant man, that.’

  ‘Very,’ Olivia replied, and changed the subject. She went forward with hand extended. ‘How are you, Giles?’

  ‘I’m very well, my dear,’ he replied in his Sussex accent.

  Kasper joined them. ‘Of course, you two are neighbours.’

  ‘Yes, we are. I’m in Skylark Farm and Olivia owns one of the old cottages.’

  But they got no further with this pleasant exchange for with a loud shriek Ceinwen came into the room brandishing her poem.

  ‘The vicar says that I must read this aloud,’ she announced to the startled company.

  ‘Well, go on then,’ said Giles, grinning broadly.

  ‘Must you?’ muttered Boggis under his breath.

  She cleared her throat importantly. ‘Along the nave he processed, his chin high but not yet mighty . . .’

  ‘I thought I spied a dicky bird aflying up his
nightie,’ whispered Boggis.

  Kasper and Olivia exchanged a look but controlled themselves admirably.

  ‘He has come to us to lead our prayers, to give us all communion. One body we, we bravely shout, as we feel the bonds of union. We welcome thee, oh Father Nick, long may you stay to heal us . . .’

  ‘To what?’ said Giles, cupping his ear as if he were deaf.

  ‘Heal not feel,’ Kasper whispered back.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘May your sword be sharp, your munificence strong, may you walk for ever tall. Greetings to you, oh man of the cloth, from the villagers, one and all.’

  There was a second or two’s silence and then a smattering of polite applause.

  Kasper frowned. ‘I don’t think that quite scanned – is that the right word?’

  Olivia gave her beautiful smile. ‘Yes, it is and no it didn’t. Let’s go and get something to eat.’

  They found Father Nick in the dining room, cutting sides off the meat and salmon and passing them to his women guests, who had formed a giggling queue and were oohing and aahing over the salads. It was perfectly obvious that one or two of them had taken a fancy to him and were desperate to attract his attention. A primary mover amongst these was Sonia Tate, who, to add to the glamour of the occasion no doubt, had a sexy feather boa in a colour once known as shocking pink firmly attached to her neck. Nick seemed perfectly oblivious but brightened up when he saw Olivia.

  ‘Hello, you two. What can I get you to eat?’

  ‘I’ll have some salmon please.’

  ‘And for me,’ said Kasper.

  ‘Of course I rarely eat,’ said Jack Boggis, who had followed them into the dining room. ‘I don’t get all that hungry.’

  ‘It’s the booze,’ muttered the doctor.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ said Gerrard Riddell, waspishly.

  He had come to the buffet moving silently and the vicar couldn’t help but have uncharitable thoughts about him. He was an unpleasant little man, both in his small pinched face and his equally shrivelled up view of others, to say nothing of his tiny teeth. Nick desperately tried to imagine him as the hub of gay weekend parties and somehow couldn’t manage it at all.