Do you live locally?
Do you have a parish ?
We smiled at each other and any awkwardness dissolved.
After you, Mrs Forde.
Vanessa, please. To answer your question, I live in Richmond.
I noticed that she had said I rather than we. And to answer yours, Im the vicar of Roth.
Oh yes.
Do you know Roth, then?
A little. She stared up at me and smiled. Does that surprise you?
I smiled back. Its identity tends to get swamped by its neighbours. A lot of people think the name is familiar but have no idea where it is.
I went there a few years ago to see the church. Rather an interesting one. Youve got that medieval panel painting over the chancel, havent you? The Last Judgement?
Thats right. With scenes from the life of Christ underneath.
One gin and lemon coming up, said Ronald, materializing at Vanessas elbow and handing her the glass with a flourish. He had a similar glass in his own hand, which he raised. Chin-chin. He beamed at me. David, I know Cynthia wanted to have a word with you about Rosemary.
My daughter, I explained to Vanessa.
Our niece dropped in last week, Ronald went on. She left school at the end of last term and she brought over a trunk of stuff for us to dispose of. Clothes, I suppose. I think theres a lacrosse stick, too. Cynthia wondered if anything might come in useful for Rosemary.
I smiled and thanked him. There was a time when I would have objected to being on the receiving end of the Trasks philanthropy. Now I knew better. Pride is a luxury and children become increasingly expensive as they grow older. At this moment Cynthia reached us, bearing bowls of peanuts and olives.
Did I hear Rosemarys name? she asked. Such a delightful girl. Hows she liking school now?
Much better, I think. I turned to Vanessa. When Rosemary first went away, she disliked it very much. In fact, she had twice tried to run away. But she seems to have settled down in the last year.
She will be taking her A levels next summer, said Cynthia, with a hint of interrogation in her voice, indicating that this was an inspired guess rather than a statement of fact.
She detached me from Vanessa and Ronald and talked to me for a moment or two about Rosemary. We decided or rather Cynthia decided that she would send Ronald over with the trunk during the next week or so. Anything we did not want for Rosemary could go to our next jumble sale. Having settled the matter, she steered me away from Vanessa and Ronald, who were talking together at the far end of the terrace, and skilfully inserted me into a conversation between Victor Thurston and the headmasters wife.
I did not get another opportunity to talk to Vanessa for some time. While we were on the terrace I glanced once or twice in the direction of her and Ronald, still talking, their faces intent. At one point I noticed her shaking her head.
Eventually we went through to the dining room, and Cynthia steered us to our places at the round table. Vanessa was diametrically opposite me. There was a substantial flower arrangement in the middle of the table, so I caught only the occasional glimpse of her. I was sitting between Cynthia and the headmasters wife.
Ronald said grace. The meal which followed was uncharacteristically elaborate. Melon with Parma ham gave way to coq au vin. Ronald, usually the most careful of hosts, kept refilling our glasses with an unfortunate Portuguese rosé. The headmasters wife tried delicately to interrogate me about Ronald. It soon became clear that she knew the Trasks rather better than I did. At last she gave up and spoke across me to Cynthia.
My dear, this is wonderful. How on earth do you manage to prepare a meal like this and go out to work?
I only work in the mornings. I find theres ample time if one is sufficiently organized.
I didnt know you had a job, I said.
I work for Vanessa. Im her secretary, really. Jolly interesting.
I wondered whether that explained the special effort the Trasks were making. Was Cynthia hoping for promotion?
I suppose you spend most of your time dealing with authors and so on, said the headmasters wife. It must be marvellous. Do you have lots of bestsellers?
Cynthia shook her head. We tend to do fairly specialized non-fiction titles. Actually, I think Royston and Fordes out-and-out bestseller was something called Great Engines of the 1920s.
Ronald and Thurston talked to Vanessa for much of the meal. When we left the table, Mary Thurston seized her husbands arm as if to re-establish her claim to him. Ronald went to the kitchen to make coffee.
Ronald bought a machine when he was in Italy last year, Cynthia explained to the rest of us. He does like to use it when we have guests. Too complicated for me, Im afraid. She added as an afterthought, Super coffee.
We went back to the drawing room to wait for it. Vanessa came over to me.
I dont suppose you could give me another cigarette, could you? Ive mislaid mine. So silly. She smiled up at me. Even then I think I knew that Vanessa was never silly. She was many things, but not that. She sat down on the sofa and waved to me to join her.
Are you in Ronalds whatever it is? area?
Hes my archdeacon, yes. So in a sense hes my immediate boss.
I did not want to talk about Ronald. He and I did not get on badly not then but we had little in common, and both of us knew it.
Cynthia tells me youre a publisher.
She squeezed her eyes together for an instant, as though smoke had irritated them. By default.
Im sorry?
It was my husbands firm. She stared down at her cigarette. He founded it with a friend from Oxford. It never made much money for either of them, but he loved it.
I didnt realize. Im sorry.
I I assumed Ronald might have mentioned it to you. No reason why you should know. Charles died three years ago. A brain tumour. One of those ghastly things that come out of a clear blue sky. Ive taken over his part in the business. Needs must, really. I needed a job.
Do you enjoy it?
She nodded. Id always helped Charles on the editorial side. Now Im learning a great deal about production. She smiled towards Cynthia, who was embroiled with the headmasters wife. Cynthia keeps me in order.
At dinner Cynthia said she thought Great Engines of the 1920s was your bestselling book.
Shes perfectly right. Though I have my hopes of The English Cottage Garden. Its been selling very steadily since it came out last year. She drew on her cigarette. In fact, our real bestseller in terms of copies sold is probably one of our town guides. The Oxford one. We do quite a lot of that sort of thing thats where the bread and butter comes from.
At that moment, Ronald appeared in the doorway bearing a large silver tray. Coffee, everybody, he announced in a voice like a fanfare. Sorry to keep you waiting. He advanced into the room, his eyes searching for Vanessa.
One of my parishioners has written a book, I said to her.
Vanessa looked warily at me. What sort of book?
Its a history of the parish. Not really a book. Id say its about ten thousand words.
How interesting.
One of my parishioners has written a book, I said to her.
Vanessa looked warily at me. What sort of book?
Its a history of the parish. Not really a book. Id say its about ten thousand words.
How interesting.
She glanced at me again, and I think a spark of shared amusement passed between us. She knew how to say one thing and mean another.
Shes looking for a publisher.
Sugar, Vanessa? boomed Ronald. Cream?
In my experience, most authors are. She smiled up at Ronald. Just a dash of cream, please, Ronnie.
Ronnie?
She believes it might appeal to readers all over the country, I continued. Not just to those who know Roth.
The happy few?
I smiled. It was a novelty to have someone talk to me as a person rather than as a priest. Could you recommend a publisher she could send it to? I stared at the curve of her arm and noticed the almost invisible golden hairs that grew on the skin. Someone who would have a look at the book and give a professional opinion. I imagine you havent got the time to look at stray typescripts yourself.
Vanessas always looking at stray typescripts, Ronald said, and laughed. Or looking for them.
I might be able to spare five minutes, she said to me, her voice deadpan.
Once again, she glanced at me, and once again the spark of amusement danced between us.
Brandy, anyone? Ronald enquired. Or what about a liqueur?
For the rest of the evening Vanessa talked mainly to Ronald, Cynthia and Victor Thurston. I was the first to leave.
3
The following Monday, I looked up Royston and Forde in the directory and phoned Vanessa at her office. Cynthia Trask answered the phone. Oddly enough this took me by surprise. I had completely forgotten that she worked there.
Good morning, Cynthia. This is David Byfield.
Hello, David.
After a short pause I said, Thank you so much for Friday.
Not at all. Ronald and I enjoyed it.
I wondered if I should have sent flowers or something. I dont know if Vanessa mentioned it, but one of my parishioners has written a book. She volunteered to have a look at it.
Ill see if shes engaged, Cynthia said.
A moment later, Vanessa came on the line. She was brisk with me, her voice sounding much sharper on the telephone. She was busy most of the day, she was afraid, but might I be free for lunch? Ninety minutes later, we were sitting opposite each other in a café near Richmond Bridge.
The long, clinging dress she had worn at the Trasks on Friday had given her a voluptuous appearance. Now she was another woman, dressed in a dark suit, and with her hair pulled back: slimmer, sharper and harder.
The typescript of The History of Roth was in a large, brown envelope on the table between us. I had picked it up from Audrey on my way to Richmond. (So kind of you, David. Im so grateful.)
Vanessa did not touch the envelope. She picked at her sandwich. A silence lay between us, and as it grew longer I felt increasingly desolate. The friendly intimacy that had flourished so briefly between us on Friday evening was gone. I found it all too easy, on the other hand, to think of her as a desirable woman. I had been a fool to come here. I was wasting her time and mine. I should have sent the typescript in the post.
Do you visit many churches? I asked, to make conversation. You mentioned our panel paintings on Friday.
Vanessa fiddled with one of the crumbs on her plate. Not really. I wanted to see Roth because of the connection with Francis Youlgreave.
The poet? My voice sounded unnaturally loud. Hes buried in the vault under the chancel.
He deserves a few paragraphs in here. Vanessa tapped the envelope containing the typescript. Quite a sensational character, by all accounts.
Audrey does mention him, but shes very circumspect about what she says.
Why?
Theres a member of the family still living in Roth. I think her husband was the poets great-nephew. Audrey didnt want to give people the wrong idea about him.
Defile their judgement, as it were. Vanessa smiled across the table at me. Then she quoted two lines from the poem that had found its way into several anthologies. It was usually the only poem of his that anyone had read.
Then darkness descended; and whispers defiled
The judgement of stranger, and widow, and child.
Just so.
Does anyone remember him in the village?
Roth isnt that sort of place. There arent that many people left who lived there before the last war. And Francis Youlgreave died before the First World War. Have you a particular reason for asking?
She shrugged. I read quite a lot of his verse when I was up at Oxford. Not a very good poet, to be frank all those jog-trot rhythms can be rather wearing. But he was interesting more for what he was and for who he knew than for what he wrote.
Not a very nice man, by all accounts. Unbalanced.
Yes, but rather fascinating. She looked at her watch. Im awfully sorry, David, but Ive got to rush.
I concealed my disappointment. I paid the bill and walked with her back to the office where I had left my car.
Would you like to telephone me tomorrow? she asked. I should have had time to look at the book by then.
Of course. At the office?
Ill probably read it at home, actually.
What time would suit you?
About seven?
She gave me her number. We said goodbye and I drove back to Roth, feeling profoundly dissatisfied. I had made a fool of myself in more ways than one. I had expected more, much more, from my lunch with Vanessa though quite what, I did not know. I was aware, too, that there was something absurd in a middle-aged widower acting in the way that I was doing. It was clear that she saw me as an acquaintance and that by looking at the typescript she was merely doing me and Audrey a good turn from the kindness of her heart.
Still, I thought, at least I had a reason to telephone Vanessa tomorrow evening.
In the event, however, I did not telephone Vanessa on Tuesday evening. This was because on Tuesday afternoon I received an unexpected and unpleasant visit from Cynthia Trask.
4
Cynthia arrived without warning in the late afternoon.
I hope Im not disturbing you, she said briskly. But I happened to be passing, and I thought this might be a good opportunity to drop in those odds and ends from my niece.
In the back of her Mini Traveller were two suitcases and a faded army kitbag containing the lacrosse stick and other sporting impedimenta. I carried them into the house and called Rosemary, who was reading in her room. She did not appear to hear.
I wont disturb her, if you dont mind, I said. Shes working quite hard this holiday. Would you like some tea? It would have been churlish not to offer Cynthia tea but I was mildly surprised that she so readily accepted. She followed me into the kitchen which, like the rest of the house, was cramped, characterless and modern.