Chocolate Wishes (18 page)

Good.

Once Jake had gone off to college I went to collect the latest chapter from Grumps. I hoped this book was nearly finished, because it seemed to me to be much longer than usual. But every time it appeared to be winding up to a conclusion, it galloped off again at a tangent.

‘What did you think of the new vicar?’ I asked him, gathering scattered pages.

‘Oh, surprisingly intelligent. Can keep his end up in a conversation. I don’t mind if he visits again…if he is able to.’ And then he shifted a little in his chair and winced.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Just a touch of sciatica. What are these?’ he added, prodding the biscuits in his saucer.

‘Lemon cream puffs.’

‘I can’t dip a lemon cream puff into my tea,’ he objected.

‘Yes you can, but it will taste pretty weird,’ I said, and left him to it.

‘Zillah,’ I said on the way back through the kitchen, ‘a marble angel nearly fell on the new vicar yesterday in the churchyard, soon after he left here: was that Grumps’ doing?’

Zillah was sitting in the old armchair by the hearth, in front of the flat-screen TV, with Tabitha limply draped across her lap like a small, moth-eaten fur rug.

‘How would he be able to cause that, in a churchyard, on hallowed ground?’ she asked, the inevitable fag hanging out of the corner of her mouth barely moving as she spoke.

‘I suppose it is silly, when you think about it,’ I conceded.

‘I read the vicar’s leaves and the Tarot – did he say I gave the cards to him to hold?’

I shook my head. ‘How did you know I’d seen him?’

‘I know everything,’ she said complacently. ‘The cards showed me clearly that he has a heart washed clean of sin and a vital part to play in the events that will unfold.’

‘His heart must have been through a carwash on Extra Long, then,’ I said sourly, then told her what had happened between us the previous afternoon. ‘So I’m still furious with him,’ I concluded, ‘because he was so credulous and never gave a thought about me afterwards. He even slept with Rachel! And I certainly haven’t entirely forgiven him, either, though maybe I’ll be able to get my head around it eventually…in a decade or so.’

I remembered something she’d said. ‘And what did you mean, he has a vital part to play?’

Zillah shrugged, and the lime-green shawl she was wearing slid off one shoulder. It would have looked quite racy, except for the double layer of pink and magenta cardigans beneath.

‘As vicar, I presume. Gregory says we must all join ranks together against Digby Mann-Drake, and Raffy can’t do that if he’s been flattened by an angel, can he?’

‘It would certainly make it difficult,’ I agreed.

While I was in the post office sending off the latest batch of Chocolate Wishes I heard that notices had been posted on the gates of both the lido field and the tennis courts overnight, saying that when the leases expired in April the current owner, Mr Mann-Drake, intended closing them to the public.

Everyone was up in arms about this and I detoured on my way home to read the notice on the tennis court gate. It was on laminated fluorescent orange card so it would have been a bit hard to miss, but I was only just in time, since Effie Yatton drove up in her old green Morris and removed it just as I’d finished.

An energetic, grey-haired woman with a thin, eager face like a whippet, she nodded to me and said concisely, ‘Disgraceful! I’m taking the notices to the Parish Council meeting later, to see what can be done!’

Then she tossed the notice onto the passenger seat on top of another one, presumably from the lido field, and drove off. I have a feeling taking them down was illegal,
but when I told Felix about it while scrounging a free cup of coffee, as usual, he said he expected she would return them later and it looked like being an interesting Parish Council meeting, for once.

I had to wait much longer than usual to find out whether it was or not. In fact, it was getting so late by the time Poppy arrived that I’d just about given her up, but she explained that she’d gone to church afterwards.

‘Raffy says evening prayers at five thirty every day except Sunday, so he was going straight there, and Felix and I thought we would go too.’

‘
Felix
went?’

‘Yes, he likes Raffy; they seem to get on really well. There were one or two other people there and it was a short service: he read out a daily office, a bit like an extended “Thought for the Day”. He has a lovely speaking voice, hasn’t he? Sort of deep and mellow and warm…It was lovely and peaceful and I felt
so
much better afterwards. You should try it, Chloe.’

‘I don’t think so!’

‘Perhaps not,’ she conceded contritely. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t thinking!’

‘That’s OK.’

‘Things are obviously going to be different at the Parish Council meetings with Raffy there, Chloe. He didn’t exactly take charge, but somehow the power shifted over from Miss Winter to him…or maybe it will be a power-share?’ she said doubtfully. ‘Raffy is quite quiet, but you certainly know he’s there.’

‘Bit hard to miss him, seeing he’s six foot four.’

‘You know what I mean!’ she said, then gave me a
rundown of what had happened. ‘Felix said you already know about the notices that were put up by Mann-Drake?’

‘The whole village knows about them now. They’re almost as much a talking point as Raffy being the new vicar.’

‘It’s a pity Mr Grace died before we could raise enough money to buy the tennis courts and lido for the village. Now we don’t know if the notices are meant as a threat to try and get a much higher lease next time, or because Mann-Drake intends trying to sell the two sites for housing development.’

‘Could he do that? The Parish Council are hardly likely to approve, are they?’

‘No, but he could appeal over our heads, because they’re within the village boundaries.’

‘What, even the lido? I would have thought that was
right
outside it.’

‘Before the Black Death the village was much bigger, though a lot of the houses have vanished since and now they’re just bumps in the fields.’

‘So the ones dotted around the edge are just those left?’ I said.

‘Yes. Anyway, Miss Winter is going to write to Mann-Drake expressing how the council and the whole village feel about it, and Raffy says he will go and talk to him as soon as he can too. But meanwhile, he’s very generously offered the tennis club the use of the vicarage court.’

‘I didn’t know there was one.’ Mind you, the vicarage gardens are such a jungle there could be a lost civilisation in there, complete with a stepped pyramid, and no one would know.

‘It’s at the back, near the rear gate. He’s going to get the men who are cutting back the trees and bushes to clear it as a priority and have the little pavilion renovated. Effie
Yatton runs the tennis club and she was really grateful – so grateful that she confessed that she’s been using the vicarage drawing room to hold her Brownie pack meetings in when the village hall was otherwise engaged!’

‘But isn’t there an annexe to the village hall she could have used?’

‘Yes, but the roof is leaking and it needs rewiring. Raffy was really funny about the Brownie meetings. He said he’d wondered why there were giant papier-mâché mushrooms in one corner of his drawing room and a pile of hula hoops. And then he said he would have the annexe repaired – he is being really kind and generous about everything!’

‘I expect he can afford to be,’ I said acidly.

‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t have thought he was
mega
wealthy,’ Poppy said thoughtfully. ‘I mean, he has just bought the vicarage, and the renovation bills for a crumbling Victorian wreck must be huge, mustn’t they?’

‘I expect he’s still raking in royalties, because he wrote all of Mortal Ruin’s songs, and you hear them everywhere, especially that one from the car advert. It’s never off.’

‘It’s still generous,’ she insisted. ‘He was pretty laid-back about your grandfather and the museum too. He said Mr Lyon had no intention of trying to impose his own beliefs on anyone else, and the museum and guidebook would include a lot of interesting material about the overlap between paganism, witchcraft and early Christianity.’

‘Well, that’s true, it does.’

‘Then he said he thought your whole family, especially your grandfather, should be encouraged to become part of the community. I said
you
already were, since you were a regular at the Falling Star.’

‘That’s probably not quite what he meant, Poppy! But I
do think his suggestion about involving Grumps in village affairs was a good one,’ I allowed. ‘It’s better to have him on your side than against you, though since he’s not terribly gregarious, I’m not quite sure how it’s going to happen.’

‘Zillah seems to be joining things already, doesn’t she?’

‘Yes, Clive Snowball took her to the tea dance club, but I can’t see Grumps following her there any time soon.’

She giggled. ‘No, nor I, though he would instantly be besieged by partners if he did, because apparently there’s always a shortage of men.’

‘
And
he’s tall and still very handsome.’

‘So is Laurence Yatton, the Winter’s End steward –
and
he’s single. Pity he’s more than forty years older than me! But speaking of tall and handsome, Effie has fallen for Raffy and brought him some of her home-made vegetarian sausage rolls to the meeting today, because she said she knew Maria Minchin couldn’t cook.’

‘I shouldn’t think she’s alone in that.’

‘She certainly isn’t, because Raffy told me and Felix later that he kept finding food offerings on the doorstep – jam and cakes and all kinds of things. He gets stuffed full of cake and biscuits when he visits people, too, so I said he’d soon be able to get into
The Guinness Book of Records
as the fattest vicar!’

I couldn’t imagine a fat Raffy, even though he’s not one of those tall, skinny men who look like a taper – he does have broad shoulders. ‘Maybe he could have an imaginary doctor prescribe a gluten-free diet for him?’ I suggested. ‘And at least I won’t be leaving a cake on his doorstep any time soon. He’s safe from me.’

‘But I thought you’d made your peace, even if it is difficult having him about?’

‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that, though I suppose I’ll get used to it eventually. I just need more time.’

‘Zillah must like him,’ she said with another giggle. ‘She left a parcel of bouquets garnis on the doorstep with handwritten instructions to Maria to put them into every stew and casserole she made, and Maria was so mad I think she tossed them straight into the rubbish bin, though don’t tell Zillah that.’

‘It was actually probably a wise move…’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose there were any more falling angels?’

‘No, but strangely enough Raffy himself fell into a trench on the way back from church later that same day. He said he stayed on for a while after evening prayers, so it was quite dark by then. You know where the workmen have dug a hole right outside the gate and put a metal plank across?’

‘Yes, I think there’s a leaking water pipe. And Raffy fell into it?’

‘The
plank
fell into it and he went with it, then when he tried to pull himself out, the side of the hole caved in on top of him and practically buried him in earth and pebbles! He said if anyone was watching, it must have looked like a slapstick film.’

‘But it could have been dangerous!’

‘He was all right, and he rang Mike up from the vicarage as soon as he got home, so a barrier and lights could be put up around it until the workmen came back. He said he wasn’t usually accident prone, so perhaps he deserved it and it was some kind of punishment,’ she added, ‘though it was quite mild as far as fiery pits of hell were concerned.’

‘
Punishment?
’

‘For hurting you so much in the past and then putting the blame on you all these years, when it was his own selfish action in going away with the band that started the whole
thing unravelling, whatever came afterwards. I thought that was a very generous admission, but Felix doesn’t seem to see things quite the same way and he said Raffy shouldn’t talk nonsense.’

But I’d stopped listening and instead was busily counting up incidents. ‘I suppose that was three things – the angel, the plank and then the cave-in? And bad things usually come in threes…’

Or fours? For a mad moment I wondered again about Zillah’s bouquets garnis, but Lucretia Borgia she was not, so they were probably just some weird but entirely harmless invention of her own.

‘He only told us two about the trench thing, because he didn’t want to get the workmen into trouble, and luckily all the bruises were where you couldn’t see them. He is so brave and kind!’

She sounded so admiring that I asked with sudden suspicion, ‘Poppy,
you
aren’t falling for Raffy, are you?’

‘Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?’ she said, opening her blue eyes wide with amazement. ‘I like him, but he’s not a very
comfortable
person, somehow, is he? You feel he’s a bit world-weary and…well, I don’t know how to describe it, but you feel that he’s been everywhere and done everything.’

‘Yes, I know what you mean, and he probably has.’

‘But now he’s a reformed character, I expect his past experiences make him able to deal with all kinds of things. He seems to have resolved the situation with Miss Winter and your grandfather already, doesn’t he? She even said she thought she might have been a bit hasty in condemning Mr Lyon, when clearly Mann-Drake is a much greater threat to the happiness of the village.’

‘That was pretty magnanimous.’

‘She’s found out a bit more about Mann-Drake and those rumours of some kind of not-so-secret society at his Devon house – the one that’s just burned down – did I say? Probably divine retribution!’

‘Maybe it was, in which case, Mann-Drake is clearly on the wrong side!’

‘She’s afraid he will try and start his goings-on here in Sticklepond. Raffy says he is going to go and talk to him when he comes back from London, though none of us is convinced that’s really a good idea, or that it will have any effect.’

‘No, if Mr Mann-Drake is styling himself somewhere between Aleister Crowley and Sir Francis Dashwood, I don’t think he’ll be swayed by a bit of a chat with the vicar, even if he
is
Raffy Sinclair.’

‘I hope Mann-Drake isn’t going to hold orgies at Badger’s Bolt,’ she said earnestly. ‘Apparently he’s converting the cowshed into some kind of big room, very oddly decorated.’

We couldn’t say any more then, because Jake and Kat came in and, since it was dark enough, Jake offered to demonstrate his firestick technique to Poppy before she left.

‘Stay for dinner?’ I offered. ‘Kat is, and we’re having pizza and ice cream in front of the TV tonight.’

‘I suppose I could. Mum was going out later and the work experience girl is there to help her at the moment, so I don’t suppose she’ll mind – if she notices at all.’

She went into the garden with Jake and Kat while I lingered behind and rifled the battered leather rucksack that does duty as Poppy’s handbag, removing a tiny bottle of viscous fluid from the junk at the bottom. ‘To induce love in the eyes of another’ it said, in a small spiky hand on the label: ‘Two drops to happiness.’

She’d seemed sincere about not falling for Raffy, but he didn’t appear to have lost much, if any, of his considerable charisma, so if there was even the slightest risk of her succumbing to it, then I needed to divert her attentions elsewhere.

Of course, this stuff probably wouldn’t work, any more than Grumps’ magical efforts ever did, but I would lose nothing by giving it a go as soon as I got her and Felix together and had the opportunity…

The revelation that Raphael Sinclair was the new vicar of Sticklepond appeared in the local paper and spread like wildfire around the further reaches of the district, relegating the news about the lido and tennis courts to second place, though in the village people were still seething about that, of course.

It didn’t seem that I could go anywhere without hearing Raffy’s name, and even dropping in for coffee with Felix meant I had to listen to a lecture on being grown-up and moving on, and how great it was that someone like Raffy should deign to come and lord it over our lowly little village!

‘Though the whole thing will probably be a seven-day wonder, because of course he’s been out of the public eye for years now, even if his music hasn’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t suppose any of the younger people will be very excited, it will be just us oldies.’

‘Jake is,’ I said, wondering gloomily if I now ranked with the oldies.

‘Jake’s different. And I’ve told Raffy that if he wants to join us at the Falling Star tonight – or any other night – he’s welcome,’ he said, slightly defiantly.