Appointed to Die (13 page)

‘And this is my wife Anne, Miss Kingsley, Mr Middleton-Brown,' he was saying. Anne Latimer towered over her husband by nearly a head; she acknowledged Lucy and David with a cool, reserved smile.

The garden party was being held in the spacious gardens of the Deanery. Although neglected shamefully during the late Dean's tenure and in the interregnum, the gardens were in reasonable shape after several weeks of intensive attention from a – needless to say – London landscape gardening firm. A large blue- and white-striped marquee had been erected, for although the weather had been warm for late September, it was an unreliable time of year for which to plan outdoor entertaining. The marquee added an additional note of festivity to what was undoubtedly the social event of the year in Malbury. Clearly, no expense had been or was being spared. As many flowers bloomed inside the marquee as outside, and artifice outstripped nature in the elaborateness of the arrangements. The food, at whatever cost, was superb, with platters of smoked salmon and all manner of dainty things to nibble, and the wine was far removed from mere plonk. A crew of men circulated with video cameras, recording the event for posterity.

After the guests passed through the receiving line, though, they drifted into two distinct groups: the London people and the Tory faithful kept to themselves, tacitly refusing to mingle with the cathedral and diocesan crowd. So on one side of the marquee there was a distinct preponderance of cassocks and dog-collars, and on the other expensive silk dresses and Savile Row suits.

David, after his briefing by Lucy, was finding it all fascinating. In the cathedral he had surreptitiously studied his fellow guests in the south Quire, trying to put faces to names. Rowena Hunt he had recognised instantly from his brief glimpse of her at Fortnum's, but the man with her was not the same one – this one was taller, more slenderly built, and bearded.

He'd just taken a glass of wine, and was about to ask Lucy who the bearded man was, when the man caught Lucy's eye and came up to them, Rowena following behind. Rowena, who had been looking distinctly like the cat who'd found the cream, frowned as the man kissed Lucy's cheek. ‘Lucy, my dear, how nice to see you again,' the man greeted her with easy familiarity. ‘Isn't Lucy looking stunning today, Rowena?' he added, grinning at Rowena's discomfiture. ‘And this must be the famous David.'

‘Yes. David, this is Jeremy Bartlett, the Cathedral Architect,' she put in quickly, taking a step away from Jeremy. ‘Rowena, this is David Middleton-Brown, a friend of mine from London.'

Rowena appraised David swiftly and expertly, with one vertical flick of her eyes. From the way he looked at Lucy, she apprehended instantly the way things were between them and, with an inward sigh of relief, mentally crossed Lucy off her list of rivals for Jeremy's affection, at least provisionally.

‘How did you like the service, then?' Jeremy addressed David.

‘Oh, it was . . . most interesting.' He remained guarded; in his professional life, David frequently had to make snap judgements about people – instant assessments that more often than not turned out to be accurate – and there was something about Jeremy Bartlett that didn't quite ring true. ‘It appears that the new Dean has made quite an impact already.'

Jeremy raised an amused eyebrow. ‘Yes, you might say that. Ruffled quite a few feathers, even. Isn't that right, Rowena?' He looked at her expectantly; everyone in Malbury knew that Rowena considered the London florists a personal insult after the triumph of the flower festival.

But Rowena refused to be drawn. Her smile was bland and her voice as smooth as cream. ‘I don't know what you mean. Mr Latimer seems to have all of the qualities necessary to make a great success of his new position.'

Jeremy's eyebrow inched still higher. ‘Well, yes, I suppose you have to say that. No doubt the Friends will be working very closely with him – at least if you get what you want,' he stated provocatively, but though Rowena shot him a quick look her gracious smile never faltered. He seemed about to make a further comment, but changed his mind and turned towards Lucy. ‘I thought that your father looked splendid in the old cope,' he said.

‘Yes, didn't he?' she smiled.

David was not inclined to join in Lucy's conversation with Jeremy, so he turned to Rowena. ‘Lucy tells me that you run the Friends of the Cathedral, Mrs Hunt.'

Looking gratified, she inclined her head. ‘Yes, that's right. And what do you do, Mr Middleton-Brown?'

‘I'm a solicitor.' He was surprised at her reaction to this less than earth-shattering piece of information. Rowena raised her head suddenly, smiled, and reached for his arm.

‘Are you, indeed? Then you're just the man I've been looking for, Mr Middleton-Brown!'

‘You need legal advice?' he guessed, puzzled. ‘I'm afraid this isn't really the time or place . . .'

‘Oh, no, it's not that at all. It's my daughter, Kirsty.' Rowena looked around and lowered her voice as she indicated the young woman who was slowly wending her way through the crowd towards them. ‘There's Kirsty now, coming this way. You see, Mr Middleton-Brown, Kirsty is at Cambridge, reading law. For years she's wanted to be a solicitor – as long as I can remember. She's finished her first year, and now . . . well, now it seems that she's changed her mind.' Rowena frowned. ‘She's come up with an absolutely crazy idea – she's decided that she wants to go into the Church! To be ordained, for God's sake!'

‘Well, yes, that's usually whose sake it's for,' David joked, but Rowena looked blank, then went on.

‘I've told her that the Church is no career for a woman. It's insane even to think of such a thing! I mean, if she wants a dog collar that badly, she should
marry
one, like I did!'

‘But I don't understand how I can help you,' David demurred.

‘You can talk to her! Tell her what a good career the law is. Give her the benefit of your experience, and your advice. She hasn't had anyone to talk sense to her, that's the trouble. She fell in with the wrong crowd at Cambridge, and they've encouraged her in this ordination nonsense. And here at Malbury this summer, she went to see Arthur Brydges-ffrench, and he told her that she must follow her . . . oh, I don't know. Her feeling of vocation, that's what she calls it. I call it nonsense!' she added with vehemence. ‘A waste of a talented young life!'

David nodded neutrally as the vivacious girl with the dark curls joined them. He could scarcely say to the girl's mother that his sympathies were all with Kirsty. When he'd been her age, his own mother had treated with scorn and ridicule any suggestion that he might find a career somewhere within the Church. Not necessarily as a priest – though he'd dabbled with the idea, he'd never had a very strong sense of vocation for that calling. A church architect, that's what he would have liked to be, he thought ruefully, glancing at Jeremy. But instead he'd given in to his mother's demands, had taken the line of least resistance . . .

‘Very interesting,' said David when they'd finally managed to take their leave of Rowena and Jeremy.

‘What was?'

‘Oh, quite a few things. He's a rather nasty piece of work, isn't he?'

Lucy nodded. ‘The Dean? I'd say so.'

‘Actually, I was talking about your friend Jeremy.'

She turned to him in amazement. ‘Jeremy? What on earth do you mean?'

‘Just what I said. He's not very nice. Didn't you see the way he kept baiting Rowena? It was quite deliberate, you know.'

Laughing, Lucy shook her head. ‘Oh, I'm sure you misunderstood. It was just a bit of friendly banter.' This was exactly what she'd been afraid of, she told herself: David was obviously jealous of Jeremy. But if she accused him of jealousy, it would only make him more defensive.

‘What, exactly, is their relationship?'

Lucy considered the question carefully. ‘They're by no means an item. It's the first time I've ever seen them together,' she said at last. ‘I've never had the feeling that Jeremy really liked Rowena, to be honest,' she added.

David had hoped not to betray his own feelings of insecurity and jealousy – feelings which, as he fully recognised, inevitably coloured his negative reaction to Jeremy – so he kept his voice as neutral as possible. ‘It looked to me like
you
were the one he was interested in, Lucy. He never took his eyes off you.'

She didn't try to deny it; he wouldn't believe her anyway. ‘Well, what difference does it make? I'm not interested in
him
,' Lucy declared firmly, touching his hand in reassurance. ‘Not in the way you mean, anyway. He's a friend, that's all – he can be quite amusing, you know.'

‘Rowena didn't seem to like it much – the fact that he was making such a big fuss over
you
.'

‘I
have
always thought that she fancied Jeremy,' she admitted. ‘Nothing I could put my finger on – just a feeling.'

‘So perhaps you were wrong about her and that policeman,' David concluded. ‘Did you see him walk by? She didn't even acknowledge him. Surely, if they were . . .'

‘Oh, David,' she laughed. ‘You really
are
naïve! As far as I'm concerned, that confirms my suspicions! A
tête à tête
in Fortnum's, miles away from Malbury, and when she's here she doesn't speak to him. Don't you see? She doesn't want anyone here to know!'

‘
What
does someone not want anyone to know?' asked a breathy voice in her ear as she was enveloped in an enthusiastic embrace. ‘Come on, Lucy dear – do tell! You know how Bert and I love a spot of juicy gossip. Like mother's milk to us, my dear!' Victor, clad amazingly in a primrose yellow dinner jacket, appeared on her left, while Bert, more conventionally attired, closed in on her right. ‘And not to change the subject, Lucy darling,' he added with a gurgle, ‘
who
is your absolutely divine friend? You mustn't keep him all to yourself – that would be just too selfish, wouldn't it, Bert?'

CHAPTER 11

    
An unwise man doth not well consider this: and a fool doth not understand it.

Psalm 92.6

Escaping from Victor and Bert was even more difficult for Lucy and David than taking leave of Rowena and Jeremy had been. The pair were full of bitchy comments about their fellow guests, even as they applauded the style that was in evidence throughout the day's events, and they certainly found much to admire amongst the handsome young men in the Conservative Party entourage. But eventually Olivia Ashleigh came to rescue them.

‘Wouldn't you like to get something to eat?' she urged. ‘Your father and the Willoughbys are over there – I'm sure they'd like you to join them.' She ignored Victor's fulsome protests, escorting Lucy and David firmly to the buffet table.

‘Thanks,' said Lucy. ‘I was beginning to think we'd have to spend the rest of the afternoon with those two.'

‘Not at all. Victor and Bert are amusing in small doses, but I could see that you were beginning to have enough.'

Olivia handed them each a plate, but their progress was blocked by the ginger-haired Canon Thetford and his wife, who stood with empty plates in hand, staring at the array of food and muttering to each other. David recognised them instantly from Lucy's descriptions, especially as the Canon was wearing a colourful African
dashiki
over his clerical garb.

Claire Fairbrother, in the dark Indian cotton dress with the tiny mirrors that she'd worn at their first meeting, turned to Lucy with a furious scowl. ‘You're a vegetarian, aren't you?' she demanded. ‘Just look at this! All this food, and hardly anything that we can eat! Meat! Platters and platters of it – it's obscene!'

‘Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of things for us here,' Lucy attempted in a conciliatory tone. ‘How about this mushroom pâté? And all of this cheese . . .'

‘This entire affair is obscene, from beginning to end,' stated Philip Thetford, a fanatic light in his pale eyes. ‘An obscene waste of money and resources. It's absolutely indefensible, when you think of famine in the Sudan, children dying in Romania . . .'

‘And the trees!' his wife added, reaching in her pocket for the stiff invitation to the day's festivities. ‘Look at this invitation! How many trees had to give up their lives for this?'

‘Doesn't the cathedral have better things to do with its money?' challenged the Canon Missioner. ‘I'm surprised that Bishop George would allow such a shameful spectacle of conspicuous consumption.'

Olivia bit her lip to refrain from replying that if they found it so distasteful they might have stayed away, and said merely, ‘If it's the cathedral's money you're concerned about, then you needn't worry. This is all being paid for privately.'

‘Privately? By whom?' His voice was hectoring and unpleasant. ‘I can't believe that the Dean is coughing up his own money for this.'

‘If you must know, it's being funded by the Conservative Party. They consider it a hospitality event for the local party. And, at the Dean's insistence, they're making a very generous contribution to cathedral funds as well. So, Canon, you might even say that we're making money out of this!' With an acid smile at him, Olivia led Lucy and David away.

‘Well!' fulminated Canon Thetford to their retreating backs. ‘I don't understand why the Chapter hasn't heard anything about this!'

Their progress towards the Bishop's table was blocked when they were accosted by Dorothy Unworth, encased in rusty black crimplene. ‘Miss Ashleigh!' she said imperiously and with great volume. ‘I wish that you would tell the Bishop how very inappropriate I find the new Dean's behaviour!'