Screaming Yellow (6 page)

“Good morning.” He flashed her a smile, displaying a set of teeth unavailable on the National Health. “Or afternoon, I should say.”

“Hello there.” Meinwen stood, smiling over the waist-high stone. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I didn’t realize I was moving in next to a vicar.”

“Simon Brande.” He offered his hand. “Although I’m not a vicar but a priest. Not just any old riffraff here.”

“Ah, Catholic. Transubstantiation and all that.” Meinwen smiled and shook his hand. “Meinwen Jones. I was brought up Methodist, though it’s years since I went to Sunday Service.”

“I promise not to hold that against you.” Simon grinned. “I saw you moving boxes yesterday. How are you settling in?”

“Well enough, thanks. I don’t have much, see. That’s why I rented this place. It’s fully furnished, though the bed leaves a lot to be desired. I may have to invest in a new mattress.”

Simon laughed. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. What about your young man?”

“My young man?”

“The burly fellow with the dark skin who was helping you move in yesterday.” His voice trailed upward into a question.

“Oh, you mean Dafydd. He’s away back to Dovey now. He’s not my young man though, just a friend with a truck. I slipped him the fuel money and he helped me move.”

“I see. Well, welcome to Laverstone. What brings you to our corner of the world then? You’re a long way from…lava bread and
bara brith
.”

Meinwen leaned in closer. “It’s the energies. Do you know there are three ley lines that converge on this town? I reckon I’m only a mile or so from where they meet here.”

“Ley lines?” Simon pulled back with a nervous laugh. “I’m afraid I don’t believe in them.”

“Of course not. I’m sorry.” Meinwen touched his arm. “You wouldn’t, would you, being a priest. I expect you’re not allowed to. It doesn’t matter though, because they’re here whether you believe in them or not. I bet you have good energies in your little church though. Full pews every week, people grateful for the good harvests, that sort of thing?”

“I suppose.” Simon frowned and twisted a little to block the sun from his eyes. “That’s down to God looking after us though, not some blessed ley line.”

“As I said, believe what you will.” Meinwen grinned, warming to him despite their contradictory beliefs. “We’re all on the same side in the end, aren’t we? Holding back the darkness, I mean.”

“If you say so.” Simon looked back at the house and Meinwen followed his gaze to see a woman watching them from a window.

“Who’s that?” Meinwen waved and the figure vanished. “I thought priests weren’t allowed to marry?”

“We’re not. That was my sister, Jennifer.”

“Ah. Not living in sin after all then.”

“Indeed not.” Simon turned back to her. “Good will always triumph against evil, though I suspect the town will soon be rife with speculation now I’ve been seen talking to you.”

“Only if you give it a bit of a nudge.” Meinwen picked up her spade again “Well, I must get back to it. I’ve only the long weekend before I open the shop and I’ve already lost the morning stocking shelves.”

“A shop as well?”

“Oh yes. I’ve rented one near the market.” She turned some soil. “Thirty-four, Knifegate, if you want to drop in some time for a chinwag. I promise I won’t talk about ley lines and if you ask nicely I’ll bake some Welsh cakes.”

“That sounds delightful. I look forward to it.” Simon leaned farther over the wall “What are you doing exactly?” He looked into the hole. “Putting some potatoes in?”

“Bless you no, Father.” Meinwen chuckled. “I’m building a witch’s circle.”

“Goodness!” Simon took a step backward. “I’m not sure you’re allowed to do that.”

“Why?” Meinwen smiled. “It’s not like I’ll be sacrificing goats on the Sabbath. It’ll do no harm to anybody. Think of it as a patio, if you like. You’ve got one of those yourself.”

“It’s hardly the same thing, is it? You’ll be conversing with heathen gods on yours.”

“You’re the first priest I’ve met who’s admitted to their existence.” She shoveled another load into a wheelbarrow. “You’re the most progressive I’ve ever met, I think, or should that be recessive?”

Simon laughed. “Progressive, I think.” He brushed the hair out of his eyes in what looked to Meinwen to be an affected habit. “Anything else would be admitting that yours were here first, and that would be blasphemous.”

“Which of course they were.” Meinwen grinned and leaned on the wall. “Isn’t it against your doctrine to believe in the existence of other gods?”

“Perhaps.” Simon looked up at the sky. “But God said ‘Thou shalt have no other gods before me,’ so even He knew they existed.”

Meinwen nodded. “Well reasoned. You remind me of a friend of mine. He was very open-minded too. He taught me a lot.”

“Is he still around?”

“He hasn’t died, as far as I’m aware, but I haven’t seen him in years. Tell me something. You must know everyone in the town.”

“Pretty much.” The priest raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

“Do you know someone called Richard Godwin? I was asked to look out for him and have a bit of a chat.”

Simon looked surprised. “I know Richard. He’s the stepson of Robert Markhew at The Larches. Who told you to look out for him?”

“Robert Markhew. He asked me if I’d have a bit of a chat with him.”

“You know Robert?” He stared at her. “From where? He’s never mentioned you.”

“I met him online when I decided to move to Laverstone. I did a search for all the people here and he was one of the only people who was willing to chat to a lonely Welsh girl. There were a couple of others but they weren’t the sort of people you’d want to meet in real life, if you know what I mean.” She emphasized the statement with a grimace. “I’m not surprised he didn’t mention me though. Would you tell a priest you’d been talking to a witch?”

Simon laughed. “I suppose not. What did he want you to talk to Richard about? Perhaps I could help.”

Meinwen studied him. If you couldn’t trust a priest, who could you trust? “Robert wants this Richard to marry a girl called Mary. His niece, I think. Richard doesn’t seem to be interested, though, and that’s where I come in. I’ve already met Mary. She seems like a nice-enough girl.”

“She is, or will be when she gets over this craze for looking like a zombie. How do you fit in, though? Does he want you to magic them together?”

Meinwen laughed. “I’m not that kind of witch. Never cause harm, I say, though Mr. Markhew thought I might be persuaded to cast a little magic over the couple.”

“Witchcraft? Not in my parish you won’t.”

Meinwen laughed. “Nothing of the kind, no. I wouldn’t bend someone’s will like that. He just wants me to get to know them both and smooth the way for them so that it happens naturally. Besides, I do a lovely trade in natural aphrodisiacs.” She winked.

“Fascinating.” The priest had an easy smile the women of his flock probably adored. “Look, I have to go out shortly on my rounds, but perhaps you’ll have dinner with us sometime next week.”

“Us?” Meinwen glanced at the rectory.

“Jennifer and me. She’s a fabulous cook.” He paused. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

“Not at all, I drink goat’s blood every full moon.” Meinwen managed to keep a straight face for several seconds before she burst out laughing at Simon’s expression.

“Oh, very good.” Simon patted his chest as if to re-start his heart. “You had me going there. Shall we say Thursday at seven?”

“Lovely.” Meinwen nodded a goodbye and watched him return to his patio table and laptop. He looked back again, then up at the sky. “I’ll let you know if it looks like thunder bolts.”

Meinwen laughed and turned back to her digging. The soil was very flinty and she began making a mental list of things she’d need from the garden center.

* * * *

“Mr. Markhew?” Jennifer touched the arm of the gentleman perusing the special occasion cards. He turned around and smiled, his beard thankfully clear of any crumbs and, to Jennifer’s surprise, kissed her cheek.

“Ms. Brande.” He pumped her hand. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

“I am?” Jennifer smiled and fanned away a blush. “I’m flattered.”

“Which of these cards do you think would be appropriate?” He waved his hand toward the rack of white cards.

“Congratulations on your engagement?” Jennifer frowned, the corners of her mouth pulled upward quizzically. “Who’s getting married?”

“Richard, of course. He proposed to Mary at last.”

“Oh? Is he back then? From London?”

“No, he did it over the internet. Proposal by webchat! It sounds like a science fiction novel, doesn’t it? I cracked open the champers of course, though he hadn’t got any, being in an internet café. When are they going to invent a gadget to send that over the internet, eh?”

“I really wouldn’t know.” Jennifer grinned as she began reviewing the cards for something suitable.

* * * *

“Richard?” Mary trailed the end of a crop across his cheekbone. “Are you ignoring me?” She reached out and plucked a stray hair from his oh-so-neat locks.

“Ouch!” Richard grabbed the end of the crop and twisted it, spinning around to face her and raising his arm. “Don’t try those games with me, dear. This isn’t some trivial drama for your amusement, you know.”

Mary’s face creased as she blinked back tears. “Stop it, Richard.” The nerves in her arm felt like they were on fire. “You’re hurting my arm.”

“Let go of the crop then.”

She released her grip and he pulled it away to examine it. “Where did you get this?”

Mary pouted. “My mother’s room.” She rubbed her arm wondering if she could get away with slapping him. He had perfect cupid-bow lips when he wasn’t stretching them into a cruel smile. “Give it back or I’ll change my mind about the engagement.”

“I don’t think so.” Richard tapped his thigh with the crop.

“Why not?” Mary’s gaze was drawn to the twitching leather. She wondered what it would be like to be helpless, feeling the sting of that little loop across her naked bottom and other, more intimate places.

“It’s my stepfather’s.”

* * * *

Jennifer took a short cut home from town, where she’d had coffee with two of her friends at the White Art, hoping to catch a glimpse of Richard Godwin. The woods below Laverstone Manor, while not actually a public footpath, were well enough used by the locals. The owner, Harold Waterman, turned a blind eye to walkers using it.

She was admiring the sea of wild garlic edging the path when she reached the high boundary wall between the woods and the park. A voice on the other side sounded just like Richard Godwin. She crept closer, pushing through the garlic to press herself against the cold granite blocks.

“You must be patient,” he was saying. “You know I can’t afford to make him angry at me.”

“But I was so surprised.” The second speaker was a girl, although Jennifer didn’t recognize the voice. Someone young, she thought.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Richard sounded anxious. “Don’t worry, though. It’s only until my inheritance is settled. I can’t afford to risk Robert taking me out of his will.”

“I understand, Richard, but how do think it makes me feel, hearing of your engagement to that woman?”

“Mary’s all right,” Richard said. “You’d like her if you got to know her properly.”

“I didn’t think you liked her very much either,” the girl said. “You never said before.”

“Let’s not quarrel.” Richard’s voice was soothing. “Let’s go back to the hotel and I’ll give you something to warm you up.”

Jennifer stayed where she was until the voices faded completely, bursting to tell someone the news.

* * * *

Jennifer got to the house just as Simon was pulling on his overcoat. “I’m glad I caught you.” She dropped her shopping bags on the old pew in the hall. “I saw Robert in town and guess what?”

“How should I know?” Simon checked through the contents of his briefcase. “Look, did you put the communion wafers and wine in here for the housebound old dears?”