The lawn ended at the old Powell orchard, which belonged now to the church. There were already tiny green apples on the trees, like individual grapes. Where was the year going to?

Merrily glanced at the clock. She was going to have to leave soon to pick up the kid after her English exam. No anxiety on that one, at least; English came naturally to Jane and it was the one GCSE that required no revision.

The Bishop coughed. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you for a while.’

‘Mmm?’

‘You’re still young.’

‘Ish.’

‘Young,’ he said firmly. He had grandchildren Jane’s age. He turned back into the room. ‘And a very young widow.’

Merrily was about to remind him that if it hadn’t been for a particular fatal car-crash on the M5 she might have been a notso-young divorcee and therefore would never have made it into the priesthood. But she guessed they’d been into all that before.

Bernie said, ‘We all know that when Tommy Dobbs was exorcist here he felt it incumbent upon him to develop a rather rigid, monastic way of life. Frugal. Steeped himself in prayer.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I can understand that fully now — why he did that.’

‘However, he was an old man. You’re a-’

‘Whatever.’ She stood up.

‘Obviously, stepping into Dobbs’s shoes, you were bound to feel you were walking on eggshells.’

‘Well… that, and for other reasons, too.’ She had a vague idea what was coming and clapped her hands together briskly. ‘Look, Bernie, I’m afraid I’ve got to be off in a minute. Have to collect Jane from the school. GCSE-time? Once they finish an exam they can go home. I don’t really want her heading down the pub.’

He nodded, not really taking it in. ‘I… we’ve never minced words, you and I.