‘I’m not happy -’

‘-To discuss an ongoing problem with a roomful of people, probably including the media.’

‘I don’t think the press would cover anything that local, do you? Hope not.’

‘You don’t think,’ Sophie said. ‘That’s hardly satisfactory, is it? I’d be inclined to get the Rector to absolutely guarantee it. What’s the format going to be?’

‘I listen to the evidence and then outline the options.’

‘Oh, I see. You present them with a series of options, and then they vote on it?’

‘No, I listen to what they have to say and then I make a recommendation based on my… experience.’

Sophie gave Merrily a resigned look and opened the desk diary.

‘When is it? And where?’

‘Wednesday evening at the church. They haven’t got a village hall in Wychehill, I think it was converted. This gets tagged on to the end of the bi-monthly parish meeting, which is open to the public-Look, I’m not going to go in cold, Sophie. I’m going to check it all out thoroughly.’

‘In which case you really don’t have much time.’

‘Which is why, unless you can think of anything more pressing, I think I’d better go back there now.’

Merrily walked over to the window. There was something else…

‘Oh yeah… Sophie, have there been any inquiries to the Diocese from Wychehill – anybody asking for my number?’

‘No. I’d have been told. I’m very strict about that. And they don’t give out your number, they give this number in the first instance. Why?’

‘Nothing, really.’

Merrily looked out of the window over the Cathedral green and sunny Broad Street with its library and museum, its extensive hotel, its classical-pillared Roman Catholic church, its shops and cafes… and at least two well-attested ghost stories that she could think of.

From behind Merrily heard the faint clinking of the chain on Sophie’s glasses as she shook her head in sorrow – with just a hint, Merrily thought, of foreboding.