Page 37 of Saxonhurst Secrets

‘He’s the vicar,’ Evie mumbled from under the duvet.

Adam straightened up, abandoning the keyhole when Trevelyan’s shambling body filled the view.

The door opened a crack and a bloodshot eye looked out.

Adam held up the camera.

‘It was on the slide,’ he explained.

He heard Evie’s feet patter up behind Trevelyan.

‘It is you! What you doing here, vicar? Getting wasted?’

‘I was just passing. And, while I’m here, perhaps I should call you a taxi.’

Evie hooted with derision.

‘Taxi? In Saxonhurst? You’ll be lucky. They have to come all the way out from Parham, and they don’t like it.’

Trevelyan opened the door wider and took the camera.

‘Saw you earlier, didn’t I?’ he said, squinting. ‘With that one – wassername – you know her.’

‘Ms Shields. Yes.’

‘Shit,’ he said, urgently, backing away from the door. ‘Gonna puke. Bye.’

‘Didn’t realise I tasted that bad,’ Evie called after him, then she took his place in the doorway, an unfriendly look on her face.

‘You been following me, Adam?’

; ‘As I said, I was …’

‘Just passing. Right.’

‘Why do you want to stay with him? He’s incapably drunk.’

‘When I could be at home doing embroidery?’

‘Evie, you are worth so much more.’

‘Save it, vicar. G’night.’

She slammed the door in his face.

For a moment, he contemplated thumping the door even harder, refusing to leave until she accompanied him. But, on reflection, that was a good way to get himself arrested. So he took his big book of Saxonhurst secrets and went home, his loins tight and his heart heavy.

Back at the vicarage, he brewed himself some strong coffee and betook himself and his book to the most comfortable armchair.

‘The village of Saxonhurst,’ he read on a page overloaded with illuminated script, ‘nestles in that idyllic corner of England known as the Vale of Parham. Abundantly fertile and green, this lush land grows much of the fruits and vegetables that fill the baskets of the nation. It is noted for its fine Norman church and an ancient hostelry that draws visitors interested in heritage. But there is another side to Saxonhurst, and it is this side I endeavour to explore in this volume.

‘For Saxonhurst has secrets.’

Adam took a sip of his coffee and muttered, ‘Oh, you noticed that, did you?’

He looked again at the front cover. The author was one J. E. Lydford. He had heard that name before. Where?