‘Are Evie and her grandmother close?’
‘Thick as thieves, always were. Peas in a pod to look at too.’
Adam took the mug of tea that had been thumped down in front of him, looking for clarity in its muddy depths. Evie and her grandmother, and the Victorian Evangeline Witts – all these madly sexy women in one family. It was like a sick, twisted fairy tale. What was the meaning of it?
It made more sense to assume that Evie had been heavily influenced, to the point of being led astray, by her wanton grandmother. That seemed to hold more water than her mother’s bizarre theory of genetics.
‘Where does she live?’
Evie’s mother shifted in her seat. Her evasive body language irritated Adam.
‘You know I can always ask your sister-in-law – my housekeeper.’
‘She’s on holiday right now. Not back till the end of the month. But she lives at Honeysuckle Cottage, if you must know. By the green.’
‘Thank you. Mrs Witts … I wonder if I could ask a favour of you?’
‘Depends what it is. We’ve always got eggs to spare if you’re short.’
‘No, I don’t need – eggs. Would you try to influence your daughter away from her excessive lifestyle? At least talk to her about it …?’
‘There’s nothing I can do, vicar.’
Mrs Witts’ face was stony.
‘She’s your daughter.’
‘Nothing I can do. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to open up the shop.’
The tea was vile anyway, and leaving it undrunk was no hardship. But Adam wondered why his parishioners were so intractable and mysterious. What was all this “Saxonhurst way” nonsense he kept hearing about?
On his way round the farmhouse to retrieve his bicycle, his attention was caught by the rattling of a sash window and a voice calling to him from upstairs.
‘Morning, vicar!’
Evie’s head appeared beneath the sash, hair wild and unbrushed, a broad smile all over her sleepy face.
He stopped beneath her, looking up at the apparition.
‘Evie.’
‘To what do we owe the honour?’
‘I wanted to speak with your mother.’
She yawned. ‘Sorry. Heavy night. I’m aching all over, you can’t imagine. What did you want with our mum?’
‘I worry about you, Evie.’
‘Oh, don’t fuss your head. I’m fine. Are we still on for tonight?’
‘On? For …?’
‘Bible study. Don’t tell me you forgot. Don’t you love me no more?’
Her raucous laughter mocked him all the way to where he’d left his bicycle. He rode it through flapping, clucking chickens, scattering them across the forecourt until he was away from that fetid-smelling place and back in the pure country air.
Honeysuckle Cottage was indeed empty, the shutters closed and a build-up of advertising bumf visible through the porch window on the mat. Adam spent a few moments looking around at the garden, which was somewhat overgrown and tangled, before heading back out of the front gate, only to bump straight into Julia Shields.