‘Just raving. She’s like that. You know her.’
Adam contemplated Evie’s shifty eyes and guessed she was equivocating. He pulled out a chair for her and motioned her to sit.
Standing over her, he asked, ‘So, what is your game, Evie?’
For the first time since arriving in Saxonhurst, he felt at an advantage over this tormenting minx. Something about the – thing – with Julia had lent him a certain confidence that had been lacking before. He wasn’t sure why, but he intended to make the most of it.
She looked up at him coquettishly.
‘Game? I don’t play games. I’m a straightforward kind of a girl. What you see …’ She stretched out her long, bronzed legs from under the denim miniskirt she wore and crossed them at the ankles. ‘Is what you get.’
‘What I see is what I get?’ Adam swallowed, staring down at her. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘Positive. Keep looking, vicar.’ Her voice was soft and she bit on a finger. ‘That’s what you get.’
Nobody breathed for a good half a minute, then Adam inhaled hugely.
‘The Sermon on the Plain,’ he said, plucking a Bible from the shelf.
‘Not the Mount? That a different one, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pity. I like a nice mount.’
‘A plain is just as good.’
They were deep into the teachings of Christ when Adam’s phone rang – an unexpected event in itself, causing him to wonder aloud who on earth would be calling him.
The voice on the other end was brisk.
‘Adam. We need to talk.’
‘Ah, yes.’ He looked furtively at Evie, wondering if she could hear Julia’s voice from her corner of the room. ‘I’m with a parishioner at the minute. Perhaps I could call you back.’
‘No you bloody well couldn’t. “A parishioner”. Any money says it’s Easy Evie.’
‘Yes, well, that’s a diocesan matter, of course, and I’d refer you back to the bishop.’
‘I refer you back to the handjob I gave you yesterday afternoon. Regarding which, I expect to see you here at my place in about an hour? Yes?’
‘Oh, I understand the bishop’s very overburdened just at the moment. Possibly the archdeacon, then? In any event, yes. I’d say, yes.’
‘Good. See you then.’
‘Thank you. God bless. Goodbye.’
He put the phone down, excused himself, and went to stand in the vestibule for five minutes to compose himself.
Julia and Evie.
Was it possible that he, Adam Flint, fire-and-brimstone virgin of this parish, was at the centre of a love triangle?
He stuffed his mouth into the sleeve of his hung-up coat to stifle a wave of hysterical laughter.
‘Where you been?’ demanded Evie when he was master enough of himself to return to the study.
‘Parish business,’ he muttered.