Chapter 4

Sam Robison, civil engineer, project manager for a local construction firm, was puzzled. Divorced for some years and never remarried, he was suddenly obsessed – was that too strong a word? – with the face of a woman he’d seen with Dulcie sometimes in church. She usually sat with Helen and Geoff ... Billings. That was the name. And that girl ... Sharlene ... who lived with them. Sam was not a skirt-chaser. Oh, he liked girls well enough, dated sometimes, but he’d never found anyone he’d wanted to pursue since Georgie left. So why now?

He’d been a church-goer all his life, and a believer, but his faith had become more focussed, more central to his life since meeting Dulcie Chesterman in her capacity as Diocesan Exorcist. For the first time in his life, he actually prayed about his personal life; as distinct, that is, from a routine confession. Not that ‘confession’ was ‘routine’ for him these days. It seemed that he got no answer, and continued to wonder what to do.

Dulcie was similarly preoccupied over Sylvia. Though not, one supposes, for a similar reason. Merely that she was having difficulties thinking of a way of penetrating the enigma that was Sharlene’s mum.

The Conference Centre project was drawing to a close; the old chapel now had a roof and a refurbished floor; plates indicating the location of the original family burials had been refurbished and were in position. Like the rest of the property, house and grounds, it was merely a matter of finishing touches and landscaping the grounds. Sam found considerable satisfaction in patrolling the works still in progress. Midweek, he was advised of a visitor, the proposed manager of the facility once it was open. In his office, a woman a little younger than himself was seated sipping a cup of coffee, which had been provided by his administrative assistant, Molly Petersen.

“Ms. Ware is here for a progress report, and a tour of the buildings.”

“Thank you, Molly. Is there anything I need to deal with straight away?”

“No, sir. Would you like coffee too?”

He looked at his visitor who smiled warmly. “Ms. Ware, would you like the tour first, or a general update.”

“The update first, I think.”

“Fine. Yes, Molly, a coffee for me, too, please, if it’s not too much trouble.’

“No trouble, sir.”

Sam was, for a moment, disconcerted by Molly’s formality; he’d been Sam to everyone on the site, including Molly, almost from day one, but he dismissed the thought and pulled up a chair rather than sit at his desk.

“So, Ms. Ware ... what would you like to know?”

“It’s Juliet, Mister Robison, unless you wish to continue the formality?”

He shrugged and smiled. “I’ve never been much for unnecessary formality ... Juliet. I’m Sam.”

“Thank you, Sam. A quick run-down of the overall situation, first. I understand you’re expecting to complete the work in another couple of weeks? I know you had delays.”

“We did. Mainly with the old chapel. Some historic issues which were not apparent with the original purchase. Neither the workforce, nor myself, are subject to imagination regarding atmospheres, but the one in the chapel was most disturbing. The Diocesan Office sent along an exorcist, who performed a ceremony. It was profoundly impressive, and changed the ambience dramatically. Subsequently, we found over thirty unregistered burials of young women dating from the nineteenth century, which have been moved to new graves in consecrated ground elsewhere after formal rites. The registered burials remain in situ with their refurbished memorial plates in place. I understand some efforts are being made to identify the young women. That presents some difficulties, of course. What remains to be done is mainly cosmetic; the electricians need to complete the installations so that the decorators can finish. Once all that is completed, it’s merely a case of furnishings and landscaping. The latter is already under way.”

He picked up his coffee which had arrived during his recital.

“No other issues?” She raised an eyebrow, still smiling, and shifted slightly. The movement drew his attention to the swell of her bosom, encased in a sheer white blouse.

He swallowed his coffee carefully, so as not to choke. There was no doubt that she was a very attractive woman, and dressed to impress. “None. We’re still requiring PPE for all. Do you have your own?”

She chuckled. “I do. Your assistant said I wouldn’t need it in here, but in my car I have safety shoes, glasses, helmet and hi-vis overalls.” She cast him an appraising glance. “When we’ve done here, I was intending to stay overnight and return to London tomorrow. I’ve a room booked at the White Horse. Might you know where I can get a good meal? And perhaps some company?”

‘Okay. Is that what I think it is? Oh, well, it can’t hurt to have some company and a good meal, can it?’ “There are plenty of places to eat in town, depending on your taste. The White Horse does well enough, with a wide choice. There are a couple of decent Italian restaurants, several Chinese, Indian, Mexican ... as I said, it depends on your taste.”

At Intimo that evening, they enjoyed a leisurely, most enjoyable meal. Sam was very aware of his companion, who, it seemed, was pulling out all the stops – licking her lips suggestively, leaning forward, giving him glimpses of her cleavage, fluttering her eyes – to, he was sure, lead to a bedroom encounter. Once, he would have been willing – nay, enthusiastic – and even now was tempted. Perhaps her body might distract him from the other woman who had so caught his attention. But ... no. It just wouldn’t do, somehow. Why? He pondered the thought behind a polite, interested smile.

Juliet Ware was puzzled. Here there was an attractive man – fit, healthy, intelligent. Could he be queer? No! He looked at her with appreciation, like most men. He just wasn’t responding in the same way. He didn’t flirt, or make double entendres. He was just ... polite, and, yes, appreciative. So, at the end of the meal, when he walked her back to the hotel, she did invite him in. He just smiled and shook his head, suggesting ‘perhaps another time?’ It was, as I say, a puzzle to her. It was not often she was turned down; yet she didn’t feel rejected, exactly. Disappointed, perhaps.

Sam made his way home. He thought about the evening, about Juliet, and shrugged. He did, however, sleep very well.

So did Dulcie, cuddled up to her doctor husband, with one difference: she dreamed. Now everyone dreams, but few remember their dreams unless they wake up immediately after them, or during them. Some dreams, however, stick in the mind. Actually, it is possible to train oneself to remember one’s dreams, but that was not the case here. When Dulcie woke, she remembered a very vivid dream, in which she was conducting a wedding. She conducted quite a few weddings, one way or another, because St. Mary’s is a historic and attractive building, so in that respect the dream was not surprising. What was surprising was that she remembered the dream, so vividly that she could not dismiss it, and the participants of the wedding were ... Sylvia Smith and Sam Robison.

She briefly thought about how to make it happen, but as she knew very well, ‘there is a time for everything’, and God’s timing is rarely ours. However, she did make a phone call.

“Helen, would you and Geoff – and Sharlene and Sylvia, of course, like to come to the Rectory for lunch on Sunday?”

“Oh, Dulcie, I’d love that, but you know what it’s like to be very pregnant. I could go into labour any day now. Why don’t you invite Sylvia and Sharlene?”

“Are they there?”

“Sylvia is. Just a moment.”

A lengthy pause, then, “Hello, Dulcie?”

“Oh, Sylvia! I just invited Helen and her household to lunch after church on Sunday, but Helen doesn’t want to be away from home, and I understand that. Will you and Sharlene come anyway? We’d love to see you.”

“Oh!” Hesitation, “That’s a lovely idea, but...”

“This is something we do almost every week. It’s an opportunity for different members of the congregation to get to know each other away from the church...”

“Well ... I suppose ... I’ll have a word with Sharlene when she gets home. It would be nice...”

“Good! We’ll expect you, then. Unless you can’t come, in which case just give us a call.”

Dulcie actually caught herself dusting her hands together in satisfaction. The only other piece of the puzzle was if Sam could come. If he couldn’t, well ... there’d be another time. She found Liina and explained. “There’ll be Rebecca and Joe, Sam if he can make it, Sylvia and Sharlene, and the household. James too?” James Abercromby had been a regular visitor since beginning his gentle courting of Liina.

“Oh, James will be with us, unless there’s a problem, of course.”

“Excellent.”

“I’ve got us a nice piece of beef for a change.”

“Lovely!”

While Dulcie was making her plans – and was God laughing at them? – Sam was dealing with a logistical issue at the project site; a delivery of finish plaster was held up by a truck breakdown. The delay to the plaster meant a delay to the electricians and the decorators. A very serious call to the suppliers had a second load on the way, which would be only three hours late; in the meantime, a visit to a local DIY store would supply enough plaster for the time being. He sighed. He really ought to have gone to matins before work. If nothing else, it would have helped him keep his temper. At length, the delivery arrived, was moved to dry storage, the work day ended, and everyone went home.