Chapter 1

Delia woke, disoriented for a moment. 'Where am I?' The faint glow of the clock-radio display was sufficient as she reached full consciousness; the room not entirely unfamiliar, for she'd woken there, in that bed, the last few days. Just after six am ... no chance of sleeping again, not once her mind started running over the events of the last two weeks ... and her part in them. The police interviews as she genuinely tried to co-operate with them as they attempted to wring every detail out of her memory, in the process forcing her to confront her culpability. Her guilt threatened to strangle her as she thought of the couple who'd taken her in, despite her complicity in the attempt to abduct the woman. Dulcie Hanson. The Reverend Dulcie Hanson ... who defied her every preconception of 'religious' women. Sighing, she swung her legs out of bed, reaching out for the switch of the bed-side light; the blaze of light searing her eyes before she clamped her eyelids shut.

Once she could cope with the light, she collected clothes; mid-November, it was chilly, the central heating on a low, overnight setting. She dressed quickly, carelessly, and padded downstairs in slippers to make and eat toast, brew and drink coffee. Needing something to occupy her, to distract her from her churning emotions, she washed up the few items from the previous night, wiped and laid the table for breakfast, set up the coffee-maker. It was still not quite seven. She went to the lounge and browsed the bookshelves; perhaps she'd get a clue about what made her hosts ... tick. Her eyes lit on a slim paperback... 'The Screwtape Letters'. C.S. Lewis. The name was familiar; surely he wrote 'The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe'? Children's books? She took the book down and took it back to the kitchen.

'The Screwtape Letters' purport to be a collection of letters from a senior devil to his nephew on 'temptation duty'. It's an easy read, at turns funny and challenging, but always holding one's attention. Delia was gripped and Peter Hanson was in the kitchen before she registered his presence.

"Oh!" She squawked and shot to her feet.

"Hey! Don't worry! Relax," Peter smiled at her. "Dulcie's on her way down."

"I woke early," she said, "so I thought I'd come down and prepare for breakfast. I've had some ... I hope that's okay?"

"Of course. You're a guest. Feel free..."

"Can I cook anything for you?" She moved to the coffee-maker and switched it on.

"I don't usually bother except for toast. You could put some in the toaster, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Actually ... I don't have a job to go to; Jack earned enough I didn't need to work, but I suppose I'll need to think about that. He won't be working at his job for quite some time ... if ever. I thought I could make myself useful with housework and so on..."

She was getting bread out as she spoke. "Brown, white or what?"

"Oh, brown, please."

She popped a couple of slices of brown bread into the toaster, suddenly aware that her nipples were erect and rubbing on the t-shirt she'd thrown on. "Shit, I should have worn a bra..." The toast popped up and she put it in a toast rack and placed it in front of him. "Crap ... he's got a hard-on. How the hell am I going to handle this?" Turning away, she saw that the coffee-maker was finished dripping and took the jug across to the table. She couldn't look at him as she filled his mug.

"I could heat some milk if you like," she said, her voice a little uneven.

"Thanks, but no thanks; black for me." He took a sip of the dark liquid and nodded approval. "Excellent, thank you." Then, as he spread butter on his toast, "Delia ... you need to talk to Dulcie, preferably this morning." He paused, seeing her stiffen, her expression close with a frown. "Don't worry, please. You haven't done anything wrong ... quite the reverse. Right now ... I hear footsteps on the stairs. Would you put some granary bread in the toaster, please?"

She'd barely started the toaster when Dulcie entered the kitchen and greeted Peter and herself cheerfully. If she noticed Delia's blush, she certainly didn't comment, for which Delia was truly thankful. The two teenage girls ... Rosie and Emma? Followed shortly after, ate their breakfasts and left for school. Peter rose to his feet.

"Dulcie, love, I'll go and lead matins. You and Delia need to have a chat."

Dulcie smiled at him and looked at Delia, who blushed hotly. Dulcie, still smiling shook her head slightly. "Don't worry, I don't bite ... often."

They carried mugs of coffee into the study, where Dulcie waved Delia to the two-seat sofa and pulled the office chair from behind the desk and adjusted it to her preference. Delia nervously perched on the edge of the sofa.

"Delia ... sit back, please and try to relax. I am not angry with you and I am not going to tell you off, whatever you may think."

Delia obediently leaned back in the seat, but remained stiff and silent. A tear trickled down her cheek. Dulcie, apparently quite relaxed, sat and watched for what, to Delia, seemed like an eternity.

"Suppose I tell you some of it and you can tell me if I'm right?" Dulcie leaned forward. "You woke early because there's a lot on your mind, and you threw on whatever clothes were handy. Having had some breakfast, you decided to make yourself useful by setting the table for everyone else. The combination of your confusion, my husband's presence when he arrived and the friction of your nipples on that t-shirt meant you were somewhat aroused. I noticed your nipples pushing at the fabric when I entered the kitchen. At some point, you realised Peter had also noticed and responded to your stiff nipples. You were embarrassed and felt guilty at being roused by my husband..."

Delia's voice was so small as to be almost inaudible, "Yes."

"Well," Dulcie went on, "there's an Italian writer, Giovanni Guareschi, who had one of his characters say 'A priest is not a man ... he's something more, or something less ... it just depends'. I can tell you, Peter is very much a man, despite his undoubted calling as a minister of religion. It's no fault to either of you that you ... respond to each other. I don't mind Peter looking as long as he saves the touching for me. When we first met, he was still married. I loved him from the moment we met, I think, but I also loved Sara, his first wife. I wouldn't have done anything to hurt her and I don't think you'd do anything to hurt me."

In a very slightly stronger voice, Delia said, "Thank you."

"So relax. You're our guest, so you don't need to be all formal all the time. If you think about it, it might be an idea to put on a bra, but you don't have to worry about my husband. If he gets horny, he'll save it for me ... and I get the benefit."

Delia blushed. "Oh, Dulcie..."

"So, Delia, what are you going to do today?"

"Um ... I think I ... could I borrow a car, do you think? It's really cheeky ... but I could do with getting some clothes from home. I think ... I will put our house on the market, too."

"Don't rush into selling your home, Delia. Wait until you're sure you won't need it. Use my car by all means, though. I have some visits to do, but they're all nearby and I'd walk anyway."

The house felt cold. Not physically – the central heating had been working away industriously all the time it had been unoccupied – but it was an emotional chill. Delia collected a supply of clothes and winced at some of the contents of her wardrobe. She found a suitcase, packed it and carried it downstairs to leave it by the door. After some thought, she put the heating on a caretaker setting, set a couple of lights to come on at a random period, locked up, set the alarm and left without looking back.

She returned to the Rectory and carried her case to her room before going to the kitchen in time to make sandwiches for lunch.

The girls being at school, it was just Dulcie and Peter, who expressed their appreciation at her efforts in the kitchen; after which she asked Dulcie if there was anything she'd like her to do.

"If you're really willing, then, yes ... there's quite a lot you could do to help. If the phone rings it goes to voicemail after so many rings, but a real human voice is much better even if all you say is 'I'll make a note of your name and number and Dulcie or Peter will call you back'. I'd be grateful if you could run the vac over, certainly downstairs. How do you feel about gardening, that sort of thing? There's not a lot to do outside at this time of year, of course, except some sweeping up. For now, I'd better be here when Rosie and Emma get home from school. I hope you're not offended, but I need to check with them about whether they're comfortable with you..."

"Not at all. I'd expect nothing else. And, well, I don't have much experience with housekeeping and gardening, that sort of thing; we used to have someone come in. I can cook, a little. We always had caterers when we were entertaining. Dulcie ... you've been very kind, but I know I've got a long way to go to earn people's trust."