‘Have you bought yourself a little house yet?’ Maria asked. ‘Now you’re back in Blighty?’
‘Yes, have you bought a house yet?’ Becky repeated. ‘Settled down with a nice girl?’
‘Have you settled down? Is there a girl on the scene?’ Maria demanded, without giving him a chance to answer the first question. ‘Love a good wedding, me.’
‘Oh yes, another wedding would be topping.’ Becky clapped her hands, her chins trembling.
‘Chance to buy a new hat,’ Maria and Becky chorused.
‘Leave the boy alone,’ Sybil protested. ‘He doesn’t want to be hectored about his love life. You two would make a glass eye weep. There are more ways to skin a cat than marriage.’
Johnny wasn’t sure what she meant but was glad of the support.
She leaned in. ‘I’ve been at the champagne, Johnny. Very delish it is too.’ She winked enormously. ‘I believe I’m a little squiffy.’
‘Really, Sybs,’ Maria scolded. ‘It’s simply not cricket to get tipsy at a christening.’
‘Yes, Sybil. It’s not on, you know,’ Becky added.
‘Why don’t you have some food, Syb?’ Johnny nodded to the tables still groaning with party food and canapés. Sybil, having taken drink, could be a handful.
‘Oh Lordy, what an excellent idea.’ Sybil swayed dramatically.
Johnny found her a chair and issued orders to Maria to grab a plate of something substantial and for Becky to find a glass of water. Maria returned first but not before Sybil had clutched his shirt front to her and whispered, ‘I’m really top hole, old boy. Thought you might need to tunnel out. You know. Escape route. Sand in your trousers sort of thing. If you go when Maria and Becky are fussing around me, they won’t notice.’
He kissed her powdery cheek. ‘Have I ever told you you’re my favourite aunt?’
‘Frequently. Just don’t tell the other two.’ She shoved him away. ‘Off you go. You’ll have had a bucketful of us all by now. Maria,’ she bellowed, ‘where’s me vittles?’
Scooting around Becky who was haranguing an unfortunate waiter, he nipped into the kitchen and out into the garden via theside door. He thought he’d shown his face long enough. Turning to see if anyone was witness to his ignominious departure, he bumped into someone.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said, holding onto the woman’s arms to steady her. ‘I do apologise. Wasn’t looking where I was going.’ Looking down he saw, with horror, it was the vicar who had led the service.
‘Making good your escape too?’ she said, looking up and grinning impishly.
She was tiny, a drab little sparrow of a woman but Johnny sensed her inner vigour. It shone from her so blindingly it was almost visceral. Over his career he’d met many religious figures. Although he couldn’t agree with any one organised religion, he’d been fascinated by their human representatives on earth. Some were well-meaning, a lot had teeming egos, most were trying their best in gruelling situations. He could imagine this woman blasting her way through any war-torn country fighting for her community. In what he assumed must be a fairly peaceful corner of west Dorset she must be quite the life force.
‘Leaving the party so soon? Looks like it’s only just getting going. The Starling family certainly knows how to celebrate.’
‘We do,’ he said, amused. The scent of damp earth and yew rose to make his nostrils prickle. It was shaded and secretive in the shadow of the hedge. He rubbed his eyes, exhausted.
She put a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m so sorry. Foot in mouth yet again. Lack of tact not the best quality for a vicar.’ Thrusting out her hand, she said, ‘Verity Lincoln. Lovely to meet you.’
He shook it. ‘Johnny Starling. Uncle to little Inigo.’
‘I see,’ she said on a long breath. ‘Which makes it all the more surprising you’re leaving so soon. Not the party sort?’
He winced. He had a feeling she could see right into his soul. Pangs of guilt assailed. He should have stayed at the party longer. Jess would understand but his parents would give himhell. It was holding baby Inigo that had done it. He tried to blank the images which flashed through his mind but holding his nephew close had broken through his control. The familiar panicked feelings were beginning to swamp him. Thumping head, shaky hands, a churning stomach. He didn’t want any of them to see him like this. He hoped it was just too much champagne. Too few canapés. Or possibly too much family. ‘Not really.’
‘Forgive me.’ Digging a tissue out of a pocket Verity reached up and rubbed at his cheek. Looking at the smudge of violent pink lipstick she’d removed, she commented, ‘Nice colour.’
Johnny sighed. ‘My aunt Maria.’
‘Families can be tough.’ Putting an arm through his she pulled him to her side. ‘Come on then. Let’s escape together. If we open and shut the gate quickly, I have it on good authority it won’t squeak and give us away.’
They walked down the short track to the main road in a surprisingly companionable silence.
‘I go this way,’ Verity said. ‘I’ll walk through the gardens to get back to the vicarage. The knees can’t face the downhill slalom to the harbour.’ He expected her to pursue why he was leaving so early but all she said was, ‘Come and find me at St Winifred’s. I’m a good listener and St Winnie is even better.’ She winked. ‘Doesn’t answer back, you see.’
