Page 7 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
I rolled my eyes at this blatant attempt to appeal to my brotherly feelings. It was safe: she couldn’t see me. “Who exactly is this Mrs. F-M., and why’s she got you over a barrel?” I asked.
Cherry tsked. “She’s friendly with the bishop. Very friendly. She’s only been living in St. Leonards for less than a year, but she’s already running half the activities of the diocese.”
I took that with a pinch of salt. There’s a whole team of high-up church types at St. Leonards, and I’ve never been sure exactly what all of ’em do. Canon Greg, although definitely a big shot compared to your average parish priest, seemed to be a fairly minor firearm in the cathedral’s arsenal. Which, as usual, seemed to directly translate as “did all the work.” At any rate, he was a fair way below the bloke with the shepherd’s crook and the pointy hat, who Cherry had her heart set on officiating at her and Greg’s wedding.
God knows why. I mean to say, if anyone’s going to upstage the bride on her wedding day, it’s got to be a bishop. Unless Cherry went for the full-on puffed-up meringue look—which, being her, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t—no way was her frock going to be prettier than his.
“If she hadn’t just got married to Alex Majors,” Cherry went on, “I’d suspect her of having set her cap at the bishop. He isn’t married, you know.”
“Yeah? This your surprise bishop who ate all my cakes?” Merlin gave his bowl one last disappointed sniff, then tried winding himself round my legs in case I was up for a bit of emotional blackmail.
“Toby. Yes. We don’t have any suffragan bishops at St. Leonards.”
Whatever those were. I focussed on the bit I understood. “You call the bish Toby? Isn’t that, I dunno, disrespectful or something?”
“What do you expect me to call him? My lord? Nobody’s that formal these days. And at least I don’t refer to him as the bish. He came round to talk about carbon footprints with Gregory. And before you come up with some hilarious joke about Gregory’s shoe size, please don’t.”
“Wouldn’t dream of putting my foot in it like that. Hey, if Greg and the bish are all chummy already, why are you so worried dear old Amelia’s gonna put you in bad with him?”
“They’re not. That’s the problem. You know Gregory’s been castigated—”
“Sounds painful. Is the wedding still on?”
“—for speaking out in support of gay clergy? Well, the bishop is something of a traditionalist, I’m afraid.”
“Great. Still, he’s not likely to refuse to marry you for something like that, is he?”
“This isn’t just about the wedding. Gregory’s career is at a very vulnerable stage. He doesn’t want to be a canon all his life, you know.”
“Oh, I see. Got your eye on a bishop’s palace, have you? Fancy Greg in purple?”
“Don’t be silly. I just want what’s best for Gregory. And the position of dean could be becoming vacant soon.”
“So we need to keep the bishop sweet at all costs. Got it.”
“Not at all costs.” There was a breathy noise down the phone. “I’m not really asking that much of you, am I?”
“No, but . . . I dunno. Just doesn’t seem right, sneaking around behind the daughter’s back.” Talking of which, I felt an arm sneak around my front as Phil stealth-cuddled me from behind. I leaned back into him, smiling at Merlin, who’d finally abandoned all hope and was sitting on top of the fridge. He gave me a frankly worried look, leapt down, and scarpered. “And she’s roped me into her Harvest Fayre, whatever that is,” I went on. “Has it got a y in it? I bet it has. You’ve got to have a y in it, or people start expecting fairground rides and dodgy hoopla stalls.”
“I think she’s planning some of those as well,” Sis said drily. “And it’s not her Harvest Fayre, or at least, it never used to be. It’s an annual event in St. Leonards, to raise funds for the needy.”
“I s’pose it’s a bit better than just getting all the kiddies to turn up to church with an out-of-date can of Heinz soup from the back of the cupboard. Or a couple of wormy apples from the tree in the garden.” Which was the sort of thing I vaguely remembered from my long-off Sunday school days.
“Exactly. So what’s she got you doing? I’m running the cake stall, of all things.” Cherry’s tone said it all. My sis doesn’t bake. Ever.
“Didn’t say. When is it, anyhow?”
“The last Saturday of the month. This month, so don’t forget. Although I’m sure Amelia will give you very precise instructions nearer the time.” There was a certain tightness to her tone.
“Voice of bitter experience, that, is it?”
“It wouldn’t be right of me to say anything disparaging about someone who’s done so much for the cathedral,” Cherry said in the sort of voice that meant she really, really wanted to. “Anyway, I know it’s short notice, but why don’t you and Philip come over to Gregory’s for Sunday lunch this weekend?”
I gathered that was a peace offering. “Sorry, can’t. We’re going round to Phil’s mum’s.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Is this the first time you’ll be meeting her?”
“Yeah. Well, you know, since school.” I mean, chances were I’d at least seen her around at some point, but to be honest I couldn’t have picked her out of a police lineup. It wasn’t like me and Phil had been mates in those days.
