The Magus of Hay(21)

Most people were saying that, but nothing came to save the city.

Still, it was one of the few English cities where, in the absence of high-rise offices and flats, the oldest buildings were still dominant. The spired All Saints Church, on the corner where Broad Street met High Town, was probably packing in more worshippers these days, Merrily was thinking, than at any time in its history.

Except that they were coming to worship lunch. Half the church was a restaurant now, part self-service and not expensive enough to deter vicars. She’d followed Sophie to the upstairs gallery overlooking the business end where a ghost was said to play the organ.

Something authentically medieval about having lunch in a still-active town centre church. Merrie Englande. If you looked up from your table, you could see a little carved wooden man with his legs in the air, flashing his bits from the ceiling frieze.

‘She rang again,’ Sophie said.

‘What, since this morning? It’s been nearly a month. She hasn’t even returned my calls.’



‘She’s probably not entirely rational, but she is clearly distressed.’

A man at the next table was telling his woman companion that Hereford needed to take its lead from towns like Ludlow and Hay-on-Wye and attract more tourism and high-quality independent retailers with whom the Internet could not compete. Sophie unwound her silver silk scarf.

‘The point of contention is Ms Merchant’s continued insistence that she didn’t ask you to get rid of her partner.’

‘I wouldn’t use those words, would I?’

‘I told her I presumed you’d offer prayers aimed at guiding Ms Norris to a better place. But it seems clear that Ms Merchant’s idea of a better place is… her bedroom.’

Merrily poured sparkling water into two glasses.

‘I thought it was sentiment, grief – entirely understandable. I offered to help her move the second bed into another room. Which was very much the wrong thing to say.’

‘I suppose,’ Sophie said, ‘one can understand why immediately disposing of her partner’s bed might make her feel in some way disloyal. And yet the very presence of the bed might, on first waking, with one’s senses a little befuddled…’

‘You come out of a dream, your mind’s holding an image. It’s projected into an empty bed. She really wasn’t open to that kind of explanation. As for keeping that chair in the bedroom…’

‘The very symbol of a secretary. I’m not sure I particularly like what that implies.’

‘I’m not sure whether it’s just morbid or, as you say, a bit sinister. What does she expect from me now? She tell you that?’

‘Not in a way that was comprehensible to me.’

‘When she said Ms Nott was not smiling any more, did you get the idea that was more a reflection of the way she was feeling? Or that the image had gone?’

‘She wouldn’t be drawn. And it wasn’t my business to do that.’

‘How well do you know her, Sophie? She said they both came to services at the Cathedral.’



‘Didn’t really know either of them, but I remember them, vaguely. Tall woman, quite formally dressed, and a smaller woman. Younger, I think. Quite plain. Demure – although that might be with hindsight.’

‘Boss and secretary.’

‘You might think that.’

‘You see, at first, I had the impression that what Sylvia Merchant wanted from me was simply reassurance that what was happening to her was quite normal. That she wasn’t deluded. I told her how commonplace it was. That there was nothing to worry about. And then it all slowly became… abnormal. She started asking questions about me that went beyond the usual pleasantries. She knew about what we do. She’d gone into it. But clearly what we do… wasn’t what she wanted.’

‘I’m assuming,’ Sophie said, as lunch arrived, ‘that, in normal circumstances, this would have begun and ended with prayer.’ She looked up at the waitress. ‘Splendid. Thank you.’

Merrily waited until they were alone again, apart from the wooden flasher in the ceiling.

‘Far too early to suggest anything like a Requiem Eucharist. Which, under the circs, would not have been exactly welcomed.’

‘So, did your response… differ in any way from the normal?’

Something here she wasn’t being told. Merrily looked for Sophie’s eyes but they were lowered over her feta cheese salad.

‘I may have formed the impression that, rather than arranging a delicate parting of the ways, I was being asked to bless a… oh God… a continuing relationship? She was saying Alys Nott was with us in that room. The dent in the pillow. The chair which, shortly after I’d stood up, creaked, as if someone else had sat down…’