‘I see. Care to share any of these t
houghts?’
‘Yes, actually.’ He dropped his voice, looking over her head for any passing villagers, but the lane outside the church was quiet. ‘What happened between us was wrong and it’s over. I wasn’t myself. It won’t happen again.’
‘You weren’t yourself? It’s the one time you’ve ever been entirely yourself, Adam, you silly, silly man. It’s the one time you’ve dropped those ridiculous inhibitions and scruples and been the natural Adam Flint. I know it and, deep down, so do you. But you’ll keep lying to yourself because it suits you.’
‘We’ll have to agree to disagree,’ he said. ‘Are you still at the manor house?’
‘No. Got turfed out with a police escort. Made it into the local paper, actually. You’d have seen it if you’d been here. I needed you, Adam. You left me when I needed you most.’
‘What you need,’ he said, ‘is a doctor. A psychiatrist.’
‘Oh, how dare you! You’re going to deny everything that happened, aren’t you? God, you’re an idiot.’
She seemed about to flounce off, but the poster caught her eye and she stopped to read it.
‘And so it begins,’ she said, in a tone that made Adam’s hackles rise.
‘What do you mean? The Harvest Festival? It’s pretty usual to have one at this time of year.’
‘Her idea, was it?’
‘Actually, it was both of our ideas.’
‘At least you’ll get a full house for that one. Adam.’ She put out a hand suddenly, touching his forearm. He snatched it away. ‘I wish you’d listen to me. You mustn’t go to that festival.’
‘It’s a church event, Julia. How can I not go?’
‘You won’t come out of it.’
He shook his head with exasperation.
‘Look, all that village history stuff – Tribulation Smith, the Lydford book, the generations of Evangelines – I’m going to put it behind me. I got too involved in it and it affected my thinking. From now on, I look to the future. My future and that of Saxonhurst as a Christian village.’
‘And the future of Evie.’
He glared.
‘Yes. Yes, why not? The future of Evie.’
Julia turned away from him.
‘You’re next, then,’ she muttered, before stalking off towards the post office.
Adam shook his head and re-entered the churchyard through the lych gate. It was a gloriously mellow late-summer day, the air ripe with the smell of fallen apples.
When he walked into the vicarage, Mrs Witts called out from the kitchen, ‘Evie’s come to see you. She’s in the garden.’
Adam’s heart glowed and he walked out into the neatly tended back garden, finding her sitting at the far end of the lawn in her scarlet dress.
She waved at him. As he drew nearer, he saw that her mouth was stained a delicate purple.
‘You’ve got a ton of blackberries, vicar,’ she said, pulling a few more off the hedge and cramming them into her mouth.
‘So I see.’
‘Aunty’s making a crumble with ’em, but there’s loads left. Come and have some.’