Determined to look at the bright side of things, he began rehearsing his pastoral visit on his way back to the roadside. But first, he really was going to have to change those trousers.
One hour and a bowl of soup later, he crunched up the gravel driveway of the manor house, looking for clues in its lead-paned windows as to the depravity that lay within. But he could see none. To all intents and purposes, it was a handsome grey stone house with well-tended borders and a scrupulously swept porch. Rather than red lights or displays of flesh, the windows revealed no more than vases of freshly cut flowers.
He rang the doorbell, then strained his ears for any sounds that might drift around the walls from the back garden. There was only the ruffled quiet of a springtime zephyr.
The door was opened by one of the girls he’d seen earlier – the pierced, purple-haired one. He hadn’t been prepared for this, and his confusion and embarrassment were obviously visible because she shook her head and laughed.
‘What’s the matter, vicar?’
He tried to forget that he’d seen this girl naked and in flagrante.
‘May I speak to …?’ He realised Julia had not supplied him with the names of the miscreant purchasers.
The girl’s smile began to fade.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I wanted to speak to the new owners of the house.’
‘Well, that would be me!’
‘Oh … Really?’
‘Yes. I’m Kasia. Would you, er, would you like to come in?’
‘Well, yes, yes, I would. Thank you.’
She left him in a beeswax-smelling sitting room just off the entrance hall. None of its windows looked out on to the back garden, though a pair of French doors at the far end led to the tennis courts and pool at the side of the building. Feeling restless, Adam roamed the room, looking at the modern Ikea-kit furniture, so out of place in this wooden-beamed splendour. There were pale rectangles on the walls where Julia’s family portraits must have hung. Any clues that the place was being used to make blue movies were nowhere to be seen. A large wedding photograph of Kasia – dark-haired instead of purple, but wearing a sumptuous scarlet corset dress – and her handsome husband stood on a glass-topped table by the giant TV screen, but apart from that, the room was impersonal enough.
Kasia reappeared, in the same ripped jeans and hoodie she had worn when she opened the door, carrying a tea tray with an open packet of biscuits – an expensive brand. A man followed her, the handsome groom in the photograph.
‘Ah, we are honoured. You must be the new vicar?’
He held out a hand for Adam to shake. Adam thought about this for a few moments, then took it.
Shaking the hand of vice.
Adam felt as if his hand were covered in invisible slime for the remainder of the interview.
‘Is this a social call?’ the man continued, still making no move to introduce himself.
‘It’s a pastoral visit,’ said Adam. The man and Kasia exchanged a smirk. Adam felt his cheeks heat up. Today kept dragging him further and further out of his depth.
‘Pastoral? The good shepherd, eh? Well, do sit down and have a cup of tea and a biscuit. I’m Sebastian Hurley, and this is my wife, Kasia. As the village grapevine has no doubt disclosed, we’re new to the place.’
‘Thank you, but I prefer to stand. No, no, thanks.’ He waved away Kasia’s proffered cup of tea.
The pair looked at him, waiting.
‘The fact is the village grapevine has had more than that to say about you.’
‘Oh?’ Hurley beamed, tossing his longish hair back from a high-domed forehead. He looked, Adam thought, the living epitome of the word louche.
‘There is some local disapproval of your – new use for this building.’
‘What use would that be?’ Kasia blinked in faux innocence.
‘The council passed our application for planning permission,’ added Sebastian.