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between her curiosity about Gillian and her determination to ignore her, hovered nearby in conversation with Marjorie Talbot-Shaw, who was holding forth about the shortcomings of the new Rector. This was a favourite theme of Mrs Talbot-Shaw, PCC secretary and herself the widow of a Shropshire clergyman, a man who had by all accounts been nothing short of perfect. Mrs Talbot-Shaw, who had retired alone to Norfolk after her husband’s death, was a rather formidable-looking woman, tall and buxom, with a solitary and dramatic streak of silver in her dark hair.
    â€˜I just don’t understand,’ she was saying with a frown, ‘why he didn’t even mention poor Roger’s heart attack until the prayers. He might have made an announcement at the beginning of the service. My husband Godfrey certainly would have done.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Doris agreed, darting a glance at the adjoining party. ‘Everyone is so concerned about poor Roger. I can’t think why Father Stephen didn’t say anything.’
    Harry Gaze, divested of his server’s alb in record time, was expressing similar sentiments to Fred Purdy, a short distance away. ‘Wouldn’t have happened in Father Fuller’s day,’ he stated.
    â€˜No, indeed.’ Fred’s amiable smile didn’t falter as he brought the conversation round to the question that really interested him. ‘Do you reckon that Roger will be able to continue as churchwarden?’
    â€˜Don’t know. Ernest had to give it up when he had his heart attack, didn’t he? Darn near killed him to give it up, but the new doctor said as he had to.’
    Fred nodded. ‘It’s just that Roger hasn’t seemed too keen on some of my ideas lately. Things might be easier around here with a new warden.’
    â€˜Might be.’ Harry was noncommittal; his attention had strayed to the group of women still chatting in the centre aisle. ‘Have you met that new lady as has just moved to Foxglove Cottage? Mrs English?’
    â€˜Not yet,’ Fred admitted. ‘But I don’t imagine it will be long before she finds her way to the shop.’ He chuckled. ‘Everyone does, sooner or later.’
    â€˜She’s a good looker, wouldn’t you say?’
    â€˜Not bad,’ concurred Fred judiciously.
    Unaware of the men’s scrutiny, Gillian was asking Becca about the music. ‘I was really impressed by the choir,’ she said.
    â€˜They’re good, aren’t they?’ Becca agreed. ‘Stephen is really pleased with them.’
    â€˜I can’t believe that you have so many good singers here in the village.’
    â€˜We don’t!’ Enid interposed indignantly. ‘That is, we do , but you didn’t hear them this morning!’
    Gillian turned to her. ‘What do you mean?’
    â€˜It’s a disgrace! He sacked the choir, and a perfectly good choir it was, too, and brought in that lot. All his friends they are, people from Norwich. They just come in for the services, and they’re actually paid ! I can’t imagine why ever Father Stephen lets him get away with it! To treat his loyal choir like that – Ernest was really cut up about it, I can tell you.’
    Becca flushed at the implied criticism of her husband, and tried to explain. ‘Cyprian is a very fine musician – he’s an internationally known composer. Stephen says that we’re very fortunate to have him. He took on the job mainly because he likes living in the country – it’s better for composing, he says – and Stephen was able to offer him a cottage near the church as part of his salary. And the church has an excellent old organ and wonderful acoustics, so those things made it attractive to him as well.’
    â€˜A disgrace,’ interjected Enid.
    â€˜He’s been able to negotiate several recording contracts using the church because of the acoustics,’ Becca continued, doing