Read Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins for Free Online Page B

don’t appear very upset by your lover’s death.’
    ‘I am still grieving for the loss of my wife.’
    ‘But we do not know she is dead.’
    ‘I know what I saw.’
    ‘Tell me about Natasha Zhirkov,’ Sidney continued. ‘Why do you think she might have been afraid of your wife?’
    ‘My wife was a very strong woman. Like Dmitri, she had a temper.’
    ‘Natasha Zhirkov was more frightened of your wife than her own husband?’
    ‘I was more frightened of her too.’
    ‘How did Sophie react when she found out about your affair?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter. She is dead.’
    ‘Did your wife threaten you?’ Sidney asked.
    ‘Not me . . . no . . . not me . . . we loved each other.’
    ‘But about Mrs Zhirkov: what did she say about her?’
    ‘She said that if I didn’t stop it she would finish it all for ever.’
    ‘She did?’ Keating cut back in. ‘And did she say how?’
    ‘She said she would stab Natasha through the heart.’
     
    There was no peace at the vicarage. Anna had had a bad night, Byron needed walking, Mrs Maguire was cleaning the bathroom with intimidating vigour, and Malcolm appeared to be busy with a new section of railway line. He had got it on the cheap from one of the parishioners whose son had left for university.
    The only quiet to be found was in Sidney’s study. He retreated to think through events and to listen to a new recording of The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady by Charles Mingus. He had bought it as a little treat from Dobell’s in Charing Cross Road on his last trip to London. Impressed with the clergyman’s taste, the manager had ordered it in from America.
    During the second track, Malcolm interrupted to ask for some advice about his next sermon. He stood in the doorway with a slice of poppyseed cake on a plate and explained that he was going to develop the theme of nature versus nurture. Was it possible, he mused, to nurture ourselves away from sin? How could we make the most of the spiritual nourishment Christ had to offer?
    Sidney wondered, having seen his curate’s prodigious cake-eating in action, if all of Malcolm’s homilies were to contain gastronomic metaphors. There were certainly plenty of biblical references to manna from heaven, the bread of life and thirsting for righteousness. At least there were few mentions of cake itself (Sidney dimly remembered a passage in the Book of Ezekiel about barley cake, and a fig concoction in 1 Samuel). But when had it been invented, he asked himself, and what was the moment when a biscuit became a cake? Was it the presence of sponge that allowed McVitie’s, for example, to refer to their produce as Jaffa cakes rather than biscuits?
    ‘Sidney,’ his wife interrupted as she gave him a goodbye kiss before popping out to the shops, ‘you are dreaming again.’
    The doorbell rang.
    ‘What? Sorry?’
    ‘Malcolm was asking if you had made any progress on the case.’
    ‘Sorry. I thought he said cake .’
    ‘I said nothing of the kind. But if there is any more going . . .’
    It had been Helena Randall at the door. She walked straight in and announced: ‘Sophie Madara is due to appear at a concert in York. I have my car.’
    ‘Good heavens . . .’
    ‘How far away is that?’ Hildegard asked.
    ‘A few hours. Geordie says Sidney’s to come. We can be back tonight. I’m a very fast driver.’
    Sidney looked to his wife. ‘I remember. I don’t find that reassuring.’
    ‘Go if you must,’ Hildegard replied. ‘Your curfew is midnight.’
    ‘I’ll hold the fort,’ said Malcolm.
    ‘What is the concert?’ Hildegard asked.
    ‘The Holst Invocation for Cello and Orchestra.’
    ‘An early version of one of The Planets .’
    Sidney was less interested in the musical programme, and more concerned about the case. ‘What about Geordie?’
    ‘He’s bringing Madara to verify that it really is his wife.’
    ‘It could be quite a reunion.’
    ‘I think that’s the point.’
     
    The concert was held on the