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The new priest, she feared, was a pedant.
    ‘And you have a sentimental attachment to him?’ Father Timothy said with a small tight smile which struck her as patronizing.
    ‘I simply believe that when thousands of people down through the centuries have a great devotion to a particular figure then the devotion itself can bring into being a person with the attributes they admire.’
    ‘It’s all in the mind, eh, Sister?’ He gave her the look reserved for nuns who consider themselves to be intellectual and said immediately in a tone of relief, ‘Ah! I see the church just ahead of us. That will be the presbytery next to it.’
    ‘Father Stephens will probably still be at the hospital,’ Sister Joan said. ‘He went over there this morning. But Mrs Fairly will be at home, I’m sure.’
    ‘Mrs Fairly?’
    ‘The housekeeper. She makes Father Malone and Father Stephens very comfortable. “She nags the life out of the both of us,” Father Malone was apt to complain. ‘I never could understand why priests are deemed far too helpless to look after themselves when bachelors all over the country are managing to do it without any trouble.’
    His complaints were only halfhearted. Mrs Fairly was one of those slim, harassed-looking middle-aged widows who seem destined to spend their lives answering the door with the phrase ‘I’ll just see if Father’s available’ on their lips. Sister Joan had only met her on a couple of occasions and knew nothing of her background.
    Both church and presbytery were small, walls of Cornish granite, the tower of the church square and squat. In a predominantly Protestant area the Catholics were tactful about their continuing presence though old feuds had long since died.
    They walked up the short path past the variegated bulbs that were Mrs Fairly’s pride and joy and Sister Joan set down the case she was carrying and rang the bell. A twitch of the muslin curtains had told her that the housekeeper had seen their arrival but considered it uncivil to be seen herself gaping out of the window.
    There was a short pause and then the front door opened and Mrs Fairly, a scarf over her greying hair, a neat print overall covering her dress, appeared, a carefully judged smile of welcome on her face.
    ‘It’ll be Father Timothy? I’m delighted you got here safely, Father. Did you catch Father Malone at the station? I would have been there myself but Father Stephens went rushing out without a decent breakfast this morning so I decided to do a mixed grill. It’s Sister Joan from the convent, isn’t it? Did you see Father off all right?’
    ‘And met Father Timothy at the station,’ Sister Joan said. ‘I’m afraid he missed meeting Father Malone.’
    ‘Well, Father Stephens will be along soon,’ Mrs Fairly said. ‘Come along in. You’ll be wanting a cup of tea, Sister. You didn’t walk down?’
    ‘No, I drove. I should have offered you a lift, Father. I just didn’t think of it.’
    ‘Please don’t blame yourself, Sister.’ Father Timothy said, giving her a pat on the shoulder evidentlyintended to be consoling. ‘The ladies are not always expected to be practical.’
    ‘I’ll show you your room, Father. Sister, will you brew the tea?’ Mrs Fairly bore her charge away.
    Sister Joan went through into the kitchen, vaguely aware that the housekeeper’s request had been a sop to her ego after the priest’s patronizing remark. Mrs Fairly would never in a thousand years have declared herself the equal of men: had she ever thought of the matter she would probably have regarded herself as their superior.
    She had just poured the boiling water into the pot when Mrs Fairly reappeared.
    ‘I’ve left Father Timothy to have a wash and brush up,’ she said. ‘He’s not as young as I expected. Probably had a late vocation.’
    ‘Like me,’ Sister Joan said.
    ‘Well, I’ve always felt it was a good idea to see a bit of life first before you made up your mind about anything,’ Mrs Fairly