Free The Shadows in the Street by Susan Hill Page A

sorry, we had to talk about the dreaded flower rota.’
    ‘Isn’t that utterly typical,’ Ruth said, taking the remaining biscuit and crunching it. ‘Flower rotas! That says it all about the Church of England.’
    ‘Well, as I’m sure you’ll have seen, the cathedral has very talented flower arrangers and the job takes some doing – just look at the size of those stands and the stone vases. It’s a great skill – some would call it an art. It isn’t just a case of bunging things in. Don’t you like flowers, Ruth?’
    ‘Oh, I don’t mind flowers, I know they brighten up the place – just don’t ask me to join a flower rota.’
    ‘We wouldn’t,’ Ilona said, not catching Cat’s eye, ‘dream of it.’
    ‘Help, look at the time, I’m supposed to be somewhere else. Thanks for the coffee and so on.’
    She went clattering out on her Mary Janes, but spun round in the doorway.
    ‘I’ve forgotten the book we’re supposed to be reading.’
    ‘ Learning to Dance . Michael Mayne. He was Dean of Westminster Abbey. I’m sure Stephen will know his work.’
    ‘Oh, I doubt it,’ Ruth said, waving her hand in Cat’s direction. ‘By the way, do we get to discuss novels and things or is it all religious? If it’s novels, you’ll lose me, never read them, but I’d like to have a hand in choosing the Christian literature.’
    Not wanting to leave at the same time as Ruth and risk further questioning, Cat carried on clearing up, putting cups in the dishwasher and emptying the coffee dregs, until Ilona came back from seeing Ruth out, counting aloud.
    ‘… Nine, ten. Cat, will you give your lovely brother a message from me?’
    ‘He’s away, but when I’m next in touch, yes of course.’
    ‘Tell him if that woman is found with her neck wrung I’ll have done it.’
    ‘I doubt it, Ilona, because I’ll have got there first. God, I’ll never be the Dean’s best friend and I hate some of the things he’s doing here, but I can sort of bear him, only …’
    ‘Only not Mrs Dean. Now, Cat dear, Duncan’s in London at the RSCM so I’m entirely alone. Stay and have a cheese salad with me, I need you.’
    Cat glanced at her watch. She had made herself come to the St Michael’s book group, as she made herself do a number of things she had felt like ducking since Chris’s death. She liked the people – or had until Ruth had arrived – she read a lot and enjoyed discussing her reading and she knew it was important to make a social effort when it would be easier to curl back into her shell and never emerge again, other than to work and for the domestic round. The club had been set up to discuss books which were in some way, however loosely, related to faith, not to chatter about the latest fashionable fiction. There were, as Ilona said, plenty of other book groups which did that. They had roamed widely and tackled some difficult titles, not always with success, but Cat would come away feeling that her mind and sometimes her beliefs and principles had been challenged, as well as having enjoyed the company of the others. It had also helped her through bad patches by giving her something to address outside her own unhappiness.
    ‘I only have to call in to Imogen House, then pick up Hannah and Felix. If you’re sure …’
    ‘Thank God. I think I might explode.’ Ilona held up a bottle of sherry but Cat shook her head. ‘Pity. You’re quite right though, it might loosen our tongues.’ She started setting out plates.
    ‘Oh, mine doesn’t need any help.’
    ‘No. You don’t mind eating in here, do you? Even if our kitchen hasn’t been done up and has come out of the ark. Cat, stop me, stop me. She is a woman I am never going to like, and OK, that’s my problem, but what he is doing is far more serious. How they could have appointed him I can’t think. He doesn’t fit in, he isn’t right, he’s hell-bent on destroying everything that’s been built up over years, he has no sense of what is fine, what is