Free Pix (Volume Book 24) (Harpur & Iles Mysteries) by Bill James Page B

historical rectory. Manse knew that rectories had never been blessed, the way a church building was, but rectories required decent behaviour all the same. He thought he would ask the kids not to mention the sauce story and especially not their blood story about the staining. They would probably agree to play along with that, and he’d give them a couple of twenties to make sure, with a promise of another each if they stuck to it.
    â€˜Oh, Mansel, you’re saying the new look on the stairs is for me?’ Sybil said. ‘For me?’
    â€˜They’re only at the scraping-off stage, but I can show you the wallpaper sample. And I do think you’ll like the carpet.’ In fact, as he watched her, he decided her legs were better than Carmel’s, and so better than all the girls’ legs. But what did it mean, good legs in a woman? Manse faced up very square to this poser now, and thought the legs should be rounded but slim, if possible long, and clearly very ready to move apart for the right man at the right time, disclosing that fine invitation-only treat and worthy of it. This was the chief point, in Manse’s opinion – the legs should be worthy of it. Where legs became thighs, they began to reach their full duty, in his opinion. Thighs should have some bulk, yes, but not too much, just so they could offer a frame and protection. Women’s thighs was tricky. If they was too fat you wondered if you would ever find anything, through overhang. If they was skinny, they made you feel coarse and brutal getting between them. Sometimes, he wished he didn’t have this need to pondermatters but instead could just go ahead like so many men probably did.
    Sybil said: ‘A welcome home – how could it be a welcome home when you don’t know whether . . . what I mean, Manse, is I live somewhere else? A welcome? It doesn’t make sense. You could not even know I’d ever be inside the rectory again.’
    â€˜ “Make sense”? I think it made sense because . . . well, because I could
sense
something, Syb.’
    â€˜Sense what?’
    â€˜At Severalponds. I could spot a wish. I could spot regret. This is not boasting.’
    â€˜It’s a settled, adequate thing I’ve got with Ivor.’
    So, Manse crossed the room and bent down alongside what would usually of been his own chair by tradition. She turned her head away, which he reckoned was part of that game she had to go on with, because of dignity. He put a hand gently on her cheek and pushed her head around towards him. He kissed her on the lips. She was ready for that, keen for that, Manse could tell. He did not mind the rigmarole, the suggestion that she had not arrived here for this. That was a delicacy thing, and he approved of some delicacy in women. For instance, Manse hated to hear a woman belch although some did these days as a sign of equality and heartiness, and thoroughly enjoying their grub in a healthy style. Without taking her lips from his, she stood, so she could put her arms around him properly and get her body hard against his. When the kiss ended he said: ‘That was
such
an idea of yours, Syb.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜On the rug in front of the Hughes.’ He wondered if he should say ‘On the rug
again
in front of the Hughes,’ in case they
had
done it there before, but decided this would be dangerous, because if they had
not
done it there before, Sybil would think he was mixing her up with one of the girls, or more than one, and this would be deadly injurious. Holding each other they stepped over towards the rug. It had black, silver and yellow leaf-like patterns. Afghan. He sat down first and then she lowered herselfbeside him. He considered it important to be first so that she could see his excitement and would not have to blame herself for being pushy when she set up the idea of having it off beneath the Hughes, or
thinking
she set up the idea of