Free An All-Consuming Fire by Donna Fletcher Crow Page B

Right into Antony’s path? But if the collision had been due to mere inattention on the part of the other driver, how had he reached such a furious speed so quickly? And why had he sped on?
    Surely the other driver had felt the impact of metal on metal as Antony had.
    Antony unsnapped his seat belt, pulled a torch from the glove-box and, unsure that his legs would support him, opened his door. In spite of his wobbly knees he forced himself to stand up. The cold winter air sent shivers over his body but did wonders to clear his head. He turned to focus on the task at hand.
    He needed to see the extent of the damage. The speeding car had clipped his right wing, spinning his front tires into the drainage ditch running alongside the road. Holding to the side of the car for support and moving slowly over the uneven ground, Antony shone his light on the sadly crumpled wing. He bent down, braced his feet on the firmest ground he could find, and tugged at the deepest crease. It moved only a fraction, but that was enough to keep it from rubbing against the tire.
    Standing upright again he observed the bonnet. The impact had knocked it askew, but thankfully, the engine appeared to be unscathed. And thank goodness the community were careful about such matters as keeping up insurance. What Father Anselm would say about the damage to a community vehicle, however, Antony couldn’t imagine. And how would he get to the rest of his filming appointments? CT, as the Community of the Transfiguration referred to itself, owned three people carriers as well as this little runabout to enable them to transport the community or student groups to pilgrimages such as the annual national gathering at Walsingham, but Antony would hardly have the nerve to ask to borrow one of them. Especially after this.
    He moved forward and squatted down to examine the depth of the ditch. Perhaps two feet? Stepping into the trench for a better assessment he was instantly ankle deep in muck the tall weeds had obscured. Would the weeds give his tires enough purchase to back out? He shone his torch on the steep wall of the ditch and his heart sank. It didn’t look like there was anything for it but the delay, cost and inconvenience of having to ring for a breakdown lorry.
    Or should he ring the insurance company? Or even the police? He shuddered, thinking of his past run-ins with D I Nosterfield. Not that the West Yorkshire police would send out a Detective Inspector for such a small incident. Where was he even? If he rang 999 would the emergency services come from Dewsbury in West Yorks or Doncaster in the south? Was it even an emergency?
    Antony sneezed explosively and realized that he was standing in water over his shoes on a chill winter evening. Whatever he did he wanted to get help fast. But first, he should preserve the record for the insurance company. He wouldn’t want a skeptical adjuster accusing him of tangling with a telephone pole and then claiming hit and run. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and did his best to get photos of the car and the scene.
    Then, pulling his feet from the mire with a squishing sound, he scrambled up the bank, soaking his cassock in muddy water to the knees, and made for the relative warmth of the car.
    Back in the car he considered. Did he have a duty to ring the police before moving the car? Surely there was nothing the police could do now. The hit-and-run vehicle was long gone and Antony could give no kind of a description. He had seen nothing but blinding lights. Of course, the other driver was at fault for leaving the scene of the accident—and for causing the accident by driving in the wrong lane. He was probably guilty of driving over the limit, but there would be no proof of that. Celebrating at a holiday party. That had to be the answer.
    A simple accident. No one would have caused that collision on purpose. If Antony hadn’t instinctively jerked aside the crash would have been head-on. No one would knowingly put