Free A Village Dilemna (Turnham Malpas 09) by Rebecca Shaw Page B

appeared to be no one around so he assumed he must have the church to himself.
    Some long forgotten memory surfaced as he looked at one of the tombs. Surely tombs were supposed to lie from east to west in a church, but this one lay north to south; how odd. He’d get Willie to look it up, there was definitely some history attached to it. He studied the carved screen, stood for a moment in the war memorial chapel looking at the names on the roll of honour. My God! Biggses and Joneses and Neals and Parkins, and four Glover brothers, and that was the list for the First World War. Sobering thought. He made a note in his little book to remind Willie to point out to the tourists about the four Glovers and then they’d meet one of their descendants on the green. What a touch. They’d be eating out of his hand in no time. Brilliant! On a special plaque of its own he read of the Templetons of Turnham House who’d also given their all for their country; in the American War of Independence, the Crimea, the Boer War and the two World Wars. What a history! What a sacrifice! For one brief moment Bryn wondered if he really should be making money from such tragedy, but quickly comforted himself with the thought that as they were all dead, and had been for years, they wouldn’t be any the wiser.
    The lights were on, but it was gloomy in the church because the storm clouds, which had been gathering over and beyond the bypass all morning, had finally arrived. The rain began clattering against the windows above the altar, beating a strange rhythmic tattoo on the stained glass, then lightning filled the church with a blaze of startling blue-white light, followed by the most enormous clap of thunder Bryn had ever heard in his life. Directly overhead, it appeared to make even the foundations of the building shudder. It was closely followed by another flash of lightning, which illuminated the whole of the window behind the altar and made the figure of Christ appear to move. In horror, Bryn sucked in his breath through clenched teeth. Thunder followed immediately, just as loud and close as the first clap. Bryn, who couldn’t remember having been as frightened ever before, not even as a kid watching a horror film, grasped the end of the nearest pew for support. For the first time in years he prayed. For the first time in years he felt a need to cower and hide. However, in the nick of time the man in him resisted. But the storm didn’t abate for ten whole minutes by which time he was a wreck. The thunder and lightning passed over, the glowering skies lightened, gradually the rain reduced to a gentle pattering and the church once more became the friendly, secure place it always was. He sat down in a pew, wiped the sweat from his face and hands, and pulled himself together.
‘All right, Bryn?’
    Bryn almost shot out of his skin at the sound of the voice so kindly enquiring after his health. He turned, dreading whom he might see. It was Peter. Relief. What a relief. That was odd, Peter was completely dry so if he’d only just come in how could he be …?
    Bryn held out his hand. ‘My, what a storm! Never known the like, not even a tropical storm.’
    Peter shook hands saying, ‘How are you? I’ve been going to call.’
    ‘I’m well and you?’
    Peter nodded. ‘Fine, thanks. You’ve come back to make things right for Georgie then?’
    Bryn was about to say yes but as always Peter’s blue eyes saw right through him and he couldn’t tell a lie – well, not a serious one anyway. ‘I’ve come back to help make amends, yes.’
    ‘Good! May I sit down? Have you time to talk?’
    ‘Oh, yes.’ He moved down the pew a little and Peter sat beside him.
‘What do you propose?’ Peter rested his elbow on the back of the pew and waited for a reply.
    Bryn knew all about Peter’s ability to leave a silence, which one felt compelled to fill immediately and which often made one fall right into a trap of one’s own making, but he thought for a