Free Haunted by James Herbert Page B

doesn’t have the resources to make them good again. Nor do my parishioners have the generosity of heart for the finances to be raised.’
    He leaned forward and wiped dust from the nearest bell with the palm of his hand.
    ‘So you see, these bells couldn’t possibly have rung. Yet one has, more than once recently, loud and clear in the night. To me, it sounded like a death-knell.’
    It was early evening when Kate said, ‘Why the exception?’
    ‘What?’
    She unlocked the door of the Saab. ‘You wanted to know the facts beforehand. I wondered why.’
    ‘A feeling, that’s all,’ Ash replied.
    ‘You suspect “mortal hands” really have been at work here?’
    ‘Come on, Kate. You know that’s the cause.’
    She smiled. ‘That’s for you to prove.’ The smile hardened. ‘David, we didn’t talk . . .’
    ‘They’re waiting for me. Our vicar and his wife will want me there for Grace.’
    ‘Dinner can wait.’
    ‘No. Now’s not the time, Kate. You get yourself back to London, we’ll talk when this is over.’
    ‘As usual, you’re avoiding the issue.’
    ‘We agreed at the beginning, no full-time commitment. Remember? We both wanted it that way. Christ, after your marriage, I’d have thought you’d be the one to stick to that.’
    ‘Sometimes I forget.’ She ducked into the car and started the engine. Before closing the door, and without looking at him, she said, ‘Call me later, will you?’
    ‘Kate . . .’
    But now the door closed. Her eyes sought his for a single moment, then the Saab pulled away.
    Ash watched her go, not angry with himself, but somehow despairing. What the hell did he really want? Why did he always let it fall apart? No, it wasn’t that, nothing so definite. He let relationships drift then cool of their own accord, not wanting to hurt, but not wanting to give too much either.
    He walked back along the path to the vicarage and found Rev Clemens waiting at the doorstep.
    ‘We’re about to start dinner, Mr Ash. Rosemary sent me to fetch you.’
    He went into the house with the cleric, almost regretting that he had agreed to stay at the vicarage until the investigation was completed. A room at the local inn might have been preferable, although it made sense to stay near the church itself.
    Over dinner the vicar regaled him with stories of Wrexton, of the town’s inhabitants and in particular, his own parishioners. He expressed deep regret that St Mark’s might well have to be closed down because of all this trouble and that he and his wife would be forced to move to another parish if that were the case. Several times throughout the meal, Ash caught Rosemary – whose consumption of the table wine was even greater than his own – watching him, her eyes not always dropping away immediately. She appeared younger than her husband, although probably by no more than a couple of years. She was plumpish, but by no means unattractive.
    It came as a relief when the meal was over and he was able to leave the house to check on the equipment he had set up inside the church, for there was little cheer in Clemens’ conversation and Rosemary’s eyes had lingered on his own a little longer each time, much to his discomfort.
    After the church, Ash phoned Kate from a public call box in the high street. Nothing much to report, he told her; and nothing much to say, he could almost hear her thinking. Talk again tomorrow. If you like. Kate, look, let’s get this investigation over with. Of course, David, that’s the important thing. I didn’t mean . . . I know you didn’t; just keep me informed, David. About everything.
    After her stiff goodbye Ash made his way to the nearest pub. It was some time later that he returned to the vicarage.
    He had been given his own key and he took care not to make too much noise as he climbed the stairs, not wishing to disturb Rev Clemens and his wife at that late hour. He was about to enter his room when he sensed – or perhaps he heard a shifting of weight