A Blessing In Disguise Read Online Free PDF Page A

in Carla’s’ (I give her a real smile), ‘and of course you both have a perfect right to express them.’
    â€˜I don’t need you to tell me that,’ Miss Frazer says. ‘And express them I shall!’
    â€˜Again your choice . . .’ I begin, but she interrupts me.
    â€˜But
you
will never drive
me
out of St Mary’s. It is after all my parish church. My forebears were instrumental in building it and my family have worshipped here for generations, so
I
am not the one to be driven out. You might well find, I am sure you will, that there are others who hold the same opinions as I do. It is quite possible that they will be driven away, but you will find I am made of sterner stuff. And now, having said what I came into this hall to say, I shall leave.’ Which she does. Her departure is followed by a few moments of complete silence, which is then broken by Carla Brown.
    â€˜Stupid old bat!’ she says furiously. ‘But don’t let her upset you!’
    Of course she hasn’t upset me. These, to her, are intended to be stab wounds, rapier wounds, but to me they are little more than pinpricks. I’ve heard it all before. The woman who left us (I
must
ask her name) returns, looking decidedly pale.
    â€˜Where is Miss Frazer?’ she asks.
    â€˜She had to leave,’ Carla says, lying fluently. ‘She remembered an urgent appointment.’
    â€˜How strange,’ the lady says, ‘she never said anything to me.’
    Nothing is said of the short scene she has missed and she asks nothing more. I think at the moment she has her own physical difficulties. Something she ate.
    It’s possible some people will leave St Mary’s. It’s not unusual when a woman priest takes over. I’ve heard all the horror stories. I shall face it as it comes. I don’t expect members of the congregation to leave in droves, but even the loss of one would be sad. Of course it would! Even Miss Frazer’s departure would, though it would make life easier for me. But she won’t leave, will she? She will stay if only to torment me, and to win others to her cause.
    People do leave churches, and for a wide variety of reasons. They don’t like the new hymns, the sermons are too long or too short, the church is too cold or too hot, the services time badly with a favourite television programme, or they are church tasters who enjoy trying new places. Sometimes they come back, sometimes not. Every parish priest knows this.
    â€˜By the way,’ Carla says, ‘what
do
we call you? Some used to call the last Vicar Father John. Not me though. That’s for the Romans.’
    The others look at me expectantly. I rather think they’re glad to have the subject changed.
    â€˜You can take your choice,’ I tell them. ‘You can call me Vicar, or you can call me Mrs Stanton, or you can call me by my first name, which is Venus. Whatever!’
    â€˜So is Venus OK?’
    â€˜Absolutely!’
    For the thousandth time I wish my mother had been besotted by someone with a more usual name. There must have been several such in the Uffizi. Mary, Elizabeth, Anne. Probably all of them saints. Cecilia would have been nice.
    â€˜One thing is certain,’ Carla Brown says. ‘No-one’s going to call you Mother Venus!’
    â€˜Too right!’ I agree. That’s certainly one of the differences between men and women priests. Father Humphrey but not Mother Venus.
    Walter Brown returns with the wine. I sip it gratefully then say, ‘Well, it’s been lovely meeting you all. I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better.’ Then I move away, as usual leaving my wine glass behind.

3
    I’m debating now whether or not I’ll take a minute to have a word with my family, especially with Becky, when a woman walking towards me comes to a dead stop in front of me.
    â€˜Good-morning!’ she says.
    She is a few inches