She accepted with alacrity. She had regular clients there. And I sincerely honestly don’t hint at a Lincoln clergyman, or the iniquitous bilge written about cathedral staff in the Church Times. She drove. I looked at her, suddenly realising I didn’t know her at all. Like I said, I’d known Fionuella two years in passing. She hadn’t been wary then, yet here she was vigilant as a badger. Was I the only duckegg thick enough to trust her? Another thing: I’d no idea she knew Sandy and Mel. See how your mind leads you down cul-de-sacs? We stopped after an hour, she wanting to call at a farmers’ market. Chatting about prices, vegetables, she was surprisingly expert. ‘We’ll have a bite here, Lovejoy,’ she said. ‘I’ll get some provisions, in case.’ ‘In case of what?’ ‘Oh, nothing. Got to eat.’ Was I just lucky to be abducted by a gorgeous madam? It could have been known killers.
