She was a thin, nervous creature who reminded me of a startled deer. Her name was Amy Hunting, not one of my parishioners … or at least not one I recognised as one of my regular congregation. I invited her into the study and asked Mrs O’Donovan to make us a cup of tea. To cut a long story short, she ended up confessing that she’d committed adultery with William Verlan, which surprised me greatly. Verlan’s always seemed such a quiet man, earnest in his American way: he must have hidden depths that I never imagined. I gave her the usual stuff about repentance and forgiveness and said that the affair must stop for her husband’s sake. It was an awkward meeting: the woman seemed as troubled when she left as when she’d arrived, and somehow I felt I had failed her. Mrs O’D kept interrupting us with phone messages. I must ask her not to disturb me when I have visitors – but I suspect she does it deliberately: she’s a woman who likes to know what’s going on in the world. I saw Dermot O’D yesterday.
