Red Herrings Read Free

even interesting most of the time. I would much rather do practically anything else in the world, but like most people who are stuck in god awful jobs they don’t enjoy, I need the money and I’m too old to change. I’m stuck. Just like most people are stuck. And the last thing I need is to have bloody policemen lumbering me with a lot of silliness just because some damn fool VAT inspector has got himself riddled with arrows while walking in the woods. This is supposed to be a weekend off.’
    â€˜Well I’m very sorry I’m sure,’ said Samantha.’ I was only trying to help.’
    The situation was partially restored by Peregrine. In the smouldering silence that followed this little exchange there sounded the discreet gasp of a champagne bottle blowing its top. Seconds later Samantha’s husband emerged from behind the Rolls Royce carrying a tray with an open bottle of Veuve Clicquot and glasses. ‘Time for drinkies, boys and girls,’ he said.
    The champagne not only cooled tempers it also acted as a magnet for those villagers who were not averse to a glass but who would normally have had to stick to something less elegant and less pricey. Home brew even. The first free-loader was the Reverend Branwell Larch. ‘The padre’s a fearful piss artist,’ confided Peregrine to Simon and Monica, the night before. He had predicted that he would be the first to show, so there was no surprise when he arrived looking doleful.
    â€˜â€œThat which the palmerworm hath left hath the locust eaten,”’ he said in a sort of conversational plainsong, nasal and thin. He wore a cassock with the air of a man who enjoyed dressing up and had a thin, pink veined face with thin, slicked, black hair. Late forties, Bognor judged.
    â€˜And,’ said Peregrine Contractor, rather surprisingly, ‘“that which the locust hath left hath the cankerworm eaten.”’
    Monica compounded the surprise. ‘“And that which the cankerworm hath left hath the caterpillar eaten,”’ she said, ‘“Joel, chapter one, verse four.”’ She raised her glass and stared at it thoughtfully. ‘There’s a wonderful verse just after which starts off, “Awake, ye drunkards and weep”. Very good stuff, Joel.’
    â€˜Monica has “A” level scripture,’ said Bognor by way of explanation. ‘Her convent insisted. She’s still very hot on the Bible.’
    â€˜It’s an extremely good book,’ said Monica defensively. ‘Full of good things, don’t you agree, Vicar?’
    The Reverend Larch, gaping somewhat, agreed, and accepted a proffered glass.
    â€˜Yes,’ he said. ‘And as relevant to our modern times as it ever was. The eternal verities remain, ah, how should one say, eternally, well, veritable.’ He smiled and then realised rightly that something more was expected of him. ‘Very salutary to have death visited on us in such a violent fashion. And on such a lovely day. “In the midst of life we are in death” as the prayer book says. We could have hardly had a more dramatic demonstration of that. So at least some good has come from the wretched fellow’s passing. Though one has to concede that God really does move in the most mysterious ways.’ The vicar was groping desperately for the thread of his argument. Any thread, any argument. He sipped champagne as a delaying tactic and then said: ‘And death in whatever shape or form is uniquely mysterious, don’t you agree, Mr Bognor?’
    Bognor and Mr Larch had been introduced earlier in the morning. The vicar, who fancied himself as a judge of character, had decided that Bognor was a sympathetic and intelligent person even if not of the faith. Bognor had said something disparaging about monasticism. The line was prompted by the vicar’s dress. Bognor had had an aversion to that sort of thing ever since some unnerving