Hidden Treasures

‘Hello, darling. I was going to phone and book some dates to see you. How’s it going?’

‘Well, I’ve got quite a lot to tell you. There are some extraordinary people down here. All straight out of central casting! They would be perfect extras for your new programme.’

‘Great! We might need them. Anyone handsome caught your eye?’

‘No! You’re as bad as Chloe. I’m not on the market, as you well know.’ She paused to allow Penny’s scornful laughter to run its course. ‘However, I do have a nice little mystery for you.’

Penny listened to Helen’s story of the tin box, only occasionally interrupting with the odd question.

‘Wow. How fascinating. How are you going to find out more?’ she asked.

‘Well, I thought I’d try Simon first. He’s the—’

Penny interrupted. ‘Simon? A mystery man on the scene already! Come on, don’t keep me in suspense!’

‘He’s the vicar—’

‘A lusty vicar! I love it, tell me more.’

‘Shut up and listen, will you? He’s the vicar who’s very—’

‘Married?’

‘NO! Single. He’s very sweet and—’

‘You want an excuse to see him so you’re going to ask him to take a look at your box! Oooh, matron.’

‘NO! LISTEN!’

‘OK, sorry. Carry on … vicar.’ More sniggers.

Helen sighed, ‘This is too exhausting. I’ll tell you the whole story when you come down. Which is when, exactly?’

They agreed to a date in early October, which was just a couple of weeks away.

‘You can stay here with me, but we’ll have to share my big bed. Do you mind?’

‘I am too old for sleepovers. Can you recommend a good hotel?’

‘The Starfish in Trevay is supposed to be THE place, locally.’

‘Great. I’ll get my PA to book it, and you and I will have a wine-fuelled dinner there. Agreed?’

‘Agreed.’

After hanging up, Helen made another call.

*

At 6.30 p.m. every evening, Simon was in the habit of praying for his parish and the wider world. It was a part of his routine that was as important to him as cleaning his teeth. He would light a small candle under his simple wooden crucifix in the study and kneel in front of it. Recently he’d begun using the old chintz cushion on his desk chair to spare his knees. When he was comfortable, he would close his eyes and picture the face of Christ in front of him. He’d thank God for his calling, his home and his friends, and then would offer prayers for those he knew to be having difficulties of some kind. If there was some grim story in the news, he would pray for those involved. Finally he would ask for blessings for the royal family, the government, global leaders, and pray that peace may come to the world.

Very rarely would he trouble God with his own concerns, but since meeting Helen he couldn’t help but ask for a sign that would let him know if she was the one.

As he was finishing this last PS, the phone on his desk rang. He stood up, crossed himself and blew out the candle, making a final bow to Christ on his cross.

‘Yes, yes, hold your horses, I’m coming.’ His voice sounded weary, even to himself. He cleared his throat as he picked up the receiver. ‘Hello, Reverend Canter.’

‘Simon, it’s me, Helen …’

Simon gave up a silent prayer of thanks. God had sent him the sign.

‘I’m cooking a spag bol and wondered if you’d like to share it with me?’ she continued. ‘There’s something I want to show you …’

His voice wobbled slightly and his eyebrows danced above his chocolate-brown eyes. ‘Yes, Helen, I’d love to. Ten minutes OK?’

‘Perfect. Bye.’

*

Piran watched her for a moment through her lighted kitchen window. He had been working late inside the church, trawling through the archives and trying to make sense of the higgledy-piggledy order of the graves out in the churchyard. It was late and he was tired. He watched for a moment as Helen spread the blue checked cloth on the table and grabbed a handful of cutlery from the side. She was a good-looking woman, he had to admit. Now she was opening a bottle of wine and putting out two glasses. Who on earth was that for? He turned the ignition on, ashamed of his prurient interest, but his headlights picked out the figure of Simon Canter, fairly skipping along towards her gate. The man was crazy if he thought a woman like that would be interested in him. Poor old Simon – he was a fool.

*

‘Hello, hello. Come on in. Nippy tonight, isn’t it?’ Helen opened the door wide for him and he stepped into her pretty kitchen. He viewed the neatly laid table. It looked rather romantic and his hopes rose higher. From behind his back he produced a bottle of Rioja, which earned him a kiss on the cheek from Helen.

‘Go and sit in the living room. I’ve got the fire going nicely. It doesn’t smoke any more now Don’s used some of his magic on it.’

Simon went and sat down gladly, before his legs buckled beneath her kiss. Helen talked to him from the kitchen about Don and the work he’d done and what a wonder he was, then joined him with a glass of cold white wine.

‘I’ll keep the Rioja for later, if that’s all right. I had this open already. Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

He took a mouthful and was grateful for the steadying effect it would have on him.

‘It’s really lovely in here,’ he said. ‘You have a home-maker’s instinct.’

There was a hissing noise from the kitchen.

‘Oops, spaghetti’s boiling over. Chuck another log on the fire, would you? And then come and eat.’ The last few words were thrown over Helen’s shoulder as she went back to the kitchen.

Simon did as she asked, then followed her through and sat at the table.

‘Tony and I found some treasure in the garden today.’ Steam was billowing around her as she drained the spaghetti into the sink. ‘Take a look at that tin box on my desk.’ He got up and went to the small desk, more of a table really, in the corner between the sink and the Aga.

‘Go on, open it up.’

He did so. ‘Oh my. What’s all this?’ He took each object out carefully and examined them. He was particularly interested in the photo.