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when the Reverend Lockwood’s name was mentioned. He changed the subject: ‘The flowers - were they for a relative or a friend?’
    The question took her by surprise. ‘Oh, they were for my mother. She died last year. Shall we go now?’ She began towalk towards the lychgate and Ash quickly fell in step beside her.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, hating the cliché.
    ‘Sorry you asked, or sorry my mother is dead?’ She obviously disliked the cliché too. She turned to him and her smile softened the reproach. ‘I was away from home at the time - I’d been working in Paris for two years at the Musée de Cluny - and arrived back an hour after she died. Father hadn’t realized just how bad she was, or he would have called me home sooner.’
    He resisted offering more condolences. ‘What were you doing at the museum?’
    ‘Do you know the Musée de Cluny ?’
    He shook his head.
    ‘It was once a mediaeval monastery and now houses one of the world’s great collections of arts and crafts of the Middle Ages. Spurs, chastity belts, sculptures, ivories, bronzes, jewellery - all kinds of fascinating artefacts. Unfortunately, many of the objects there had never been documented or catalogued, and it was my job to trace their history and put them into some kind of historical context. In the winter months the place is relatively empty of visitors, so it was easy to work among the treasures without being disturbed.’
    ‘You’re an expert on that sort of thing?’
    ‘My studies concentrated on the Middle Ages. They were interesting times.’
    ‘I’ll take your word for it. But why France? I’d have thought our own Middle Ages would keep you fully occupied here.’
    ‘Too many historians after too few jobs in this country, Mr Ash.’
    ‘David’s less formal, Miss Lockwood.’
    ‘So is Grace. I’d been visiting the museums and galleries in Paris for years - my parents always encouraged me to travel - but when I discovered a series of tapestries - they’re called La Dame Aux Licornes - in the Musée de Cluny I was hooked. They’re so haunting, so compelling …’ She broke off. ‘Do you know them?’
    Ash gave a little laugh and, without embarrassment, admitted he had never heard of them. ‘I’ll take your word for it that they’re something special, though,’ he added. They had reached the lychgate by now and he pulled the gate open for Grace to pass through.
    ‘Oh, they’re extraordinarily special,’ she replied as she entered into shadow. ‘But on my visits I realized just how far behind the museum was with its chronologizing and documentation and I offered my services. It was somewhat bold, but my French wasn’t too bad and my qualifications were adequate. I was also willing to work for low wages, so after some correspondence and various references, the museum offered me a year’s contract.’
    ‘You must have been pleased.’
    ‘An understatement - I was ecstatic. The first year went well and my French quickly improved. There was so much to do and, of course, more relics were being discovered all the time. Lots of them were sent directly to us, while others the museum had to bid for. My contract was extended for another two years but, as I told you, my mother was taken ill last year and I had to return.’
    ‘But you could have gone back to Paris, surely.’
    Her face was shaded, but he noticed the change in her voice, the quietness of her words. ‘My father needed me here.’
    She walked out into the brightness on the other side of the lychgate and her sadness seemed to lift with the renewed warmth. ‘Are you hungry, Mr Ash - David?’
    ‘A little bit.’ Another vodka would have been more welcome.
    ‘Well the house isn’t far.’ She indicated the opposite direction to the village and began to walk. ‘Perhaps you’ll join us for lunch?’ she asked as he caught up.
    ‘Thank you. I thought the vicarage would be closer to St Giles’.’
    ‘It’s closer than it used to be. My ancestors were the