Life in the parish of St Leonard's had changed in the last few months. A new vicar had arrived, with new ideas, and she had brought resurgence in parish activities. Reverend Maxine Power was in her early thirties, or that's what it had said in the introductory article in the parish magazine. Nobody knew her exact age, but from her looks, a plain looking brunette, with shoulder length hair normally tied back with a gold hair clip, you could assume that that was correct. The Sunday School had been resurrected and new, younger members had been inaugurated into the church choir and a Summer Fete was planned for the coming weekend.
But this was no ordinary vicar. Although she was still single, she had a voracious sexual appetite and had succeeded in seducing Peter, the choir master, after a series of wedding services one Saturday afternoon, then bedding him after the Sunday morning service the next day, during which they had been caught in the act by Trish, the mother of one of the choir girls.
Being a gallant gentleman, Peter had felt obliged to apologise Trish, only to end up bedding her as well and being caught out by her friend, Helen, the newly appointed Sunday School teacher and soon to be primary school teaching assistant. Subsequently, he had gone round to apologise to her, screwed her in the lounge, and was then spotted getting dressed by Mary Stanlake, churchwarden and near neighbour of Helen's. Mary hadn't seemed too fazed by the events and had even asked him round to trim a large tree in her garden; Peter's day job being that of a gardener.
Mary was quite an outgoing sort of person. She had short, permed, grey hair and was large in stature. She told everybody her age was in her 'late fifties' and it was true that she had been married to David for over thirty five years but nobody had ever questioned it. She had a sense of humour and a raucous laugh that could be heard across a crowded room. She had been raised from working class stock and could sometimes come across as 'common', whereas David was more middle class. He was the third generation Stanlake to run the family funeral business but their marriage had been a happy one resulting in their two daughters and two grandchildren by their eldest daughter.
Peter was round just after nine thirty the next morning. The Stanlakes lived in a large four bedroomed bungalow with their youngest daughter Josephine, or Josie to her friends, on the outskirts of town just around the corner from Helen and her family and about a mile from St Leonards' church. David had left for work at the family funeral business along with Josie who worked as a receptionist and administration assistant. Their eldest daughter Rebecca also worked there as a trainee Funeral director but she was away on holiday with her husband and family.
Mary showed him the tree in question and he wasted no time in getting started. It took him well over an hour to trim it and a further hour when he had finished tidying away all the branches ready for the council to collect later that day so they could be turned into wood chippings and make sure that there were no sizable splinters of wood left lying around.
Mary, meanwhile, was busy baking in the kitchen. The vicar had organised a summer fete for Saturday and she had already made various large cakes to sell on the cake stall and was busy doing some scones for Trish to sell on the refreshments stall. A delicious aroma of freshly baked produce emanated from the kitchen down the garden and it was making Peter feel quite hungry.
When he had finished, he knocked on the kitchen door. Mary had just lifted another tray of scones from the oven and put them on the kitchen table.
"Come in," she called and Peter walked in.
"I expect you would like a drink after all that work," she said. "Do you want tea or coffee, or I could offer you a glass of David's 'Old Sparky'"
"What on earth is that?" said Peter, intrigued.
"His home made beer," said Mary. "He's brewed it for years. He wanted to sell it at the fete this weekend but we don't have a drink's licence, plus it's a bit potent. Two glasses and you'll be flat on your back."
Peter didn't fancy a hot drink as he was already sweating. It was a hot, humid morning and already a few ominous looking clouds were developing.
"I'll try a glass of 'Old Sparky', please," he said.
Mary pulled two half pint glasses from the cupboard and a bottle of the homemade brew from the fridge. She filled about three quarters of each glass and handed one to him.
"Cheers!" She said to him, touching his glass with hers, and Peter responded similarly. "Let's go through into the conservatory," she said. "I've finished baking for the time being. Hopefully it will be a bit cooler in there."
She led the way through the lounge and out into the large conservatory. Theirs was a large garden with a moderately high hedge surrounding it and they were not overlooked by any other properties. There was a small wooden dining table surrounded by four wicker chairs each with cushions, plus a normal two seat sofa also with cushions looking out to the garden. Another smaller table with a few plants stood in front of the sofa.
Mary sat on the sofa while Peter sat at the table. He felt safe with her. On Sunday, he had had sex with the vicar, on Monday it was Trish and on Tuesday it was Helen's turn. All three were younger than himself and eager and willing partners. Mary was older and wiser. She had always told people she was in her late fifties, but everyone knew that her older daughter Rebecca was thirty three years old while Josie was twenty nine. David had once said many years ago that Mary was twenty eight when they married, so surely that would make her at least sixty one. It didn't make sense as Rebecca would have to have been born out of wedlock if she were anything less.
They had only just sat down when the phone rang. The phone was in the hallway and Mary got up and left the room to answer it. When he sat down, Peter had noticed that three passports sat on the table but had said nothing. Now curiosity got the better of him. He pulled them towards him and had a shifty look at each.
David's passport was the top one. Peter read his date of birth as 31st January 1949 which made him 64 years of age and tied in with the fact that David was planning to retire the next year and hand over the business to his daughters, the UK retirement age for men being 65 years of age. He smiled at his middle name 'Montgomery', and then remembered that he had once said his father had fought under the command of his famous namesake in the Second World War. Next was Josie's, or Josephine Margaret to be precise, her date of birth being 29th March 1984, making her 29 years of age and finally the prize one of Susannah Mary Stanlake, date of birth 17th June 1949. He looked at the date on his mobile, Wednesday 10th July 2013. She had celebrated her sixty-fourth birthday a few weeks before.
"You old devil, you," thought Peter to himself. "All this time you've been fibbing about your age and you've been found out through being careless by leaving your passport out."
He heard her coming back from the hallway and quickly pushed the passports back along the table where he had found them.
"Are you going away somewhere?" asked Peter as she sat down on the sofa again. "Only there are some passports on the table here."
"Oh, we're off to Sorrento at end of the August, David, Josie and I. It's a belated birthday present," she said. "I've been doing the online check in on my laptop and must have left them there. It will be the last holiday as a family as Josie is getting married on the twenty-eighth of September."
She stood up and picked up the passports and took them through into the other room.
"That was Trish Thorndike on the phone," she said changing the subject as she came back in and sat down on the sofa again. "She wants me to do some more cakes and sausage rolls for Saturday." She paused a moment to have a drink of her beer. "By the way, I hear you caused quite a stir with the ladies," she added.
"Oh, in what way?" said Peter casually, taking a drink of his. The homemade brew was certainly potent and it made him cough and splutter when he swallowed it. "Blimey," he said when he had got his breath back. "That's got some kick, hasn't it?" Mary laughed her raucous laugh.
"It has if you're not used to it, "she said. "You'll be fine." She took some more of her drink. "No, as I was saying, you certainly caused an impression. I hear that you've been entertaining the vicar and Trish has been singing your praises and Helen too. I know what you'd been up to yesterday when I called round. You were well and truly caught with your pants down, weren't you?"
"I didn't mean it to go that far with any of them, certainly not Trish and especially not Helen," he said. "I mean, she's a married lady with a young family."
"Don't be fooled by her," said Mary. "She's a great friend and a super mum to her kids, and she may look meek and mild, but she's a right little vixen. Don't tell anyone will you, but she and her husband are members of a swinger's club, you know, they entertain other couples at each other's houses. Her sister and her husband are too. They all had a few days in Minehead with some friends a few months ago, and they usually meet on a Monday evening at someone's house, taking it in turns to host and that. It was their turn the day before last."
Peter thought back to the happy photograph he had seen the day before and also the fact that the boys had spent the night with her parents on the Monday night. She certainly was a dark horse, but there was also the fact that everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. What a lot of gossips those church people were.
"Well, you're safe with me today, Mary," he said finishing his drink. "I'd better be off. I think we're going to get a storm soon so I'd better get home."
"Oh, have another drink," said Mary filling up his glass again and topping hers up also. "I don't think it will come to anything just yet." She took a few more mouthfuls of beer and reached across and patted his knee. "I might be safe with you. But are you safe with me?" she said with a glint in her eye. "Come and sit here on the sofa with me."
"No thanks, I'm fine where I am," said Peter taking another sip of beer.
"Oh, go on," said Mary. "It will be more comfortable than those chairs."
She had a point. Although the chairs had a thin cushion on the seat, Peter was finding it hard and uncomfortable so he got up and moved over to the sofa next to her.
"That's better," she said taking another large mouthful of beer. "Phew, isn't it stuffy? My clothes are sticking to me." She wore a cream coloured short sleeved cotton blouse which overlapped the waistband of a salmon pink pleated skirt. She took hold of the blouse collar and flapped it, trying to relieve the sweatiness. "Oh, this bloody heat, she said. "It's far too humid. The sooner we get a storm the better."
