Andrew Taylor - The Judgement of Strangers

‘Good morning. What can we do for you?’

I took a step forward. ‘First, I’d like to welcome you to Roth. I’m the vicar.’

The man dropped the cigarette he was holding into the bush of lavender which sprawled out of an urn at the edge of the terrace. ‘The church at the gates?’ He came down the steps to the lawn and held out his hand. ‘I’m Toby Clifford. How do you do?’

We shook hands. I realized that he was a little older than I had thought at first – perhaps in his middle or late twenties.

‘This is my sister Joanna.’ Toby turned back to her. ‘Jo, come and say hello to the vicar.’

I looked up at the terrace. There was a flurry of limbs in the other deckchair. A young woman stood up. She wore a baggy T-shirt which came halfway down her thighs and – I could hardly help noticing as she scrambled out of the deckchair – green knickers. Short hair framed a triangular face.

‘The vicar,’ she said and giggled. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t laugh. Not funny.’

I held out my hand. ‘It’s the dog collar. It often has that effect on people.’

Her eyes widened with surprise. I guessed she was a year or two younger than her brother.

‘Would you like some coffee?’ Toby said. ‘We were just going to make some.’

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