ONEThe Most Haunted Hall in England™
And to that quiet little town in the middle of nowhere, on a bright sunny day in late autumn, came Alistair Kincaid, newly appointed bishop to All Souls Hollow, in London. He arrived in Stonehaven by train and walked unhurriedly through the town, enjoying its old-fashioned terraces and traditional cottages fashioned from the local creamy-grey stone. Most were adorned with attractively carved wooden shutters, or lattices covered in flowers and trailing vines. It was all very picture-postcard perfect, and would probably have felt quite pleasant and friendly, if there had been anyone around. But the streets were empty, and almost unnervingly quiet as the evening drew on; and when Alistair finally entered the hall car park, he wasn’t that surprised to find it entirely deserted. Not a car to be seen in any of the neatly marked bays; and this in the kind of old country town where parking spaces were always going to be in great demand. He stopped just inside the entrance, and looked thoughtfully at the town hall. He couldn’t shake off a quiet but definite feeling that something was looking back at him.
The occasional vehicle passed by behind him, but none of them so much as slowed down to investigate the car park. In fact, it sounded like the cars actually speeded up as they hurried off to be somewhere else. Alistair studied the open space as it stretched away before him, and decided it felt not so much empty as abandoned. Not a solitary figure walking through it, even though the car park was situated right in the middle of town. Alistair’s eyes narrowed as he fixed his gaze on the town hall. He didn’t normally think of himself as superstitious, but something about the entirely ordinary building was raising all the hackles on the back of his neck. Like a cold caress from an unknown hand.
And then a cheerful and very feminine voice rang out behind him, and he almost jumped out of his brogues.
‘Hello there! You must be the famous God-botherer, from all those dreadful morning television shows!’
Alistair took his time turning around, just to make it clear he wasn’t in any way startled or upset, and then nodded politely to the impossibly glamorous figure advancing toward him with a predatory grin and cheerful, sparkling eyes. He nodded politely.
‘And you must be the celebrated Ms Hunt. Star of stage, screen, and supermarket checkout magazines. I’m glad to see you found your way here without any trouble.’
‘Oh please, darling, call me Diana. Everybody does! If we’re going to be guests on this godawful ghost-hunting show, we’d better start off as friends, because we’re going to need all the support we can muster to get through this nonsense with a straight face.’
She thrust out a hand, with all the air of minor royalty bestowing a favour, and Alistair shook it solemnly. Diana had a strong, firm grip, that lingered just a little longer than Alistair was comfortable with. And then the two of them just stood there and looked each other over, trying to figure out how much use they could be to each other.
Alistair Kincaid was a handsome man in his late twenties, who always wore the same dark suit and dog collar as a kind of armour; to ward off anyone who
thought they could take advantage of a bishop of such tender years. His smile was warm and his eyes were kind which, together with his classical features, had helped make him the popular face of modern Christianity on many a morning television programme. Selling his religion, to people who weren’t sure they needed or even wanted it. His rimless granny glasses helped take the edge off his good looks, in a winning sort of way.
Diana Hunt was a tall, striking woman in her early thirties, almost bursting out of her sleek and fashionable dress. The emerald gown made a pleasing contrast to her long dark hair, and Alistair knew just enough to recognize her shoes cost more than he made in a year. Her familiar and very attractive face was backed up by a strong bone structure, under makeup so extravagant it had a character all of its own. But her broad smile seemed real enough and her dark eyes gleamed with a teasing mischief, just waiting to break out at a moment’s notice.
‘You’re the new bishop of that hellhole borough in London, aren’t you?’ she said chattily. ‘I wouldn’t walk through that area on a bet, even if I was wearing a chainmail basque and carrying a loaded chainsaw in each hand.’
‘All Souls Hollow is something of a poisoned chalice, as parishes go,’ Alistair said easily. ‘Not so much a rough area, more like a demilitarized zone. But Christ came to walk among sinners, and those who needed him.’
‘Then it’s no wonder you ended up on all those morning talk shows,’ said Diana. ‘Never any shortage of sinners sitting on those sofas. And that’s just the hosts.’
‘I see you got the same memo I did, not to bring any luggage,’ said Alistair, pleasantly but determinedly changing the subject.
‘I was assured I wouldn’t need anything,’ said Diana. ‘Just as well, really, given that I had to walk all the way here from the station. If I’d known it was
going to be such a hike, I wouldn’t have chosen such fashionable heels.’ She shook her head firmly, and her great mane of dark hair danced languorously for a moment. ‘Never trust a television producer, darling. They all have their consciences surgically removed, right after they sign their first contract. I thought I’d be able to pick up a few necessities here in town; but it seems they lock all their doors and roll up the pavements the moment the sun hits the horizon.’
Alistair waited politely, to be sure she’d finished. ‘I did find the streets just a little quiet.’
Diana grinned suddenly. ‘Aren’t you going to say too quiet?’
Alistair couldn’t help but smile back. ‘I might, if we were in a horror movie, rather than a television ghost-hunting show. And a one-off special Live! episode at that. It is good to meet you, Diana. I admired your performance in the Miss Marple mystery last week. That is the same outfit you wore in the show, isn’t it?’
‘You’ve got a good eye, Bish,’ Diana said approvingly. ‘First rule for appearing on television: grab everything that isn’t actually nailed down on your way out, because you can be sure the production company will stiff you on the residuals.’
‘I thought you made an excellent murderer,’ said Alistair.
‘I always go for the bad girls, darling. They get all the best lines.’
‘I’ve seen you in a lot of things,’ said Alistair. He wasn’t sure he had, but it seemed a safe enough thing to say. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone famous before.’
Diana shrugged easily, which did some very alluring things to her figure. And Alistair had no doubt that she knew it.
‘I’m just a jobbing actress, darling. Everything from the West End stage to daytime soaps; from Macbeth to The Mousetrap, from Bond to Star Wars. Wherever there’s a need for talent and glamour, there you’ll find me, hogging the spotlight and looking damned good doing it.’
Alistair nodded politely. ‘I’m afraid my job doesn’t allow me much leisure time. You’re lucky I always make an exception for Agatha Christie.’
‘And I’ve seen you on far too many of those empty-headed morning shows,’ said Diana. ‘Displaying Christian good cheer to people who probably only just lurched out of bed. I’ve never been too sure what you were doing there. I mean yes, I get it that you’re very popular with housewives,
and women of a certain age, and the more cloistered parts of the gay community. You always come across as very sincere, which helps to separate you from nearly everyone else on those shows. The relentlessly cheerful hosts, with their plastic surgery faces and stapled-on smiles, and guests who only appeared to publicize a new show, or some reinvented version of themselves. Guaranteed free from sex or drugs or whatever else it was that derailed their career in the first place.’
‘I suppose I’m there to sell the advantages of faith,’ Alistair said calmly. ‘Except I’m not in it for the money.’
‘Clearly, darling,’ said Diana. ‘Or you wouldn’t let yourself appear in public wearing a suit from Undertakers Rejects. Let alone guest on a show like Spooky Time!’
‘I go where I’m sent,’ said Alistair. ‘Where I’m needed. That’s the job.’
Diana’s eyes lingered over his broad chest and shoulders.
‘You look very fit,’ she said. ‘For a bishop.’
‘I used to row a lot at Oxford,’ said Alistair. ‘But I had to let that go when my religious studies took over. Even in those days, I was being fast-tracked in the church. I do still try to stay in shape.’
‘Is there a Mrs Bishop?’ Diana said artlessly. ‘I thought all you C of E types had to have some decorative other half, to make the tea and hand round the cucumber sandwiches.’
‘It’s hard to find time for a personal life,’ said Alistair, ‘when there’s always so much work waiting to be done. Are you married?’
‘Oh, I’ve had several husbands, darling; some of them my own. I have a very romantic nature, and no inhibitions worth the mentioning, but I am currently in between matrimonial misadventures.’
‘You did make quite a splash recently,’ Alistair said carefully. ‘When you allowed yourself to be photographed as part of a campaign for Don’t Wear Fur. Just you, with no clothes on, hugging a large teddy bear to preserve your modesty. Was the nudity really necessary?’
‘That photo got me on the front pages of all the dailies, darling,’ said Diana. ‘Including the Financial Times. If the campaign had wanted tact and good taste, they wouldn’t have come to me. And besides – in my business, once you get to a certain age, it becomes vitally important to remind people that you’re still impossibly good-looking. And to convince certain casting agents that you’re still extremely bookable.’
Alistair smiled. ‘I thought you looked amazing. And it was for a very good cause.’
‘Causes come and go, but glamour is forever!’ said Diana. ‘Tell me, Bish: how did someone like you end up as part of the morning television circus?’
‘No one else wanted the job,’ said Alistair. ‘The church decided it needed a friendly face on television and asked for volunteers, and everyone else had the good sense to take one step backwards. I didn’t react quickly enough, so I got pushed into it. And, rather to my surprise, I turned out to have a gift for television. Though I have to admit, of late I don’t seem to be attracting as much attention as I used to. The public can be very fickle.’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, darling,’ said Diana. ‘You throw your heart and soul into making the shallow little bastards love you, and the next thing you know they’ve thrown you over for the next pretty young thing.’
Alistair tactfully turned his attention back to the town hall. Diana moved in beside him, and pressed her shoulder companionably against his.
‘Gloomy-looking dump, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘I can’t say it seems particularly welcoming,’ said Alistair.
‘Does it feel haunted, to you?’ Diana said interestedly.
Alistair shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know what a haunted building should feel like.’
‘Really?’ said Diana. ‘I would have thought things like that were your bread and butter.’
‘My interest is in the after-life,’ Alistair said kindly. ‘There’s a difference.’
Diana scowled at the hall
, and turned up her attractive nose.
‘Reminds me of certain low-budget horror movies – roles my agent occasionally bullies me into accepting, when work is scarce and the creditors are baying at my heels. The kind of film where you just know someone wearing a monster mask is going to jump out of the shadows and threaten you with an electric hedge-trimmer.’
‘There might not be any ghosts here,’ Alistair said thoughtfully. ‘We could be dealing with a genius loci. ...
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