changed. As we've heard so little from her she may perfectly well have married Paul by now. But I really am hurt by Helen's suggestion about mum, and by her adulterous behaviour."
"I understand, dear," Timothy said in a voice that was even more like warm honey than what Jane called his 'professional' voice, "and I can't condone what she said to you. We must believe that she is mistaken about your mother; I think it impossible. We must, though, acknowledge, even if we do not accept, what goes on in the world. So very sadly, people do treat their marriage vows lightly and happily engage in adultery, believing that it is harmless, that nobody gets hurt. Perhaps that may even be true for those people. Helen and Simon, it seems, have a strong marriage because of their shared interest in the acquisition of money. That there have both chosen to be adulterous may be wrong in the eyes of the Lord, and indeed in ours, but they are not alone. You may not find it in your heart to forgive Helen for either her remark about your mother or for her adulterous ways, but you must try, dear. You must try. If you harbour any form of abhorrence you risk damaging further the remaining relationship with your sister. I'm sure that your mother would not want that. We must also think of your mother's dying wish; perhaps she was given divine inspiration when she urged you to remain in touch because it seems clear to me that when Helen's behaviour leads to her downfall, as it may do, she will need you. She has no one else to turn to."
"As usual you're right, Timothy. I shall try to forgive Helen without approving of what she chooses to do. She is my sister and I shall always be there for her, as will you."
"Of course," Timothy replied, smiling at his wife.
The next two months flew by, the usual pastoral duties occupying Susan's time fully. As the days and weeks passed she thought less and less about Helen, their previous conversation only being replayed in Susan's mind as she drove towards their bi-monthly get-together.
The drive down to meet Helen usually took almost three hours; Susan was only halfway when her phone rang. It was Helen.
"Susan? Look, I'm sorry, but I can't get up to see you today. I thought I would, I wanted to, but Simon needs me at home to entertain some business acquaintances. I really wanted to see you because I have something to tell you."
"Oh?" Susan queried, it being quite common for Helen to have 'something' to tell her, and 'something' was always how much Simon made from his latest deal.
"Yes. About Jane."
"Hold on, Helen, I'll just pull off the road, shan't be a second." She heard Helen's deliberately audible 'tut' as she put her phone down and returned to driving legally. She stopped in the first available space in the motorway service area and picked her phone up again. "Still there?" she asked.
"Yes," her sister said, with no attempt to hide her exasperation.
"So what were you going to tell me about Jane?"
"Simon was in France last week, near the vineyard. It was entirely coincidental, he was there on business of his own. He found out, because so many people were talking about it, that our sister and that boyfriend of hers aren't broke, as I thought."
"You see, Helen, you shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"In fact," Helen went on, ignoring the interruption, "they've done very well. They've won awards, three years in a row, and now own a hotel as well as the wine making business. In the last year Jane's been to England several times to do with her business and when Simon asked he was told that she's been going to your part of the country. Are you sure you haven't seen her?"
"No, I haven't. She hasn't been in touch at all. I'd have told you. I'm surprised though. She knows perfectly well where I live."
"Perhaps she's afraid that you'll preach at her again."
"Of course I wouldn't. Are you sure we can't meet today?"
"I'm sure. Can we rearrange for next Wednesday instead?"
"Yes, all right," Susan agreed, regretting the waste of petrol. "If I hear anything about Jane I'll ring you."
"Good. She's turned into somebody to be proud of after all." Helen rang off before Susan could react to her elder sister's complete about-turn, leaving her to drive on to the next motorway exit, turn round and go home.
Susan felt odd as she drove home. She couldn't understand why Jane hadn't been in touch anyway, and it was made so much worse by her apparently travelling to somewhere close to where Susan and Timothy lived. It was true that they had never been that close, but all three had promised their mother that they would stay in contact; Jane had broken that vow and in Susan's eyes that was both difficult to forgive and disrespectful to their mother's memory. Perhaps, she thought, it wasn't just marriage vows that were unimportant to her younger sister; she certainly didn't care about living without them, nor did she seem to care about those made by her partner. At least Jane had that much in common with Helen, and that weakened Helen's supposition that Jane was only a half-sister.
Her thoughts turned to the apparent - and unexpected - success of Jane and Paul's venture. It would improve Jane's stock no end in Helen's eyes and that could only bring the three of them closer, as their mother had wished. It was in itself immaterial to Susan; Jane was and always would be her little sister and she would always feel protective of her and even a little proud of her. She was bright and attractive, she'd always been the prettiest of the three girls, and Susan really found it quite easy to forgive Jane for her errant ways even if she didn't condone what her younger sister had done.
As these thoughts ran through Susan's head she resolved to search out the vineyard address, which she was sure she still had somewhere, and write to Jane. She'd tell her about Simon's trip to France and mention that he'd said she was sometimes in the locality of the village where she and Timothy lived. She would invite Jane to come and see them, perhaps even to stay for a day or two. She'd even draw and send a map: after all, Jane might not have realised that wherever she was visiting was so close.
She was still thinking about how joyful a reunion with Jane would be when she arrived back at the Vicarage. She let herself in and, as she'd dressed as smartly as she could for that day's trip after what Helen had said about her clothes last time, she went straight upstairs to change. She opened the door of the bedroom she shared with Timothy.
Timothy was there, lying on their bed. Astride him, just as naked as he was and, like him, dripping with perspiration, there was a woman.
Susan recognised her.
Despite the passage of four years Jane hadn't changed at all.
Tony's Luck
Tony Porter was an athlete. He'd been spotted early, and luck had played its part when it had happened.
He was twelve years old when a teacher at the school he'd just moved to saw that he could run, and run fast. That teacher got him interested in competitive athletics, introduced him to a club with a good coach, even made the effort to convince Tony's parents that their boy might just be good enough. It made Tony's father a happy man, if only because he despaired of his son ever having any academic achievements to be proud of, and convinced him that when the family had relocated from London to, as his wife insisted on calling it, the frozen north they'd picked the right school.
Less than a month after he first spotted Tony's ability that teacher was killed in a car crash. It was lucky for Tony that the move to the north had been advanced by two months because of his dad's work.
As the years in school passed Tony got noticed. He competed as a sprinter for his school, and for his club. His name was regularly in the papers, and not just the local ones. He was being hailed as a special talent, would one day represent his country, was a potential Olympic champion. Despite the wild claims Tony's feet stayed firmly on the ground. His coaches weren't about to let him get big-headed.
He was lucky again when he left school and went on to university. Nowhere near academically gifted enough to get a place at any university in Britain, he was invited to attend a university in California. His speed on the running track was enough. It was the making of him, competing against the best the USA could offer and winning regu
larly, he was soon noticed by the British athletics establishment. It surprised nobody when he was invited to be a member of the British team for the first time when he was still only nineteen.
From that time onwards Tony spent a lot of time on planes, because he was still at university yet was being invited to run in meetings in Europe and to represent his country. And he was earning money from his running. As the new face he was being put up against runners with impressive pedigrees: World Champions, Olympic Champions, Tony took them all on and won.
Soon he was represented by agents and, because he was a good looking young man as well as a big, big talent, had commercial contracts that brought in huge sums every year. Hundreds of thousands of dollars poured into his bank account but it didn't affect him. He'd been told so often that his career would be short, fifteen years if he was lucky, and then he'd be able to retire. Staying focussed on his career was, for Tony, easy.
It was in Paris that it first happened. In a press conference, after Tony had beaten yet another world class field, he was asked a question that he hadn't even thought about before. "Is it just luck," a journalist asked in a tone that suggested he wasn't likely to believe a positive answer, "that you produce consistently brilliant performances without ever suffering injury?"
"I suppose it