Jumping to Conclusions by Christina Jones Page B

village, she thought, despite it being full of jockeys and trainers. She had been here for merely half a day and everyone had been very friendly. No doubt because the people she'd met so far were nothing to do with the racing brigade. The stable staff would probably never come within sniffing distance of the Munchy Bar or her bookshop. Obviously, Milton St John's horsy fraternity were scattered across the country's racecourses, being cruel to animals and relieving mug punters of their hard-earned cash.
    'I needs six pairs of hands.' Maureen grabbed at Jemima's empty sundae glass. 'It's bloody non-stop. I only opened up last year – and they told me I wouldn't make a go of it. Now, I'm rushed off me feet – and with Maud, she's me regular help, still getting over her hysterectomy, and none of the casuals ever turning up on time – if at all – I'm fair frazzled.'
    Jemima jerked herself back from drifting into a daydream in which Milton St John was far more famed for its cosy, friendly and well-stocked bookshop than its racing connections.
    'Sorry? Are you – um – looking for staff?'
    'Looking? I'm long past looking.' Maureen's glittery eye-shadow had run into greasy creases. 'I'd take Old Nick himself if he could fry a burger.'
    As her religious beliefs hovered somewhere between God being an elderly man with a flowing white beard reclining on a cloud, and some rather woolly Buddhist ethics regarding self-help and the right of everything to an uninterrupted life-span, Jemima was rather reluctant to thank any celestial deity for this job opportunity. However, it might just have something to do with her now living cheek-by-jowl with the clergy, mightn't it? She firmly interrupted this train of thought. Much more of that and she'd stop shaving her legs, buy a guitar, and be belting out 'Lord of the Dance'.
    Pushing aside her vegetarian principles in the name of survival, she took a deep breath. 'Actually, I used to work in McDonald's, and I need a job, you see, until the shop is ready, and –'
    'Hallelujah!' Maureen's cleavage jumped for joy. 'Grab yerself a pinny, my duck, and let me show you the ropes.'

Chapter Six
    The Cat and Fiddle was heaving. Having managed to secure half a pint of bitter, Vincent Carlisle held it above his head and looked hopefully around the scrum for a likely face. Not finding one immediately, he settled for a seat in the corner just beside the juke-box.
    This, he decided, was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe Lambourn would have been better – and, of course, Newmarket would have been ideal – but, there was a God, after all – alive and well and flourishing in Milton St John. He quaffed half the beer and grinned at the irony. Jemima getting the flat at the Vicarage suited his plans nicely.
    Not of course that he'd let her know that he was here. At least not today. She knew him too well. No, he'd leave her to issue an invitation when she was ready. When, he thought, she believed he could be trusted in the midst of so much temptation. Not, of course, that he saw it as that. One man's temptation was another's opportunity.
    However, today was just a flying visit, a recce, to see how the land lay. To find out whether or not there was an outlet for his talents. Talents which would, with the right contacts, be able to restore him to the sort of lifestyle he'd lost so unfairly. And, equally important, enable him to repay Jemima.
    She was a star, his daughter. Working in that burger place – despite her having been a vegetarian from the age of five when he, in a thoughtless moment, had made the link between the lambs frolicking so prettily in the fields and their Sunday lunch – and sending him half her money! How many kids would do that? He loved Jemima dearly, and always felt ashamed that he'd let her down. Well, not any more. Not with this God-given realm of possibilities for wealth being delivered gift-wrapped into his lap. He'd make her proud of him before the year was out, or die in the