The Book of Hours by Davis Bunn

know Bishop Henries is a personal friend!”
    â€œThen he has my abject sympathies.” Trevor Parkes showed all the resilience of good English oak. “Now I, for one, have more important matters to attend to and must bid you good day.”
    But when he started up the stairs, she spotted Brian there on the stoop and cried, “Oh no, you don’t! Mr. Blackstone, I implore you, don’t listen to this man’s ramblings!”
    â€œActually, I am here to see my old friend.” Up close, the strain was etched much clearer upon the vicar’s features. “Good afternoon, Arthur. Hello, Brian. How are you feeling?”
    Lavinia started up the stairs herself. “Mr. Blackstone, you are surrounded by the enemy! Arthur Wainwright is a traitor! He is aiding their plan to repair and replace those wretched bells! He has sold out his heritage and left this village to die on its feet!”
    â€œOh really, Lavinia, do be sensible.” Arthur affected a condescending drone. “We’re talking about a few church bells, not the invasion of Hitler’s army.”
    Lavinia pushed herself up close. “Mr. Blackstone, I beseech you. There are seven churches at various locations around the center of our village. Seven, Mr. Blackstone. These deranged folk insist upon ringing them every hour of every day. When those bells are replaced and all start banging away at once, the racket is enough to drive a person mad. As a local landowner, you of all people must see how utterly vital—”
    A voice down the lane called out, “Don’t bother with Mr. Blackstone, Lavinia dear.”
    The big-boned woman heeled about and cried, “Hardy, thank goodness. You of all people must talk some sense—”
    â€œI said don’t bother.” The real estate agent climbed the stairs and nodded a languid greeting to the gathering. “Afternoon, all.”
    Brian noticed the chill that entered Arthur Wainwright’s voice. “Finally come to see to our electrical problems, Mr. Seade?”
    Hardy Seade cast an indifferent glance toward the old man, but directed his words to the woman. “Our dear Mr. Blackstone will only possess this property for another few days. Isn’t that so, sir?” When Brian did not respond, the realtor continued, “The estate is to be auctioned next Wednesday. And a buyer has already come forward with a most impressive bid. So I regret Mr. Blackstone will not be around long enough to weigh in on the issue of the church bells.”
    Brian’s disappointment over the coming loss and his dislike of the man smirking at him fought for position. Then an idea struck, one powerful enough to make Brian smile. He stepped inside and said, “I’ll be right back.”
    He raced up the stairs as swiftly as his weakened legs would permit, and returned to find the same tableau. Clearly a few more words had been exchanged, for all the faces smoldered. Brian held Heather’s prize with both arms and said to the vicar, “I don’t have any money for your cause, but you can have this if you think it would help.”
    The sun chose that moment to emerge from behind a lonely cloud, and splashed golden and generous upon the front terrace. The miniature manor Brian held was suddenly no longer just a dollhouse. The tiny windows and perfectly proportioned rooms shone with a brilliant luster, as though all the diminutive chandeliers had suddenly come alight.
    â€œHow absolutely marvelous!” Arthur bent over for a closer inspection. “I say, it appears to be an exact replica of Castle Keep.”
    The vicar’s eyes had gone all round with astonishment. “Mr. Blackstone, really, this is too generous.”
    â€œCall me Brian. And no, it’s not.”
    The woman spluttered, “You can’t possibly be serious!”
    Arthur offered, “We could raffle it off. A pound a ticket.”
    The vicar nodded vigorous agreement.