Vow of Chastity by Veronica Black Page A

again.
    ‘I’ll see you out.’ Mrs Olive moved, thin and graceful, to the door.
    At the back of the hall a long passage stretched past the wide staircase, presumably to the kitchen quarters. Sister Joan, glancing back, saw someone standing there. She caught a glimpse of hair so fair that it looked almost white, a classical profile, a lean, athletic body clad in jeans and sweatshirt. Then Mrs Olive turned her sleek head, saying in a raised voice, ‘In a moment, Jan.’
    A side door was opened and closed. The nuns came out to the front step.
    ‘Au pairs can get so bored in the country when there isn’t anywhere to go,’ Mrs Olive said deprecatingly.
    ‘But I thought – I assumed that your au pair was a girl,’ Sister Joan said.
    ‘Oh, Kiki got bored too and left us. Jan was recommended through the same agency so I’m hoping that the same pattern won’t repeat itself,’ Mrs Olive said.
    ‘Through a local agency?’ Sister Joan asked.
    ‘One in Bodmin – Foreign Companion Helps – something like that. So far he seems to be settling down, but one can never tell.’
    The car that picked up Samantha from school always stopped at some distance. She had never bothered to look closely at who was driving it. Not that it was any of her business if the Olives chose to fill their house with male au pairs. Handsome male au pairs, Sister Joan amended, and rebuked herself for being narrow minded.
    ‘Next time you must stay longer,’ Julia Olive said. The languidness was back in her voice.
    ‘It would be most interesting to see something of such an old house,’ Sister Joan agreed.
    ‘Most of it is in very bad repair,’ Mrs Olive told her. ‘The basement is very damp and the foundations quite unstable. It will require a lot of work on it before it can be put right, I’m afraid. Good evening again, Sisters.’ Without waiting to see them into the car she turned and went back into the house.
    ‘We shall have to hurry or we’ll be late for chapel,’ Sister Joan said. ‘We’ve missed recreation already.’
    ‘So we have.’ Sister Margaret gave herself a little shake and got hastily into the car.
    ‘You were very quiet in there, Sister. Was anything wrong?’ Sister Joan glanced at her companion as the latter started the engine.
    ‘I was looking at the dirt,’ Sister Margaret said, ‘and wishing that I had a bucket of hot soapy water and a scrubbing brush. Of course one cannot blame the poor lady. It is an enormous house to clean.’
    ‘It didn’t strike me as particularly dirty,’ Sister Joan said, puzzled. ‘A bit faded and some of the furniture didn’t suit the room too well, but hardly dirty.’
    ‘Very dirty,’ said Sister Margaret with unusual firmness and gripped the wheel as the engine sprang into life.
    Whatever occupied her mind had at least emptied it of the desire to break speed records, Sister Joan reflected, as they rode home at a moderate speed. Her own mind was a ragbag of impressions which she would have to sort out later.
    ‘I’ll put the car away, Sister. You hurry on intochapel,’ Sister Margaret said as they swept up to the convent.
    Chapel, Sister Joan thought, is exactly what I need. This round of visits has muddled me terribly.
    She walked briskly to the side door and let herself in, the thought crossing her mind that the habit of leaving the door open was not perhaps a very wise one. Anyone from the laity who wanted to pray in the middle of the night was scarcely likely to come all the way out to the convent in order to gratify their wish. On the other hand a thief or a prowler could easily get in. It might do no harm to have a quiet word with Mother Dorothy on the subject.
    ‘Oh, there you are, Sister! Did you have a pleasant evening? Pleasanter than mine, I’m sure.’
    Sister David, snub nose twitching violently as was her habit when agitated, met her at the door of the chapel.
    ‘Is something wrong, Sister?’
    ‘The holy water in the stoup has all dried up,’ Sister