The secret life of Evie Hamilton [antikvár]

Just recently, and it's hardly even worth mentioning except perhaps as a reproof to myself, I find that when-éver I enter a church, not only does my heart sink, but I'm invariably late. Today was no exception. As the sor-rowful aroma of beeswax, stone and candles contrived to lower my spirits, so the shrill tones of the female vicar, welcoming the congregation, confirmed my bad timing.As I crept in, a few heads near the back swivelled to smile sympathetically. I made to slide in amongst them, whispering apologetically, 'Sorry, sorry ' but my sister-in-law up near the front was having none of it. Her pointy features, flushed, irritated and rotated at a hundred and eighty degrees, were hard to miss.'Down here,' she was mouthing theatrically, beckoning me on like an Italian traffic policeman. She even had the white gloves. White gloves!Dutifully I gatherëd my hymn book and handbag, and hastened, head bowed, down the aisle. As I hurried along, I inadvertently looked up and caught the eye of my brother in his rather too tight hound's-tooth-check suit, up by the altar, in his occasional capacity of church-warden. He rolled his eyes in mock horror and gave me a huge wink.We were worried about you,' Caro hissed as I squeezed