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September 28 - October 2, 2025
“You’re the vicar’s wife?” Judith asked, delighted. “I’m afraid so,” Becks said with a bashful smile. “Someone has to be.
An evening glass of whisky was a ritual Judith had picked up from her great aunt Betty when she’d first moved into the house to nurse her through her ill health.
If she had one piece of advice she’d give her younger self, it would be: don’t get old.
Becks’s smile froze. As a trueborn Englishwoman, she knew there were no circumstances under which she could ever refuse the request of a cup of tea.
She sighed, giving in to the force of nature that was Judith Potts.
The “thinking scotch” she’d been drinking had very much turned into “unthinking scotch” sometime around ten-ish, and she wasn’t sure what she’d achieved since then.
