The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

Dennis grinned and bobbed his head, and the pair of them left. After they had gone Army picked up the paper and folded it and stuffed it in his back trouser pocket, collected his present; and the brown bagged parcel, glanced at the beer, realised that he didn’t like lager, and left it on the table.

He would walk around the complete city walls. It was something he did to relax. He enjoyed the history of it, and it had become a new interest for him, and as he walked around that vast clockwise circle, it enabled him to think things through, to work things out.

He was aware he was at a crossroads in his life.

The actions he took and the decisions he made would affect the rest of his days, and if those thoughts were unusual in an eighteen-year-old on the brink of adulthood, perhaps it was understandable, given the turbulent years he had endured.

Losing his mother, losing his home, losing his father, all before the age of eleven, losing the happy days at the flower shop, the scholarship to King’s, the dance classes, losing his voice and the mini stardom and adulation that it brought through his angelic singing, and living in the rough house that Saint Edmond’s was back then, open to bullying, harassment and predation, both physical and sexual, by pupils and staff alike. Perhaps it wasn’t surprising Armitage was not like other eighteen-year-olds.

Little wonder he could be sarcastic.

He had learned tough lessons.

He had learned that the only person who would ever do anything for him was himself. When he returned to Bellingfield, he ripped the paper from his present. It was a pack of three string vests. He hated string vests. Jillian had chosen them. Yep, that would be right.

ARMITAGE STILL ATTENDED Saint Jude’s church, though he never went near the choir stalls. All the McGowan boys were away at college, and Machara had gained entry to Saint Andrews University, studying medicine, which thrilled her parents because the reverend had studied at that fine university.

Blair McGowan noticed the hangdog look that sat on Armitage’s face, and the general sense of gloom that cloaked him. One Sunday, standing on the steps after the service, shaking hands and smiling at parishioners as they left, Blair said, ‘Is everything all right, Armitage?’

Army nodded unconvincingly, and the reverend asked him to stay behind for a chat. Armitage had nothing better to do and agreed.

When everyone had gone, he followed Blair through the church to his private rooms at the back. Seated in that same musty office where Chris de Wyk had first touched him brought back dreadful memories, that he thought of getting up and leaving, when the reverend spoke.

‘I can’t help noticing that something is troubling you.’

Army took some time to reply.

‘I don’t seem to be making any headway in life. I can’t seem to get a steady girlfriend, I have a hateful job I despise, while everyone else seems to be getting on with their lives, I am stuck in a stinking rut.’

‘It will come, Armitage. Don’t be in such a rush, don’t force it, relax and try to enjoy life.’

‘That is easier said than done.’

Blair said something that surprised Army.

‘Have you ever felt the calling?’

‘The calling?’

‘Yes, to God, of course. You believe in God, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so.’

‘The thing is, Armitage; I have always thought you would make a fine vicar.’

Armitage smiled. It made a change for anyone to think he would make a fine anything.

‘Don’t you have to have qualifications, and stuff?’

‘Yes, you do, but you have plenty of time. You’re a clever lad; if you worked hard, I am sure you could get there. Why don’t you think about it, and if you are interested, I have dozens of books you could borrow from my old seminary. I could give you some lessons if you wanted?’

Armitage bobbed his head and promised he would think it over.

When he told Dennis, he laughed like a drain.

‘It could be worse,’ Dennis said, still guffawing, ‘at least you’re C of E; imagine if you were a catholic, you wouldn’t even be allowed nookie!’

‘I think if you wanted nookie you’d get it, regardless of whether you were a priest or not.’

‘True. You’re probably right.’

Army didn’t know what nookie was, or more accurately, he knew what it was, but not how and where to get it.

The following Sunday, Armitage told Blair McGowan that he was interested in taking things further. Blair smiled a satisfied smile, produced some books that he had brought with him in case of that eventuality, handed them to Armitage, who took them home and started out on the long road to becoming a Church of England vicar.

WHILE HE STUDIED, IT took him four years to find a new job, an employer who would take him seriously, by offering a post that he deemed acceptable. He raised his standards and rejected supermarket shelf stacking, bar work, waiting on table, telephone selling for commission only, loan sharking around the council estates on behalf of minor criminals, and not so minor drug dealers, (good pay, short life expectancy). He rejected retailing of any kind; his days of pandering to the ungrateful and smelly public were behind him.

Rejected agricultural labouring too, picking swedes in the rain, for God’s sake, backbreaking work where the pay was lousy, and none of his colleagues would speak English. He didn’t try it. He didn’t try any of them, he wanted something better, and was determined to find it.

The day the letter came from the Inland Revenue offering him a clerking job in their brand new offices at the bottom of Northgate Street was a day he would never forget. It gave him huge satisfaction when he handed in his notice at the stinking feet farm, as he referred to Mawdsley’s Shoes.

What had broken him was not the sweaty feet, nor the holey socks, not the lack of tips, nor the poor money, or