Heidi looked again at the altar, trying to picture herself and Lucas getting married, being blessed. He wasn’t a believer, but wanted the full service – the full monty, he had called it, having then to explain the phrase – because she wanted it; an act of love, he called it.

Heidi did not become aware of the Chaplain until she drew level with the pew. She stiffened, but Claire Moore merely paused to nod and smile before proceeding towards the altar, where she crossed herself before settling onto her knees for some communing of her own.

Claire Moore was single, Heidi knew that from Lucas, with no sign of a partner of any gender. Had surrendering to God meant surrendering her femininity? Heidi wondered now. Or did the Chaplain have a secretly wild and vibrant private life? The thought catapulted Elias into her head: the brush of his unshaven face on her bare skin, the pleading in the phone call outside the ring shop. Heidi shivered. There had been no further communications, at her insistence, nothing to stoke the fire; but the image of their farewell had somehow remained fixed in her brain, popping up, an involuntary erotic reflex, when she least wanted it.

‘Hello, Heidi, how lovely to see you. Such good news about your wedding date.’ The Chaplain had floated back to her pew. ‘It took a little juggling, but we got there… and tell me, my dear, are you well?’

There was a sudden tenderness in her voice that caught Heidi off guard. ‘Oh, yes, most well, thank you,’ she stammered, ‘and I hope it was acceptable to come in here without an invitation.’ She stood up, a little too swiftly, as it turned out, and for a moment had to grip the smooth wooden pommel by the end of her pew while the stained-glass windows whirled.

‘Of course… I say, are you quite okay there?’

Heidi was still gripping the pommel, watching her thin white fingers and thinking how many thousands of worshippers over the centuries had clasped the same soft worn wood in their hands.

‘How about a cup of tea?’ The Chaplain spoke gently, placing a hand round Heidi’s elbow and steering her out into the aisle and towards the door.

Claire Moore’s rooms, tucked on the top floor of the staircase next to the chapel, were like a burrow, every wall lined with full bookcases, and every possible surface laden with objects. There were two levels, linked by a step that looked slightly crooked, as if the walls had shifted position over the years, which they probably had, Heidi reflected, given the famous antiquity of the place.