Enigma

the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
    'For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality.
    'So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.
    'O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?'
    She closed her Bible slowly and regarded the congregation with a dry and level eye. In the end pew she could just make out Jericho, white-faced, staring straight ahead.
    'Thanks be to God.'
    She found him waiting for her outside the church, the white blossom raining down on him like confetti. The other mourners had gone. He had his face raised to the sun and she guessed from the way he seemed to be drinking in the warmth that he hadn't seen it for a long while. As he heard her approach, he turned and smiled and she hoped her own smile hid her shock. His cheeks were concave, his skin as waxy as one of the candles in church. The collar of his shirt hung loosely from his gaunt neck.
    'Hello, Hester.'
    'Hello, Tom.' She hesitated, then held out her gloved hand.
    'Super service,' said Wigram. 'Absolutely super. Everybody's said so, haven't they, Tom?'
    'Everybody. Yes.' Jericho closed his eyes for a second and she understood immediately what he was signalling: that he was sorry Wigram was there, but that he couldn't do anything about it. He released her hand. 'I didn't want to leave,' he said, 'without seeing how you were.'
    'Oh, well,' she said, with a jollity she didn't feel, 'bearing up, you know.'
    'Back at work?'
    'Yes, yes. Still blisting away.'
    'And still in the cottage?',
    'For now. But I think I'll move out, as soon as I can find myself another billet.'
    'Too many ghosts?'
    'Something like that.'
    She suddenly found herself loathing the banality of the conversation but she couldn't think of anything better to say.
    'Leveret's waiting,' said Wigram. 'With the car. To run us to the station.' Through the gate Hester could see the long black bonnet. The driver was leaning against it, watching them, smoking a cigarette.
    'You're catching a train, Mr Wigram?' asked Hester.
    'I'm not,' he said, as if the notion was offensive. 'Tom is. Aren't you, Tom?'
    I'm going back to Cambridge,' explained Jericho. 'For a few months' rest.'
    'In fact we really ought to push off,' continued Wigram, looking at his watch. 'You never know—there's always a chance it may be on time.'
    Jericho said, irritably: 'Will you excuse us for just one minute, Mr Wigram?' Without waiting for a reply, he guided Hester away from Wigram, back towards the church. 'This bloody man won't leave me alone for a second,' he whispered. 'Listen, if you can bear it, will you give me a kiss?'
    'What?' She wasn't sure she could have heard him correctly.
    'A kiss. Quickly. Please.'
    'Very well. It's no great hardship.'
    She took off her hat, reached over and brushed his thin cheek with her lips. He held her shoulders and said softly in her ear: 'Did you invite Claire's father to the service?'
    'Yes.' He had gone mad, she thought. The shock had affected his mind. 'Of course I did.'
    'What happened?'
    'He didn't reply.'
    'I knew it,' he whispered. She felt his grip tighten.
    'Knew what?'
    'She isn't dead.. .'
    'How touching,' said Wigram loudly, coming up behind them, 'and I hate to break things up, but you're going to miss your train, Tom Jericho.'
    Jericho released her and took a step back. 'Look after yourself,' he said.
    For a moment she couldn't speak. 'And you.'
    I'll write.'
    'Yes. Please. Be sure you do.'
    Wigram tugged at his arm. Jericho gave her a final smile and a shrug, then allowed himself to be led away.
    She watched him walk painfully up the path and through the gate. Leveret opened the car door and as he did so, Jericho turned and waved. She raised her hand in return, saw him manoeuvre himself stiffly into the back seat, then the door slammed shut. She let her hand drop.
    She stayed there for several minutes, long after the big car had pulled away, then she replaced her hat and went back into the church.

2

    'I almost forgot,' said Wigram, as the car turned down the hill. 'I bought you a paper. For the journey.'
    He unlocked his briefcase and took out a copy of The Times, opened it to the third page and handed it to Jericho. The story consisted of just five paragraphs, flanked by an