On Sundays we usually went to the morning service at the local Anglican church. My mother was not religious but came up with a range of reasons for sending us. "People like to see their doctor's family attending the service," she had said. On another occasion she had remarked that it was "probably good for our souls, if it turned out that we had them." I also remember her claiming it was "part of our cultural heritage" and also that "it's important to support the parish".

I don't think she really believed in any of these reasons. We certainly didn't.

She had managed to stop attending herself some years ago. Her primary excuse was that she needed to prepare Sunday lunch, which was usually a roast. Looking back, the real reason was probably that my she and my father simply wanted some time and peace together: precious commodities in a house of five children.

Juliet sometimes suggested that we "play truant" and go and spend a couple of hours in the village instead. But somehow we always ended up at St Martin's in our usual pew. Even William still came with after he left school for university, and was back for the vacation. Toby generally put up the biggest protest, but there's not a lot you can do with four older siblings putting you in your place.

Io came with us that first Sunday she was here. In my head I actually have it that she wore a hat and white gloves, but of course she wore nothing of the sort. I was remembering of some old film, I think. My mother had long ago given up making us wear our "Sunday best" so we usually wore jeans as it was an ancient and draughty building, even in summer.

But Io wore a skirt and jacket, low heels and a deceptively demure expression.

I had forgotten she had a voice. Like Aunt Pia she had been to the Royal Academy and studied music and singing. Everyone turned to stare at her when the hymns started, as she trilled the notes up into the vault. I felt a mixture of pride because she was very talented, and a sensation of wanting to sink through the floor.

Io seemed oblivious to the attention.

I drifted off into my own thoughts during the sermon. I have always found sermons dreadfully dull, no matter how much an energetic preacher tries to jazz them up. What I preferred to do was look around the church and note all the little signs and symbols of paganism hidden in the architecture. Ivy, and the carved stone face of a Green Man, and a stag, and so many other things that were not in any way Judaeo-Christian in origin. Our church was an ancient one, and even five or six hundred years ago there had been secret rebels, wanting to pay tribute to Older Ways. I liked the traditional and the rebellious aspects of it. The village still had Morris dancers and various legends of witches and macabre things in its history. Under the surface, it was all quite pagan.

Juliet had to nudge me when the Reverend Thorsten finally finished speaking as I had nearly drifted off. Neither of us had slept very well because we were both in such a whirl over Io.

"Your vicar's rather dishy," Io murmured to us and at first I thought she was joking. In our eyes the vicar was a middle aged man, practically our parents' age. Now I looked at him with a new perspective, and supposed he was probably alright, for a fortyish man. He was tall at least, and had all his hair.

During our school years we regarded anyone more than a year or so older than William as positively ancient, so you can understand why we had never considered the vicar as a flesh and blood male. Also, he was a vicar.

As we filed out, Juliet pointed out a woman to Io. "That's his wife, Moira," she said, studying Io's face for a reaction.

She got one. Io started very slightly, and raised her eyebrows. "Good Lord," was her only comment.

Moira Thorsten was remarkably plain. By this I mean she was so plain and badly dressed that people actually remarked on it. Kinder people might have called her "homely" but in all honesty she was beyond that, and one got the sense it was to some degree by choice. She was stout and lumpen in figure, with glasses, dull hair in a shapeless bush, and clothes that were so frumpy that even the Oxfam shop would have rejected them.

She was also a fairly horrible person, which is why I don't feel mean being critical of her appearance. She had a booming voice and was very bossy and bad-tempered, and half terrorised the Sunday school children.

Though she never said so explicitly, my mother also couldn't bear Moira, and I trusted my mother's judgement when it came to people.

Now, because of what Io had said about Reverend Thorsten, I found myself wondering what had brought him and Moira together. For she was so very much less attractive than he was, which is still an understatement. Perhaps she had been prettier in her younger days. Perhaps vicars don't mind about looks, and just look for a spouse with a beautiful soul. Not that I could imagine Moira's soul being especially beautiful, but there you are.

I didn't think about it for long because I saw Bobby Brooks, a boy I liked, heading outside. I had gone to the church youth group for a while hoping to catch his eye, though he never showed any interest in me. He wasn't the type of boy to still be going to church, but his parents made him accompany his grandmother every week. I suspect they bribed him.

I wanted to follow after him and see if he would speak to me this time. But Juliet herded me in the other direction, towards the vestry. "We're going to the meet and greet," she told me.

They served tea and coffee in the vestry after Sunday service, for "parishioners new and old to meet and mingle". It was basically an opportunity for the old biddies of the parish to enjoy a free biscuit and gossip together, and for Moira to jostle people onto committees and rosters and things.

Juliet wanted to show Io off. So I followed them, feeling annoyed about Bobby Brooks. Because now it was the holidays I wouldn't get to see him around school either.

I saw Io quite blatantly giving Reverend Thorsten the eye. He was talking to a couple of elderly parishioners but he looked over at her while doing so. After the old people had gone, Io went up and extended a hand. "I'm Iolanthe Clermont, Doctor Lawrence's niece. It was a lovely service."

Then she gave him one of her brilliant smiles.

He froze for a moment, and then they were looking directly into one another's eyes while they shook hands.

Some kind old lady busied herself getting Io a cup of tea, because anyone new was effectively the guest of honour.

I could overhear the Reverend Thorsten saying something to Io about the history of the church organ, and Juliet caught my eye and giggled. "He's telling her about his organ," she said and we both had to turn away because we couldn't stop laughing.

We were very silly at that time, I know. But there's something about the solemnity of church that makes the tiniest thing hilarious, and once you finally do allow yourself to laugh, the floodgates open.

We had to recover ourselves because all the old ladies would always come up and ask after our father, or in some cases start talking about their ailments. To avoid this problem my father never went to the supermarket. Instead my mother had to put up with people approaching her with their shopping trolleys, and mentioning that their rheumatism or their haemorrhoids were taking a turn for the worse, and wanting to know if they should come and see Doctor Lawrence and what he might advise them to do. As though my mother could diagnose on his behalf.

My mother's response was always the same. "Do call the surgery in the morning. Mary will be able to help you." Mary was my father's receptionist.

Today though, the topic of interest was Io rather than bunions.

"Is that your cousin? Quite a picture, isn't she? Is she staying with you for long?"

On the walk home, Juliet dug. "So what did you think of the vicar?"

"I think he's a very attractive man," Io said.

"He's quite old though," I pointed out.

Io was picking wildflowers as we walked back. "I shouldn't say so," she said. It was a beautiful early July morning and we were all hoping it would be a good summer. Io stooped to pick a stem of meadowsweet. "Did you know this is in the rose family?" she asked.

We did not. We were far more fascinated by her opinion of Reverend Thorsten, and keen to find out her views on men in general.

"Surely you couldn't fancy someone that much older though?" Juliet insisted. "He's nearly Daddy's age."

"I should say he's a good ten years' younger," Io said, arranging her meadowsweet with a pink flower she had picked earlier. I think it was Vervain, my mother would have known. She knew all the names of plants.

"Old enough to be your father though," Juliet said.

"Your father perhaps, hardly mine. I do have a few more years on the clock than you two."

She was twenty-two, barely four years older than Juliet who pointed this out. "He's also married."

Io laughed. "I didn't say I planned to try and seduce him. I just said he was attractive."

But I knew, and I don't know how I knew, that she absolutely did plan to try and seduce him. And something inside me felt at once horribly troubled and horribly excited at the prospect.