'It still amazes me when I meet a member of the clergy who purports to believe in a supernatural God, but rejects the possibility of anything else. At the same time, it has to be said that nobody gullible is going to last long in this job.'

*

We've toured the village, which is time-warped, with a cobbled square and dozens of arthritically swollen black and white cottages. We've met the gravedigger in his flat cap and a sweatshirt with Gomer Parry Plant Hire embossed on the front. We've encountered a churchwarden, addressed by Watkins as 'Uncle Ted', who seems very suspicious of me, although Watkins later explains that what really worries him is her 'other job'.

Before taking on Deliverance, she was sent on a course in Wales ('near where the SAS train,' she notes wryly) conducted by a veteran Anglican exorcist who still acts as her spiritual adviser. 'If you worked alone you'd go mad. It's a minefield, and I'm still tapping the ground all around me.'

However, with Michael Hunter no longer in the bishop's palace, she feels she has more space to explore the possibilities of a role which brings her into regular contact with psychiatrists and social workers. And, of course, the police. Which is why I'm here, and Watkins knows it.

What I'm particularly interested in are the rumours of Watkins's involvement in the investigation of an alleged haunting at a property owned by the Duchy of Cornwall, the Prince of Wales's private business. There's talk of Knights Templar mysteries and a curious parallel with a ghost story by the great M R James. Also a number of unexplained deaths.

Watkins has never talked about this publicly. When I bring up the issue, she fumbles for another cigarette, only to find the packet empty.

There's a silence, and then she sighs.

'Yeah, OK,' she says, 'I'll tell you what I can…'

For the full story, see The Fabric of Sin.

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