Absolute Truths (32 page)

My aim was to weaken the hang-over further by taking a brisk
walk, but although I achieved the extraordinary feat of escaping
from the Close without encountering anyone I knew, I soon felt
unsteady and realised I had to eat. There were numerous tea-shops
in Starbridge, but I was afraid of meeting the Cathedral ladies,
who would inevitably patronise such establishments at that hour of
the morning. Fortunately my gaze then alighted on Woolworth’s
which, so I had heard, had recently been equipped with a restaurant
counter in imitation of an American drugstore. Relief seized me
as I realised that no one I knew would ever be found eating at
such a plebeian place. A minute later I was sitting at the counter
and asking in my plainest BBC accent for coffee and a Bath bun.

Food revived me. I ordered more coffee and some scrambled
eggs. Finally the waitress, who called me ‘dear’ but was very oblig
ing, presented me with a bill which was so cheap that I thought
she must have made a mistake in the addition. I foresaw the res
taurant would prosper.

Returning to the Close I found that the Cathedral had a glassy,
jagged, ravaged look as the melted frost ran damp fingers down
its walls, but it seemed to me now to be more jaded than sinister. Still hoping to avoid chance encounters I cut through the churchyard, but this turned out to be a mistake because as I passed the
Dean’s door, the clergy’s private entrance on the north front, the
Dean himself emerged from his Cathedral.

Startled by this malign coincidence we initially could do no more
than exclaim each other’s names. ‘How arc you?’ added Aysgarth,
mercifully ending the absurd pause which developed afterwards.

‘
Oh, fine! And you?’ I said, trying to work out how long I
needed to sustain a conversation in order to be judged normal.
‘Oh, splendid! Any plans to go away now the funeral’s over?’

‘
No, no,’ I said at once, overcome by the urge not to appear
disabled in any way. ‘I’m sure it’s best if I pick up the reins again
as soon as possible.’

‘
I hope you’re not saying that just because of all that idiotic
confusion about Christie’s and the West Front Appeal! In fact if
the Christie’s affair is bothering you, let me hasten to set your
mind at rest – why don’t you drop in at the Deanery after evensong
tonight for a tot of Tio Pepe?’

The very thought of alcohol was enough to make me feel
nauseous, but naturally I could not allow myself even the briefest
of winces. If Aysgarth realised I was recoiling from a single glass
of Tio Pepe, he would instantly put two and two together to make
the most humiliating four.

‘
Why don’t you come to the South Canonry?’ I said, grasping
with lightning speed the fact that on my own territory I could
pass off a ginger ale
as a
whisky-and-soda. ‘Pd be delighted to see
you.’

‘Well, if you’re sure that’s all right ...’

We expended some additional time slaving to be nice to each
other. Then beneath the scaffolding of the west front we parted,
he moving away across the sward to the Deanery while I headed
south down the path to Palace Lane. I knew I had made a mistake;
I was hardly in a fit state to interview Aysgarth about a matter
which would no doubt demand all my episcopal skills, but I was
unable to work out what other course, at that particular moment, I could have taken. I did realise I had been trapped by shame into
putting up a front – ‘hiding behind the glittering image,’ as Jon
would have phrased it – but it would have been a big mistake to
appear vulnerable to the toughest clergyman in the diocese.

By the time 1 reached the South Canonry I had made the prag
matic decision to accept the challenge which the interview rep
resented and make the best of it. There was always the possibility
that getting back to work really was the best course for me to take,
and if the interview went well I could say to Jon: ‘I behaved
idiotically when I hit the bottle, but at least afterwards I managed
to pull myself together, get back into harness and sort out the
Christie’s mess.’

Still entranced by this day-dream which showed me in such a
flattering light, I entered my house and prepared to demonstrate
my normality to my employees.

Everyone began by treating me with intense kindness and concern,
as if I were suffering from an illness which was unspeakable but
not quite terminal. This attitude had in fact been noticeable since
Lyle’s death, but since I had been so immersed in organising the
funeral I had been only dimly aware of how I was being treated.
Now, gripped by my obsession to appear normal, I felt obliged
to adopt a hale and hearty manner in order to rebut all suggestion
of infirmity.

Put away those kid gloves!’ I ordered. ‘No need to handle me
with care! I’ve decided my best course is to get back to work
straight away — where’s Nigel?’

‘
He’s been delayed but he’ll be here this afternoon.’ Miss Pea
body sounded confused by my energy. The chaplains were gazing
at me as if I were a very peculiar pastoral case. Even the typist was
boggling at me beneath her beehive hair-do.

Finally my archdeacon took control of the scene by suggesting
that he and I should retire to my study so that he could bring me
up to date on the major issues, but as soon as the study door was
closed he said: ‘Honestly, Charles, wouldn’t it be best if you took some more time off ? You’ve been running around non-stop ever
since Lyle died, and you’ve almost certainly got to the stage now
where you don’t even realise how exhausted you are.’

‘
I’m fine.’

Well, you don’t look it! Listen, I understand if you can’t face
going away anywhere, but why don’t you hole up with us at the
vicarage for a few days? You could be very secluded, I promise —
Marian would guard you like a tigress from unwanted callers.’

‘
That’s most kind, but —’

‘
As a matter of fact Marian would love to look after you — she’d
see it as something she could do for Lyle. Incidentally, they’re all
praying for you, you know.’

‘Your congregation?’

‘
No — well, yes, of course we’re all praying, but I meant Marian and that funny little prayer-group. Actually I’m surprised it hasn’t
broken up by this time — you know what women are like when
they all get together! — but of course I do see it’s nice for the girls
to have something to do other than arrange the flowers in church.’
There was a silence. To my horror I felt a lump form in my
throat. I had sat down behind my desk but now I stood up and
moved to the window. I wanted to extol the prayer-group, but I
did not trust myself to speak.

W
ell, never mind all that,’ said Malcolm hastily, realising that
the mention of the prayer-group had reminded me much too pain
fully of Lyle. ‘Let’s get down to business. If I start at the top with
the diocesan board of finance and work downwards to Langley
Bottom ...’

He embarked on a monologue. I tried to listen, but found it
impossible to concentrate. After a while I managed to wipe my
eyes surreptitiously with my fingers. The need to do this appalled
me but Malcolm, talking busily, appeared not to notice. A bishop
shedding tears in front of his archdeacon! Hardly able to believe
I was capable of such a shameful lack of self-control, I sent a
fraught, furious prayer to God for the grace to behave properly.

‘
... sodomy and bestiality,’ said Malcolm.

My prayer was answered. Forgetting my emotion I gave a
galvanic start and swung to face him. ‘I’m sorry, I was thinking
of something else. Could you —’

‘
I was saying that Lewis Hall was telling me about a devil-
worship group he uncovered on the Fens near Radbury — the
members used to meet in an isolated church to commit sodomy
and bestiality.’

‘What did Hall do?’

‘
Ran amok with a crucifix and emerged triumphant. He talked
about it exactly as you would talk about a round of golf.’

‘
But why should he have been talking to you about it at all?’

‘
I’d had a confidential word on the phone with the Archdeacon
of Radbury who said Hall was useful enough at mopping up any
mess which no decent clergyman would touch with a barge-pole,
but that he was opinionated, bolshie and very much too interested
in the paranormal. So I thought I’d better read Hall the Riot Act
and make it clear that no exorcisms take place in this diocese
without your permission, but he said he’d always sought his
bishop’s permission before — and that was when we got on to the
subject of the satanists.’

I see.’ I had to struggle to digest this. ‘But surely there’s no
need to be too anxious? So long
as
Hall’s only working here on
a
temporary basis, he’s going to be on his best behaviour in order
to impress me.’

‘
Well, don’t be too impressionable, that’s all I can say! You mark
my words, that man’s Trouble with a capital T — the average age
of the female congregation is sinking like a stone and he’s already
got them doing everything he wants —’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘
Oh, I don’t mean he’s started a harem! But he’s got them all
producing flowers —
flowers!
In the depths of winter! — and the
church
is
now so stuffed with them that the scent even blots out
the reek of the incense! Whatever next, I ask myself, but never
mind, at least we’ve got St Paul’s ticking over until we can sack
Desmond and close the church — and in my opinion we’ve no choice but to close it; the place is an unjustifiable drain on the diocesan purse and we’re never going to get a dynamic young
Anglo-Catholic priest who’ll revitalise it, not in this day and age.
Nigel objects to closure, I have to tell you, but of course he doesn’t
know the place as I do — and by the way, Charles, talking of Nigel,
I must say he has
a
very hazy idea of the correct relationship between a suffragan bishop and an archdeacon! Of course I’ve
suspected for some time that poor David’s remorselessly ground down in Starmouth, but if Nigel thinks he can grind me down —’

‘
I’m sure he wouldn’t be so stupid.’ Suddenly I felt so exhausted
that I knew my performance as a fit executive could no longer be
sustained. We’ll talk about Nigel later,’ I said. ‘And now if you’ll
excuse
me ...’

I got rid of him but realised afterwards that I had forgotten to
disclose the news of my approaching interview with .Aysgarth. Perhaps I was going senile, but no, the most likely explanation
was that I was simply too worn out to think properly.

Staggering upstairs I slumped on to my bed and plummeted
into unconsciousness.

When I awoke it was half-past five and Miss Peabody was still in the office. I said to her: ‘Could you phone the Dean, please, and
ask him if he would mind postponing our drink until tomorrow?’
Miss Peabody made the call and reported that the Dean did not
mind in the least.

This postponement was undoubtedly the wisest decision I had
made all day and underlined to me how idiotic I had been to pretend
that I was now fit for work. ‘I think perhaps I might not pick up
the reins just yet after all,’ I said to Miss Peabody. ‘You can tell the
Archdeacon and Bishop Farr tomorrow that I’ve changed my mind.’
Miss Peabody said she thought I was being very sensible.

I was still feeling groggy after my prolonged sleep, so I brewed
myself some tea and drank it in the kitchen. Miss Peabody eventually
went home. Taking some bread and cheese to my study I wrote a
list of things to do and tried to eat, but I had no appetite. After a
while I opened a bottle of claret. I was surprised that I could face
drinking alcohol, but I knew how important it was that I should eat
and I thought a single glass of wine might stimulate my appetite.

The bread and cheese disappeared. So did the single glass of wine. I had no intention of drinking more but then I started to
remember Malcolm talking about the prayer-group and I thought
another glass of wine might induce amnesia.

It did not. I poured myself a third glass. And later I poured
myself a fourth. Dimly I realised I was frightened, and not just of
my painful memories but of everything which awaited me in that still, silent house. I was frightened of opening the file of sympathy
letters and feeling unbearably distressed. I was frightened of receiv
ing no solace if I tried to calm myself by retreating to Lyle’s sitting-
room. I was frightened in case sleep now proved impossible
because I could no longer ignore the emptiness of the bed. I was
frightened of the future. I was frightened of the present. I was
frightened by the sheer vastness of that terrible landscape of
bereavement which had begun to open up in front of me as far as
the eye could see.

I finished the bottle of claret.

And finding myself still conscious, I opened another.