Absolute Truths (37 page)

Staring with unseeing eyes at the screen I tried to steel myself
for the dreaded dinner-party at the Deanery.

Dido Aysgarth’s
‘little
dinner-parties for sixteen’ were occasions to
be avoided by those anxious to escape indigestion. The cooking was erratic, the company eclectic and the conversation extraordi
nary. At the last dinner I had attended, some inebriated youth
had tried to tell me that the Beatles were greater musicians than
Beethoven; that was the moment when I knew beyond doubt that
the 1960s had finally parted company with reality.

Dido’s ‘buffet-lunches for sixty’ were preferable to her
‘little
dinner-parties for sixteen’ because one had more chance of meeting
an interesting guest. Her other form of hospitality, her ‘intimate
suppers for eight’, was fortunately confined to her dearest friends who, so I was told, always had to endure a recital by her children;
her daughter Elizabeth would play the piano and her son Pip
would sing. How those two children ever survived their mother
must remain a mystery, but Pip was a mild, pleasant child with
excellent manners while young Miss Elizabeth was as charming as
she was pretty. She had recently caused chaos at the Theological
College when two ordinands had fallen in love with her, and there
was even some story that she had been smuggled into the College
after midnight
as a
‘dare’, but I did not believe this wild rumour.
My ordinands would not have risked falling short of the high
moral standards I demanded, and besides, it was impossible for
me to imagine a schoolgirl from a clerical family behaving in a
manner which would have been so very improper. Her half-sister
Primrose, the daughter of Aysgarth’s first marriage, had been one
of the most proper young women I had ever met, although Lyle
had said this was because Primrose was so plain that she never had
the opportunity to be anything else.

In my opinion Lyle’s protegee Venetia was just as plain as Prim
rose, but Lyle had claimed that Venetia’s keen interest in sex gave
her the potential to be a
femme fatale.
Primrose’s only interest, on
the
other hand, was in power – or so Lyle had always insisted.
Before her marriage Primrose had worked in the diocesan office
and had become known
as
the Archdeacon’s Axe-Woman. Mal
colm always spoke very highly of her organisational skills.

When I arrived at the Deanery that evening I was pleased to see
Venetia’s parents among the guests. Lord Flaxton, the eccentric
peer who had telephoned me on the day of Lyle’s death to com
plain about the local vicar, was over seventy and inclined to favour
a vapid Victorian agnosticism, but he was at least capable of intelli
gent conversation. I was relieved to discover that he had decided
in a burst of unprecedented tolerance – generated, perhaps, by
a desire to be kind to me in my bereavement – to overlook the unfortunate vicar’s devotion to the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament.

After my spirits had been raised by the sight of the Flattons,
they were instantly lowered by the sight of Sir Miles Calthrop-
Ponsonby, a bachelor whose family had long been connected with
the Cathedral Close. Sir Miles seldom spoke but was immensely rich; 1 guessed at once that Aysgarth was cultivating him in the
hope of extracting yet another donation to the West Front Appeal
Fund.

Beyond the dour figure of Sir Miles I spotted one of Dido’s
Scottish cousins, now senile, and beyond this unpromising guest
I glimpsed sixteen-year-old Miss Elizabeth, leaning very prettily against the piano. Someone, I noticed, was trying to hide behind
this instrument, but Dido hauled him out and offered him to me
for inspection with the news that he was Elizabeth’s latest young man. Meanwhile I had recognised him as one of the ordinands
at
the Theological College — but not one of the pair who had been
rivals in love. The boy
evidently feared I might make
all the wrong
deductions from Dido’s description of him, so I smiled to signal
that I was far from opposed to ordinands paying a respectable
attention to the opposite sex. At the same
time
his extreme ner
vousness made me look at little
Miss
Elizabeth with new eyes.
Could there conceivably have been an element of truth in those
wild rumours? ‘No smoke without a fire,’ Lyle had commented
predictably at the time, but Lyle had been so cynical. Hastily, not
wishing to consider the possibility that I might become disillu
sioned with little Miss Elizabeth, who was always so charming to
me, I moved on towards her half-sister Primrose.

It will be clear already that I did not care for Primrose, but
fairness obliges me to state that she had become an admirable wife
and mother after relinquishing her duties as Malcolm’s axe-woman
at the diocesan office. Whether she was at heart suited to this
conventional role, however, was open to question, since she was
a rampant feminist and had already upset the Mothers’ Union (who to their dismay had found they could not do without her
superb organisational skills). Being a Christian and, I hope, not
an unjust man, I can see it was right to give women the vote and
I firmly believe they should be paid the same wages as men when
they do identical work, but as I had tried to make clear to my
committee on the day of Lyle’s death, men and women were not
created by God to be interchangeable and it was simply a distortion
of reality to pretend otherwise.

I was so busy feeling annoyed by the memory of Primrose’s
strident feminism that I could not even remember the name of her
husband and had to glide past him
as
swiftly
as
possible. He was
a
nonentity who taught at the Choir School.

Regaining my equilibrium with an effort, I reflected that the
dinner-party was looking even more unpromising than I had antici
pated, and my dismay was in no way allayed when I came face to
face with the next guest: Aysgarth’s favourite son, the eldest off
spring of his first marriage.

Unfortunately I found Christian Aysgarth almost
as
uncongenial as his sister Primrose. Why? I hoped — even prayed — that I was
not swayed by jealousy that Aysgarth should have had such an
outstanding son. Perhaps the trouble was that there was something
a little too familiar about that glittering image which Christian
presented to the world; perhaps, looking at him, I saw a reflection
of my younger self, the tormented, divided self which Jon had
helped me to acknowledge, accept and assimilate during my spir
itual crisis in 1937.

Christian was in his late thirties. Tall, dark, elegant and charm
ing, he was one of the few people who were capable of discussing my books intelligently with me. Up at Oxford he had taken a first
in
Mods, a first in Greats and had then crowned this academic
triumph by taking a first in theology. Declining ordination he had
become an Oxford don specialising in the unrewarding subject of
medieval philosophy. I knew I ought to find him excellent
com
pany
but in fact I found him superficial, arrogant and spoilt, and it annoyed me that with one exception everyone doted on him.
The one exception was Dido, a fact which I found very intriguing
because although I disliked Dido I had to admit she was a shrewd
judge of character and a lynx-eyed observer of her acquaintances.
No wonder she was so lethal as a gossip! Beneath the hyperbolical
statements there nearly always lurked a hard core of shattering
accuracy — which is why even to this day I can never entirely
dismiss the possibility that Desmond Wilton really was seen at
Piccadilly Circus on a Saturday night in the company of a young
m
an in black leather.

With Christian was his wife Katie, who was the grand-daughter
of a very old friend of mine, the late Lady Starmouth. Before the
war Lady Starmouth had been famous for her benevolent interest
in promising young clergymen, and both Aysgarth and I had been
counted among her protégés.

I noted that Katie was heavily pregnant and that unlike many women in that condition she looked neither radiant nor well. She
had inherited something of her grandmother’s dark good looks,
but unfortunately nothing of Lady Starmouth’s wit and style. I
often thought Christian might have preferred someone more ani
mated than this pale quiet girl — and indeed it was common knowl
edge that he enjoyed the company of the dangerous Marina
Markhampton — but one cannot deny that the grand-daughter of
an earl is a great catch for a young man whose grandfather was a
Yorkshire draper.

Beyond Katie I encountered an old friend of Christian’s, a young
man called Palmer who worked in the Foreign Office, and beyond
this unremarkable civil servant I was delighted to see Lady Mark
hampton, grandmother of the dangerous Marina. Recently
widowed, Lady Markhampton lived in the Close, and although
now over eighty
was
still sharp, bright and nimble.

‘
My dear Bishop!’ she exclaimed warmly, putting a be-ringed
little paw into my outstretched hand. ‘What a splendid surprise! I
had no idea you were to be here tonight, but how glad I am to
see you moving among us again after such a very tragic time’

While she spoke I was aware of a stranger sitting beside her and
realised this was the woman who was supposed to keep me amused
by talking about her recent intellectual activities in Cambridge. To
my surprise a quick glance convinced me she was American. The
tanned, lined, rather leathery skin, the excessive use of costume
jewellery, and the extraordinary clothes — a pastel-pink trouser-suit
— all convinced me that I would hear an American accent
as
soon as she opened her mouth. She wore glasses which were almond-
shaped, very modish. Her thick silver hair was immaculately waved
and styled. Good-looking, smart and obviously sophisticated, she
could have been any age between fifty and sixty-five.

‘
... and now let me introduce you to one of my oldest friends,’
Lady Markhampton was saying with enthusiasm. ‘This
is
Professor
Loretta Staviski from America. Loretta my dear, may I present the Bishop of Starbridge, Dr Charles Ashworth?’

I nearly had a stroke.

There was a pause which seemed to endure a full minute but
which probably lasted no more than five seconds. Then Loretta
said with magnificent panache: ‘The Bishop may not remember,
but we met very briefly back in 1937.’

A smooth voice which I was amazed to realise was my own
replied: The Bishop remembers very well.’ And I somehow man
aged to clasp her rock-steady, outstretched hand.

FIVE

‘
God works everything into his further purposes, for his work never ceases; and he always goes on from the actual situation
into which things have come. Everything gets worked into
God’s further purposes. So God brings good out of much
evil; much good that we cannot recognise, but a considerable
range that we can.’

AUSTIN FARRER

Warden of Keble College, Oxford, 1960-1968

A
Science
of God?

I could hardly have been more shocked and stupefied if Lady
Markhampton had hit me over the head with a croquet mallet. Memories from 1937 streamed through my mind like a mighty
cataract. Feeling as if my feet had been cemented to the handsome Persian carpet I tried frantically to think what I could say next, but
before I could reach any conclusion I became aware that contrary to
my worst fears, no one was apparently wondering why the bishop
was now
as
immobile as a block of wood. Aysgarth was saying:
‘Tio Pepe, old chap?’ and thrusting a glass into my hands. Dido, armed with a large platter of hors d’oeuvres, was announcing to
her guests: ‘My dears, I know these look perfectly ghastly but they
taste simply wonderful.’ And Lady Markhampton was exclaiming
astonished to Lorerta: ‘But you never told me you’d met the
Bishop!’

‘
Met the Bishop?’ said Dido, fastening instantly on this fascinat
ing item of information with the skill of the gifted gossip.

‘
Met the Bishop?’ echoed Aysgarth, pausing in his peregrinations
with the sherry decanter.

‘
Loretta says she met the Bishop in 1937!’ said Lady Mark
hampton, equally enthralled.

‘
It was so long ago that I’m surprised Dr Ashworth remembers,’
said Loretta, and added, referring to my late benefactress Lady
Starmouth: ‘I was staying with Evelyn at the time.’

‘
When I first met Lady Starmouth in 1937,’ I said, contriving
to sound
as
if I were indulging in an innocuous reminiscence, ‘she
invited me to call on her, and I met Professor Staviski on a visit
to Starmouth Court.’

‘
There was some sort of lunch, I
seem
to recall,’ said Loretta,
‘and a little walk afterwards. I know I found it all very entertaining.’

‘
Wait a minute,’ said Dido as I wished I could be instantly transported to Timbuktoo. ‘I’m all at sea. How did you know
Lady Starmouth, Loretta?’

‘
Her mother and my mother were s: school together in America.
When I came over to England following the break-up of my mar
riage, Evelyn looked after me — which was a brave thing to do in
those days when divorced women were considered beyond the
pale — and eventually she introduced me to Enid —’ She indicated
Lady Markhampton — and to her other great friend, Sybil Welbeck.’

‘
Sybil, Evelyn and I were all united by our devotion to dearest
Bishop Jardine,’ explained Lady Markhampton to Dido, and added
as an afterthought: ‘You liked him too, didn’t you, Loretta?’

‘Adored him,’ said Loretta, fitting a cigarette into a very long
black holder.

‘
Alex Jardine and his "Lovely Ladies"!’ drawled Aysgarth’s son Christian, joining our group. ‘Maybe we should all pause now to mourn the passing of the 1930s when bishops lived in palaces,
swilled claret by the case and romped through the drawing-rooms
of Mayfair whenever they weren’t hamming it up in the House of
Lords!’

‘
My dear Christian!’ said Lady Markhampton indulgently. ‘Dr Jardine certainly knew how to enjoy the wealth and position he
had attained through his great gifts as a clergyman, but I assure
you he was always the soul of propriety.’

‘
As morally beyond reproach
as
our present bishop!’ said
Aysgarth gallantly, slaving away at the task of being a
genial
host.

‘
I can’t say I remember Bishop Jardine ever campaigning against
fornication as our present bishop does,’ said Dido, choosing the
worst possible moment to flaunt her famous candour, ‘but then
Charles campaigns with such exceptional vigour. No wonder
you’re known as Anti-Sex Ashworth, my dear,’ she added to com
plete my devastation. ‘You’ve really only yourself to blame.’

‘
Anti-Sex Ashworth?’ murmured Loretta in the mildest ofvoices
as she finally raised the cigarette-holder to her lips. ‘Well, well.’

As Christian and his father both sprang forward to give her a
light, I drank my entire glass of Tio Pepe straight off.

‘
Dear Charles,’ said Dido, ‘you’re looking a little pale — I do
hope all this isn’t too much for you, so brave of you to come, but don’t be afraid I won’t look after you — I know where my duty as a hostess lies, and although I have my faults no one can say I’m
not attentive to my guests. Come over and talk to Elizabeth — I know you find her enchanting, so sad you and Lyle never had a
daughter — oh, Perry —’ She thrust my empty glass at Christian’s
friend from the Foreign Office -- fetch the Bishop another Tio
Pepe, would you — come along, Charles my dear, just relax and
let me look after you.’

This sinister command reduced me to a renewed state of helpless
ness. Utterly silent, too stunned to attempt even the smallest ges
ture of rebellion, I allowed myself to be led back to her daughter
Elizabeth.