Absolute Truths (39 page)

I
succeeded in restricting myself to one glass of port after the ladies
had withdrawn, but this feat was easily accomplished since Dido
was opposed to the gentlemen segregating themselves for longer
than ten minutes. This
is
the 1960s, not the 1930s!’ she reminded
us as she led the ladies from the room, and after the door had closed
Aysgarth said to me: ‘Dido’s unwittingly given me her support —
think how things have changed in Starbridge since the 1930s,
Charles! Doesn’t that bear out my view of history?’

‘
Christ is still being worshipped in Starbridge Cathedral. Doesn’t
that bear out mine?’

‘
Talking of the 1930s,’ said Christian as the port began to circu
late, ‘what do you think your predecessor Alex Jardine would have
made of this present decade, Bishop?’

‘
I’ve no idea. But I’d have been interested to hear his views on
the permissive society.’

‘
I liked Jardine!’ declared Lord Flaxton with enthusiasm. ‘A great
man!’

T
he best bishop on the bench!’ agreed Aysgarth, and when he
looked to me for a comment I said: ‘He was certainly the most
o
riginal.’

‘
Of course your wife knew him well, didn’t she, Bishop?’ said
Lord Flaxton, unburdened by any middle-class reticence on the
subject of death and referring to Lyle with an ease which I found
refreshing. ‘She was almost like a daughter, I believe, to Jardine
and his wife.’

‘
Almost.’

Sir Miles Calthrop-Ponsonby suddenly roused himself from
a morose meditation to demand: ‘Who’s that ‘strordinary woman
in pink trousers?’ and the conversation turned to Loretta’s
attire.

‘
Venetia likes to wear trousers,’ said Lord Flaxton, remembering
his daughter. ‘I disapprove but I have to admit they suit her.’

‘
How is Venetia?’ I said, reminded painfully of Lyle’s journal.

‘
Oh, rattling around. Haven’t seen much of her lately.’

Aysgarth, who had been listening in silence while fidgeting with
his glass, now turned the conversation abruptly away from Venetia
by remarking: ‘Funny to think Loretta knew Alex. He never men
tioned her.’

‘
Damned handsome woman,’ said Sir Miles, ‘even in pink
trousers.’

This seemed to be a fair summing-up of the general consensus
of opinion.

After the allotted ten minutes had expired Aysgarth led us back
to the drawing-room where Loretta
was
examining the contents
of a tall bookcase.

‘
Are you staying in Starbridge long?’ I said idly, joining her after
refusing Dido’s offer of coffee.

No, I’m at the end of my visit and leave tomorrow.’

‘
Heading for the airport?’

‘
Not just yet. My next stop is Brown’s Hotel in London.’ She
opened the door of the bookcase and pulled out a battered volume
for a closer inspection. ‘I want to see some plays before I go
home.’

Moving nearer I saw that the book in her hands was one of the
novels of E. F. Benson. ‘I’m sure you know that Benson’s father
was Archbishop of Canterbury,’ I said, ‘but did you know Benson’s
mother had an affair with the daughter of Archbishop Tait and
that the Benson children were all homosexual and/or mad?’

‘
Proving that truth was far stranger than Trollope’s fiction? Or
that the office of Archbishop of Canterbury is death to a normal
family life?’

We laughed, but this light, brittle conversation, which kept my
mind well away from any thoughts about Loretta’s approaching
sojourn at Brown’s Hotel, was at that point interrupted by our
hostess. ‘Charles my dear, don’t think for one moment that I’ve
forgotten you —’

I resigned myself to a further round of social mauling.

‘
It was a delightful surprise to meet you again!’ I said to Loretta
in
front of our host and hostess
as
I eventually embarked on my .
farewells. ‘Good luck with the book on Rochester!’

‘
Good luck with the book on Hippolytus and
Ca
llistus!’ she said
smiling at me, and held out her hand.

Our fingers clasped briefly but we said no more, and having stepped past her to say goodbye to Lady Markhampton I took
care to leave the room without looking back.

It was raining as I walked back to the South Canonry, but I barely
noticed because I was so absorbed with thoughts about Loretta.
I was still digesting the astonishing information that I had been
responsible for bringing her to Christianity at a time when I had
been a deeply confused priest, spiritually adrift, who had behaved
towards a woman in a manner which I still could not recall without
shame. I knew, of course, that I wanted to meet her again and
hear more about this most unlikely conversion, but I knew too
that a further meeting would be most unwise. Even though there
was no danger that I would do anything unforgivably stupid —
how could there be, since I wanted no one but Lyle? — a rendezvous
with an attractive woman would only emphasise all I had so
recently lost and ensure that I became even more disturbed than
I was already.

Hurrying the last few yards through the rain I fitted my key in
the lock and opened the front door.

Charley sped from the drawing-room to minister to me. ‘How
did it go?’

‘
Aysgarth was at his best and Dido was at her despotic worst.’

‘
Poor old Dad! Shall I make you some tea?’

Anxious to give him something to do I consented to this sugges
tion and wandered into my study to select a book for my bedtime reading. Thanks to my long afternoon rest I was still feeling alert,
and I thought a quick skim through one of my old favourites
would stop me replaying again and again in my mind my meetings
with Loretta in 1937.

I was just turning away from the bookcase with AUSTIN FARRER’s
Said or Sung in my
hands, when I saw that my letter to Michael
was missing from the out-tray.

For one long moment
I
was motionless, paralysed with disbelief.
Then setting aside the book I strode to the door and shouted:
‘Charley!’ in a voice loud enough to travel from the hall to the attic.

He pattered rapidly out of the kitchen. ‘Yes?’

‘Come in here, please.’

He followed me into my study and we faced each other across
my desk. ‘There was a letter in the out-tray,’ I said. ‘What have
you done with it?’

‘
Me?’ said Charley. ‘Nothing! Obviously Miss Peabody must
have cleared the tray – she left late tonight.’

‘
Miss Peabody never clears this tray. If I have any letters to add
to the official post I take them to her myself, but this particular
letter I intended to take to the main post
office
tomorrow morning in order to send it to London by the express rate. Now stop lying
and tell me the truth. What have you done with it?’

Charley was by this
time
very pale. Fumbling in the inside pocket
of his jacket he produced the letter and handed it over without a
word. Immediately I turned over the envelope to examine the flap.

‘
I didn’t open it,’ said Charley in a rush. ‘I admit I took it with
the idea of steaming it open, but then I found I couldn’t – I mean,
I realised clergymen just can’t go around doing that kind of thing.
So I put the letter back in the tray – but then I saw I couldn’t do
that either because you’d be expecting the tray to be cleared by
Miss Peabody (or so I thought) and by that time Miss Peabody
had left. I took it before she left, you see, although I didn’t boil
the kettle to steam open the envelope until –’

I held up my hand. He stopped. Carefully I replaced the letter
in the out-tray. Then I said: ‘Sit down, Charley.’

We both sat down. After allowing a pause for us to compose
ourselves I said: ‘Please explain to me why you felt driven to behave
like this.’

‘
I suppose I finally went mad. I’ve felt increasingly desperate
ever since Mum died – I couldn’t tell what you were thinking, and
I thought the letter might give me some kind of clue.’

When I was sure I could speak in a neutral voice I said: ‘I was
worried because I’ve been unable to speak to Michael on the phone.
The letter is an attempt to make contact. I’m sorry you’ve been
finding me so withdrawn.’

‘
Well, of course ifs the bereavement, isn’t it, and I know I have
to make allowances for you ... But when you seemed so com
pletely unfathomable I kept remembering that Mum was the main
reason – the only reason – why you adopted me, and I suddenly
saw that her death might trigger some sort of crisis in your attitude
towards me, I suddenly saw that you might start to feel quite
differently, I suddenly saw –’

‘
You suddenly saw an astonishing amount of nonsense! Charley,
you can’t seriously think I intend to behave like a paterfamilias in
a Victorian melodrama and tell you never to darken my door
again!’

‘
Okay, I know it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that,
but I’ve been feeling so worried and baffled and nervous –’

‘
But you know perfectly well how proud I am of you and how
much you mean to me and how pleased I am that you’ve gone
into the Church!’

‘I’m worried about all that too.’

My scalp prickled with fright. I leant forward to sit on the edge
of my chair. ‘What do you mean?’

‘
I don’t think I’m really your kind of clergyman. I just can’t connect with all that Catholic spirituality which you find so
attractive.’

‘
But you told me the other day at Fortnum’s that you wanted
to be a monk!’

‘
I know, but I didn’t mean it. I was only taking that line to try
to get across to you how worried I am about girls.’

‘My dear Charley –’

‘
I know you’ll be expecting me to marry as soon as I’ve got my
own parish, but I’m just so frightened of letting you down and
picking the wrong woman and winding up like –’

‘
For heaven’s sake! How many more times do I have to tell you
that since I’ve brought you up and you’ve modelled yourself on
me you’re going to be fine?’

Charley whispered: ‘I’m sorry,’ and looked wretched.

Immediately I knew I had said the wrong thing but I knew too
that I had no idea what else I could have said. In despair, groping
for understanding but receiving no enlightenment, I covered my
face with my hands.

‘
Oh Dad, please don’t get so upset,
please –’

‘
I’m not upset,’ I said, letting my hands fall. ‘I’m fine.’ But I
scarcely knew what I was saying. I had at last realised I was being
reminded of a section of Lyle’s journal which I had been wholly
unable to accept. The truth is that Charley only gets upset because
he sees Charles gets upset ...’ I could see Lyle’s handwriting
clearly in my mind’s eye, but even as I saw it I was struggling to
blot those words from my memory. ‘You’re the one who’s upset,’
I said, ‘not me. The truth – the absolute truth –
is
that as far as
I’m concerned you’re my son, no one else’s, and Lyle’s death makes
no difference to my feelings for you. So put all those distorted
fantasies out of your mind, please, and stop worrying about them.’

There was another pause. Then Charley thanked me, said he felt
much better and asked if I still wanted tea; he was so sorry to have
troubled me and would quite understand if I now preferred to go
straight to bed.

Seconds later I was once more escaping upstairs to my room.