IV
‘Venetia,’ said Eddie that evening as we waited for the others to join us in the drawing-room for cocktails.
‘Uh-huh?’ I was flicking through the pages of one of the bound volumes of
Punch,
thoughtfully provided by the Earl of Starmouth to ward off any television withdrawal symptoms among his guests.
‘Instead of going for a walk with Primrose tomorrow morning, would you come for a walk with me?’
I somehow restrained myself from exclaiming: ‘Good God!’ Turning another page of Punch I enquired: ‘Down to the village to pick up
The Times?
’
No, later. Are you playing for time while you think of an excuse to refuse?’
‘Oh Eddie, don’t look so mournful!’
‘How am I supposed to look when you respond to my invitation with such a lack of enthusiasm?’
I felt caddish. Poor old Eddie! Why should I make him miserable when I myself was in such ecstasy? I resolved to be benign. ‘Okay,’ I said, closing the volume. ‘Let’s go for a walk tomorrow morning. But how do you suggest I get rid of Primrose? She’ll want to come too.’
‘I’d thought of that. I’ll ask Stephen to suggest she keeps him company. She’ll never refuse a request from her father.’
This plan struck me as both simple and efficient. I thought: trust a German to plot like a machine! And in alarm I wondered if I had given the machine an oiling I would later regret. However a second later I had dismissed this suspicion as ridiculous. Eddie was hardly going to do more than talk about his osteopath, and besides ... one could always rely on a clergyman to bust a gut to preserve the proprieties.
V
At eleven o’clock the next morning we set off along the path which wound around the hillside at the back of the house and led into a long empty valley. The sun was shining. Huge clouds scudded across a pale sky. Stretching into the distance ahead of us the moors suggested both loneliness and freedom.
‘It’s a pity Wordsworth never had a go at this landscape,’ I remarked after we had been walking for some minutes in a silence which had become increasingly oppressive. ‘Plenty of scope for nature-mysticism.’
‘Gerard Manley Hopkins would have come closer to catching the atmosphere, I think. He’d have been starker and grittier.’
‘Don’t you find Hopkins a bit difficult? Since English isn’t your native tongue –’
‘Like Stephen I enjoy a challenge.’
Delighted to have the opportunity to talk about Aysgarth I said: ‘I suppose a self-made man like the Dean has to face continual challenges.’
‘It was certainly a challenge for him to make his way in the world after his father died bankrupt. He was lucky to have that uncle who egged him on.’
‘What uncle?’
‘Oh, has he never mentioned him to you? But no, he wouldn’t have bothered – Stephen never seems to talk about his extreme past nowadays ... Well, he had this uncle who used to egg him on by urging: "You’ve got to go chasing the prizes!" and the result was –’
‘He married Dido. What a booby-prize!’
‘Dido has immense wit and charm,’ said Eddie reproachfully. ‘Oh God, I’m talking to a Dido fan! I’m sorry, I quite forgot – temporary aberration –’
‘She’s always been very kind to me. Of course she has her problems –’
‘Well done, Eddie, a superb example of a British understatement!’
‘– but she’s in a tough situation, isn’t she? Thanks to Primrose she never has much chance to be on her own with her husband and children.’
‘I agree the Primrose situation is impossible,’ I conceded with reluctance. ‘Prim really ought to move right away from the Deanery – it’s no good camping on the doorstep in that flatlet, it’s much too close and she and Dido still wind up screaming at each other most of the time.’
‘The person I feel sorry for is Stephen, caught in the middle, but sometimes I feel he exacerbates the problem by never taking a firm line.’
‘Maybe taking the line of least resistance is the only way he can survive being married to Dido.’
‘I hardly think the marriage is that bad! He married her because she amused him – and I think she still does. He likes that smart life she provides, all the dinner-parties and the socialising – and why shouldn’t he? After that poverty-stricken early life, isn’t it only natural that he should now favour a little luxury and glamour?’
‘Eddie, are you seriously trying to tell me they’re well suited?’
‘An attraction of opposites is by no means always a recipe for disaster. I think their personalities complement each other, hers so volatile, his so calm –’
‘It’s curious how we’re all different people to different people,’ I interrupted, finally losing the patience to keep listening to this earnest opinion which struck me
as
being almost bizarrely wide of the mark. ‘Dido’s obviously one person to you, another to me and Primrose and yet a third to the Dean.’
‘Stephen would say the apparent diversity is an illusion. "It’s all a unity!" he would say. "It’s all one!" One of Stephen’s most marked theological traits is that he believes in unity, not duality, and that’s why he gets so irritated with neo-orthodox men like the Bishop who employ the principles of dialectic to –’
‘Oh God, Eddie, we’re not going to discuss theology, are we?’
‘I thought you liked it! I can remember you listening enrapt to Stephen when he talked about
Soundings!
’
‘
Well, I’m one person for the Dean,’ I said, ‘and I’m quite another for you. Let’s go back to Gerard Manley Hopkins.’
Eddie immediately began to discuss Hopkins’ miserable life as a Roman Catholic priest.
We trudged drearily on across the moor.
VI
‘Primrose mentioned that you were thinking of looking for a flat in Oxford,’ said Eddie as finally, to my profound relief, we returned within sight of the lodge. By that time I was so exhausted by our literary discussion that I feared I might fall into a coma at any moment. ‘When will you be leaving Starbridge?’
‘I’m not leaving. I’ve changed my mind.’
Eddie halted. I wandered on but eventually paused to wait for him. Beyond the house the dark, restless sea was swirling over the arc of sand.
‘You’re going to stay on in Starbridge?’ He sounded stupefied. ‘Yes, I’ll start looking for a job when I get back. Any objections?’
‘No. No, of course not. No, I was just so surprised – I thought Starbridge would be much too provincial for a sophisticated girl like you.’
‘I feel I need a complete change.’
‘I see ... But that’s tremendous! I’m so happy, I –’ He somehow pulled himself together sufficiently to add in a casual voice: ‘Perhaps we could go to the theatre together sometime.’
‘Oh, is that old dump still operating?’
‘It’s no dump nowadays, I assure you! Last autumn there was an Ibsen season – and after Christmas they did an exceptionally good production of
Lady Windermere
’
s Fan –
and this summer they’ll be trying out a revival of one of the Noël Coward plays before it opens in London. I forget the title, but Martin Darrow will be playing the lead.’
‘In that case you can accompany me as I stampede through the streets to the theatre. I’m getting rather keen on the Darrow family.’
I had made Eddie’s day, his week, his month and possibly his entire year, but as we moved on once more along the path I began to regret my decision to be kind to him.
The road to hell, as we all know, is paved with good intentions.
VII
It seemed a great irony that now I at last had a man panting for my attention I could hardly have cared less, but I supposed I could at least regard this conquest as gratifying to my ego. Having reflected that my triumph would have been far more gratifying if Eddie had not been physically repulsive and mentally exhausting, I was inclined to conclude that I could have done without such a perverse development in my private life, but then I wondered if Eddie might have his uses as a smokescreen. The thought of him playing Romeo certainly diverted Primrose.
‘Did he jump on you?’
‘Don’t be absurd! There’s no doubt he’s a trifle smitten, but I’m sure he prefers to worship from afar.’
‘He might get bolder now he’s broken the ice!’
‘Not Eddie! No true masochist could pass up such a splendid chance to languish in frustration,’ I declared, and putting all thought of Eddie aside I began to make plans for my future.
I had already decided to look for a flat which was as near the Close as possible, but I knew it might take time to find the right place and meanwhile my need to escape from Primrose was urgent. I was terrified that she might soon see past the smokescreen created by Eddie and sense I had been invading her territory.
I debated whether to beat a temporary retreat to Flaxton Pauncefoot, but that was miles away and besides, I had no wish for my parents to assume my will to be independent was wavering. To visit home, pick up my car and sort out my clothes was acceptable, but to roost at Flaxton Hall for days would create an impression of pusillanimity. Plainly I had to stay somewhere in Starbridge while I hunted for a flat, but where could I go? Primrose would be baffled and suspicious if I decamped abruptly to a hotel. I did know several of the inhabitants of the other houses in the Close, but I could think of no one — apart from Mrs Ashworth — whom I could ask to put me up for more than a couple of nights, and the South Canonry, like Primrose’s flat, was highly unsuitable for me in my present state; I could hardly live in close proximity to the Bishop while I was harbouring torrid thoughts about the Dean.
I was still wrestling with this apparently insoluble problem when Aysgarth, reading his daily letter from his wife, paused to observe to Primrose: Dido may be in Leicestershire, but she’s still tuned in to the Cathedral Close grapevine. Apparently Marina Markhampton’s in Starbridge. She’s looking after the Chantry while her grandparents are visiting the south of France.’
Marina Markhampton was the youngest child of a wealthy gentleman of leisure who had married an equally wealthy wife and divided his time between Newmarket, where he kept racehorses, Monte Carlo, where he gambled away the money the horses won, and Camlott Edge in Dorset where the Markhamptons had their ancestral home; in the hope of avoiding death duties his father, Sir William, had already ceded him the family estate.
Long ago in the 1930s Sir William’s wife Enid had been a devoted fan of that legendary bishop of Starbridge, the port-swilling Dr Alex Jardine, and she had never forgotten her amusing visits to the episcopal palace in those golden days before the war. Accordingly when her husband ceded the family estate to his son, Lady Markhampton had succumbed to a bout of nostalgia and demanded to spend her declining years in the Cathedral Close. The Chantry, a little six-bedroomed gem on Choristers’ Green, happened to be vacant, and after a new lease had been extracted from the Dean and Chapter, Sir William and Lady Markhampton had lived there in bliss until one sad day in the 1950s when a burst pipe had ruined the priceless carpets. The Markhamptons had been in Cannes at the time and the naughty housekeeper had gone AWOL to some seaside resort in the north. As a result of this grisly experience, which had destroyed not only her carpets but her faith in housekeepers, Lady Markhampton had recruited her unmarried sister to house-sit when necessary, but the sister had recently died and now it appeared that Marina had accepted the invitation to replace her.
This was odd; Marina was not the sort of girl one pictured house-sitting in a provincial city. She was younger than I was, no more than twenty-one, and in addition to being beautiful and popular she had jet-setting tendencies. In the past I had occasionally encountered her at ghastly parties where I had been a wallflower and she had been pursued incessantly by panting young men. My brother Oliver said that the great debate about Marina Markhampton centred on whether she was
virgo intacta.
Apparently no debate was needed to establish the fact that she was the biggest cock-tease in town.
Having long since decided that Marina was someone who could never interest me, I now found myself revising my judgement. The Chantry would be wonderfully convenient. Choristers’ Green, a square of lawn where the choristers had played before the Choir School had moved to the palace, lay at the north end of Canonry Drive, not far from the spot where the Deanery faced the west front of the Cathedral. Could I possibly cultivate this repulsive society stunner and wangle a bed while I looked for a flat? Before my days of ecstasy I would have dismissed the question as outrageous, but now, wafting along on my tidal wave of euphoria, I merely thought: hell, what have I got to lose?
I began to plot my cultivation of Marina Markhampton.
VIII
On the last day of our holiday Primrose was felled by a malevolent attack of menstruation and decided to spend the morning in bed. I was delighted; her absence meant that at long last I had the opportunity to talk to Aysgarth on his own. Keen to make amends to her father for her kill-joy behaviour over Elvis she had insisted on joining us for our next record-session — with the result that I had soon replaced all the records in the hall cupboard. I could hardly go wild with the Dean while Primrose was supervising us like a schoolmistress. Aysgarth, I suspected, understood my feelings perfectly but said nothing for fear of upsetting his daughter. She really was the most colossal bore.
On that final morning at the lodge I waited until Eddie had trekked off to retrieve
The Times
and then headed for the drawing-room where Aysgarth was contemplating the sea. ‘Do you want to be alone, Mr Dean?’ I said tactfully. ‘Or can I sit with you and think beautiful thoughts?’
‘What a good example you’d set me — yes, sit down at once! I was just plotting how I could murder Canon Fitzgerald and frame the Bishop for the crime.’
‘Are they driving you round the bend?’
‘It’s a wonder that I haven’t grabbed a crozier from the sacristy and committed mayhem long since! What with the Cathedral staff and the Chapter and the Greater Chapter all brawling away —’
The Chapter consisted of the three Residentiary Canons, Fitzgerald, Dalton and Eddie, who all lived in the Close and helped the Dean run the Cathedral. The Greater Chapter consisted of the Prebendaries, or Honorary Canons, who were sprinkled through the diocese, many, though not all, with their own parishes to run. The title of prebendary was bestowed on the clergymen who had given exceptional service to the diocese.
‘— and then that Archdeacon’s always buzzing around like a wasp —’
The Archdeacon was the Bishop’s henchman. The diocese was divided into two archdeaconries, and the Archdeacon of Starbridge, though not directly concerned with the running of the Cathedral, kept an eye on it from the diocesan office on Eternity Street.
‘— and all the time the Bishop’s breathing fire about the coach-park —’
‘What coach-park?’
‘I want to allocate that broad strip on the edge of Palace Lane to coaches. We really must cater for all these modern pilgrims, but of course Charles takes the snobbish line and says all vulgar charabancs must be left beyond the walls of the Close.’
‘How unchristian!’
‘Yes, isn’t it? One day, I swear, I’ll lose my temper and remind him that Jesus didn’t go to public school — and talking of education, I’ve succeeded in locking horns with the Archdeacon over the Theological College.’
‘How on earth did you get drawn into that?’
‘The Principal is a prebendary of the Cathedral and he’s been asking my advice about the college finances, but every time I try to teach the bursar how to add two and two, someone tips off the Archdeacon who immediately accuses me of interference —’
‘I’d murder the whole lot of them, if I were you, Mr Dean. Why confine yourself to Canon Fitzgerald?’
‘Why indeed?’ said Aysgarth laughing, and then exclaimed impulsively: ‘How far away all that bickering seems, how unimportant! This holiday’s done me so much good. I only wish I could stay here longer.’
‘So do I. It’s hard to believe that tomorrow —’
‘— I’ll be back fighting the Bishop over the coach-park. But whatever happens I mustn’t give way to the temptation to have a row with Charles over
Honest to God.
That really would be the last straw.’
‘I’m getting so interested in
Honest to God!
’
I said. ‘Could you possibly explain it to me sometime?’
He reached out and playfully patted my hand. So close did I come to swooning as the result of this wholly asexual gesture of affection that I only dimly heard him say: ‘Eddie could probably explain the theological background better than I can. The three theologians Robinson extols are all German.’
I was still trying to utter the words: ‘Forget Eddie!’ when Primrose staggered downstairs to spoil our fun. I might have known she would stuff herself with aspirin and stage a spectacular recovery.
It occurred to me for the first time that it was going to bevery difficult to see Aysgarth on his own after our return to Starbridge. A possessive daughter, a clinging wife, a time-consuming Cathedral, a waspish Archdeacon, a truculent Bishop and hordes of modern pilgrims were hardly going to leave much time for delicious little meetings
à deux
.
A faint shadow began to fall across my euphoria.