XV
‘Dear Venetia,’ wrote Eddie, ‘I’m scrawling this at the weekly staff meeting where the possibility of killing off all the tiresome tourists is being discussed. Apparently we only have to let the west front disintegrate a little more and then all the statues will fall out of their niches with very effective results. Look, it was marvellous seeing you yesterday. Any chance of dinner at the Quill Pen this week? They have quite a dashing little Piesporter Goldtröpchen on the wine-list. Yours gratefully (for listening so sympathetically yesterday) EDDIE. PS. Stephen appears to be writing a three-volume novel. He shouldn’t do it, people notice. Quick notes only!’
XVI
‘Are you all right, Venetia?’ said the Bishop suddenly after he had dictated his last sentence of the afternoon. ‘You seem a little
distraite.
’
‘
Well, as a matter of fact I’m rather worried about a friend of mine who seems to be drifting deeper and deeper into a catastrophic mess. Sony if I wasn’t quite with it today.’
‘Come and have some tea. My wife should be around somewhere —’
‘How nice of you, Bishop, but I really have to dash back. So if you’ll excuse me ..
I fled.
XVII
I was just pouring myself a stiff brandy and wondering what the legal definition of embezzlement was, when my brother Oliver telephoned about my mother’s seventieth birthday.
‘... and Sylvia’s found a silver rose-bowl at Garrard’s. The only difficulty is that everyone turns out to be absolutely broke and we were wondering, old girl, since you happen to be the only member of the family who has no worries or anxieties of any kind —’
‘Look, pal,’ I said, ‘if everyone can’t come up with their share you can count me out.’
‘I say, Venetia, is anything the matter? You sound a bit —’
‘Oh, run off and play at being an MP!’ I hung up, then left the receiver off the hook.
The dim room darkened as night began to fall.
XVIII
‘My darling, I thought we might go back to that nice little hollow at Castle Brigga —’
‘I’m dreadfully sorry, Neville, but I’ve got to cancel — I’m feeling like death.’
He was painfully concerned. We had met in the car-park of the Crusader Hotel and I had just collapsed on the Humber’s front seat.
‘But how awful to think you had to drag yourself over here when you were unwell! Why didn’t you phone the Deanery?’
‘I did. Dido answered.’
‘Damn. Darling, I’m so sorry ... Are you registered with a doctor?’
‘Don’t need one. It’s just a touch of food-poisoning.’ It was a hang-over. I had drunk myself into a stupor the night before because I was so worried about him.
‘If only I could look after you, make you tea —’
‘
‘No, don’t worry, I just want to snooze.’
He drove me to the door of my flat and parted from me in an agony of anxiety. His last feverish words were: ‘I’ll write!’ Closing the front door I groped my way upstairs to bed and prayed he would somehow be saved from ruin.
FOUR
..
there is a great deal of loose thinking in
Honest to God.
’
JOHN LAWRENCE
The Honest to God Debate
ed. DAVID L. EDWARDS
‘A false spirituality of this kind has always haunted the thinking of clever men ...’
GLYN SIMON
The Honest to God Debate
e
d. DAVID L. EDWARDS
I
‘Any news of Dinkie?’ enquired Mrs Ashworth over coffee at the South Canonry the next morning.
‘Yes, but it’s suddenly become so ghastly that I’m not sure I can talk about it.’
‘She’s not suicidal, is she?’
‘No, but it turns out her married man’s on the brink of catastrophe, and she’s so paralysed with horror that she can’t work out what she should do next.’
‘She should leave him.’
‘Then he’ll keel over into the abyss, she says.’
‘On the contrary, the shock would probably prompt him to pull himself together.’
‘That could be true, certainly. But in my view the most potent argument in favour of her leaving him is that Dinkie herself is a great danger to this man, possibly the greatest danger of all. If their affair’s exposed he could wind up as ruined as Profumo.’
The person who’s in the greatest danger of all,’ said Mrs Ashworth, ‘is Dinkie. Tell her he’s got a good chance of survival if she leaves him, but neither of them will survive if she stays.’
‘Yes, I think I could coax Dinkie to believe that, but the trouble — the nightmare — the really spine-chilling truth is that he’s now so heavily involved that I don’t think he could bear to let her go. He’d never accept that the affair was over unless —’ I stopped. Then I said: ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Ashworth, I know I sound quite abnormally worried, but I really am very fond of Dinkie and one does get so fraught when one’s friends are in a fix.’
‘Of course,’ said Mrs Ashworth. ‘That’s what friendship’s all about, isn’t it? I understand.’
Changing the subject abruptly I asked her for news of Charley.
II
‘My darling, it was AGONY only being able to see you for such a short time this afternoon, I feel utterly stunned — and also, of course, demented to think of you suffering all alone in your flat with no one to look after you. I only wish I could send flowers and grapes by the ton, but. I can only send you this letter — which comes as always with my very best love. I do hope you’re now feeling better. I’d ring you but I do prefer to avoid the telephone, such a dangerous instrument, particularly since D’s new hobby seems to be listening in on the extension.
‘Can we meet on Friday afternoon instead? I’ve got an appointment but I can cancel it. It’s only with the surveyors. Let the whole west front fall down! I just want to be with you in our dear little hollow. If you can make it but aren’t well enough to reply to this letter by return, ring me at 7.00 a.m. on Friday. (D will never rouse herself at that hour, not even to listen in.) If I don’t hear from you I’ll know it’s no good, but my darling,
please
drop everything, even the Bishop, because if I don’t see you I’ll go mad and drink a bottle of brandy and pass out before I can get to evensong. I feel absolutely DESPERATE. Deepest love, N.’
III
‘I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you,’ said Eddie as we drank Piesporter Goldtröpchen and toyed with grilled trout at the Quill Pen on Thursday night. ‘You’re fast becoming a life-line! We’ve got a big crisis blowing up over the west front. Three years ago it could have been repaired with minimal expense, but Stephen shrugged off the warning reports by saying that surveyors were always over-pessimistic about old buildings. Now, of course, the repairs will cost a fortune and what’s worse is that Stephen’s being vague about money.’
‘Vague about money?’
‘The accounts are in a mess. Poor old Bob Carey, our accountant, is practically gibbering with terror, but Stephen just says don’t worry, he’ll sort everything out.’
‘But how on earth —’
‘The whole trouble began three years ago when Stephen began to raise money for the Chagall window and opened a special account at the bank. It was all quite above board, but later he kept on the account while he continued his fund-raising for more works of art, and the net result was that this gave him a fatal leeway to take financial risks — he was able to write cheques without obtaining a counter-signature.’
‘Don’t tell me he —’
‘He seems to have got careless and spent money before he’d actually raised it — Tommy’s convinced Stephen lied to us about the cost of that sculpture. Anyway, what happened was that a few months ago Stephen borrowed some money for the Dean’s Fund from the main Cathedral account. You may ask why Bob Carey didn’t put his foot down, but he’s such a nice old boy that I don’t suppose he suspected anything was wrong — or perhaps he just didn’t have the nerve to stand up to the Dean and say no. However, shortly after that the Cathedral dipped into the red when we had a problem with drainage under St Anselm’s chapel. Bob asked for the repayment of the loan but Stephen put him off so the Cathedral’s still in the red — although there’s nothing particularly unusual about that, I hasten to add, because the Cathedral’s often dipping into the red and out again as we struggle to keep up with the expenses. What’s unusual about this particular sojourn in debt is that Stephen’s directly to blame for it because he can’t repay that loan.’
‘But what on earth’s he going to do?’
‘Oh, he’ll raise the money eventually by giving concerts, no doubt about that, but meanwhile we’re in the soup because we need money immediately to shore up the west front. I suppose we’ll have to mortgage one of our city properties, although that’s not going to look good, and if the Bishop hears —’
‘Oh, my God —’
‘No, it’s all right, he wouldn’t make a visitation just because we’d been driven to mortgage property, but of course we all want to keep the accounts mess from him. My really big nightmare is that Harriet March will sue us for breach of contract if — when — we reject that sculpture. Heaven only knows what the legal position is —’
‘But surely with her reputation she’ll be able to sell the piece elsewhere!’
‘I think she ought to bury it. And talking of burials we’re knee-deep in another absolutely scandalous situation ...’ He told me about the Bone-Pelham fiasco. I gave up attempting to eat my trout and concentrated on trying not to drink my Piesporter Goldtröpchen as if it were lemonade.
‘ .. and we simply can’t start burying people again in the cloisters! The lawn’s full up, chock-a-block with corpses going all the way back to the pre-Reformation canons —’
‘But listen, Eddie, what do you think the real story is about this three thousand pounds that you say Sir George is reported to have paid to Dean Carter?’
‘Tommy and Paul, who knew Carter very well, are quite sure he’d never have taken a bribe and I find it hard to believe too, but no matter what happened, the fact remains that Stephen’s mishandled this business. He should never have got drawn into investigating the three thousand; it’s essentially a red herring. He should have taken a very firm line with Lady Bone-Pelham right from the start and said sorry, I don’t know what Dr Carter arranged but it’s impossible for us under public health regulations to bury anyone in the cloisters in 1963. Heaven only knows what the public health regulations are, of course, but that’s a minor detail ... I say, Venetia, is anything wrong with that trout?’
‘No, it was divine but I’m just not particularly hungry. Marvellous wine, Eddie!’
‘Very soothing, isn’t it, and God knows I need soothing. The really important thing, as I see it, is to prevent word of this mess reaching the Bishop. If Lady Bone-Pelham blows her top —’
‘She won’t. Aysgarth will charm her somehow.’
‘I think he’s running out of charm. I think he’s running out of luck. I think he’s running out of everything —’
‘Always the little ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Eddie? I say, do you think I could possibly have a drop of Rémy Martin instead of pudding?’
IV
At seven o’clock on Friday morning I telephoned the Deanery. Aysgarth grabbed the receiver halfway through the first ring. ‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘I can come.’
‘My darling, it’s no good. I’m apoplectic with rage. Charles has summoned me to the South Canonry at three.’
Oh, my God —’
‘No, it’s all right! It’ll only be about the Bone-Pelham fiasco — Lady Bone-Pelham finally couldn’t resist screeching to him that I was a blackguard who ought to be defrocked, but I’ve now got the mess under control. Yesterday I talked to Carter’s son, who’s a very respectable chartered accountant in London, and he says the three thousand was almost certainly a gift from Sir George to the Starbridge Sunlight Home for Handicapped Children — apparently Carter did a lot of work in his spare time for the Home and was treasurer of a fund-raising appeal a few years ago. The Widow Carter had obviously forgotten this and confused the donation with a sum of three thousand pounds which her husband raised (so his son tells me) from a building society to finance the purchase of the bungalow in Budleigh Salterton. So the situation’s now crystal clear: Dean Carter is exonerated, the Widow Bone-Pelham is certifiable, off goes Sir George’s corpse to the cemetery and off the hook drop the Dean and Chapter. Happy ending!’
‘Thank God! So the Bishop has nothing to complain about?’
‘Certainly not! Game, set and match to the Dean!’
‘
Thank God.
Oh Neville —’
‘My darling, I’ve got to see you — Lady Mary after evensong?’
‘Can’t wait ...’
V
‘My dear Venetia,’ wrote Eddie in a note which was delivered by hand, ‘I really enjoyed our dinner yesterday at the Quill Pen. Sorry I got a bit gloomy at the end. You were wonderful, so calm, so serene, so endlessly sympathetic and understanding. You couldn’t possibly drop in for a drink some time over the weekend, could you? I promise to open the Château Lafite this time! I don’t know why I got diverted by the hock the other day. Love, E D D I E.’
VI
‘Venetia, it’s Arabella. Look, sweetie, I’ve got the most ghastly crisis on at the moment, I’m simply knee-deep in divorce lawyers and everyone’s threatening to sue everyone else and the bills keep mounting up and I’m so desperate I’ve even cancelled my weekly order from the florist. So could you be an absolute darling and pay my share of the rose-bowl for the time being? There’s no
long-term
problem because Sebastian (my new dreamboat) is so rich he never even carries money, but I don’t want to bother him when his divorce is at a slightly delicate stage, so —’
‘I’ve opted out of the rose-bowl unless everyone pays their own way. Tell Dreamboat to get acquainted with a bunch of five-pound notes.’
‘Venetia!’ She was shattered.
I hung up.