Absolute Truths. Susan Howatch
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the key.’ Malcolm was always prepared for every archidiaconal emergency. ‘The most urgent question,’ he said as he tucked the box under his arm, ‘is what we’re going to do with that church while Desmond’s incapacitated. I can rustic up poor old Father Pitt to celebrate a daily mass, but he’s half-blind now and so lame that he almost has to be carried to the altar – I couldn’t ask him to substitute for Desmond for more than a week and the Sunday services might well finish him off altogether. And what are we going to do with that parish in the long run? The whole place is a nightmare.’
Before I could reply Lyle returned to the room again. ‘Charles, I really don’t think you can postpone Michael any longer but at least you don’t have to face Dinkie at the moment – she’s upstairs waiting for me to begin our tête-à-tête in my sitting-room.’
‘But what do I say to Michael?’
‘Oh, anything – ask him about the BBC. He’s working on a production of The Cherry Orchard.’
‘Is that the play where everyone goes around sighing: “Moscow! Moscow!”?’ said Malcolm, temporarily diverted from the nightmare of Langley Bottom.
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s The Three Sisters – which reminds me of the three witches in Macbeth – which in turn reminds me of Dido. Has she gone?’
‘Yes, ages ago. Awful woman! No wonder Stephen Aysgarth drinks like a fish.’
‘Well, at least we don’t have to worry about Aysgarth at the moment,’ said Malcolm. ‘All quiet on that particular front. Lyle, I do apologise for interrupting your family party, but with any luck I’ll be your last interruption tonight.’
As if to confound him the telephone began to ring again.
‘I’ll answer that,’ I said at once, seizing any excuse to postpone my conversation with Michael, and ignoring Lyle’s exasperated expression I hurried from the kitchen to my study.
XII
‘South Canonry,’ I said into the receiver as I sat down in the chair behind my desk.
‘Hullo, old boy, it’s Jack!’
I was so disorientated, both by the Desmond disaster and by Michael’s arrival, that I suffered a moment of amnesia. ‘Jack who?’
‘My God, the Bishop’s gone senile! Charles, it’s your distinguished friend of far too many years’ standing, the editor –’
‘– of the Church Gazette. Sorry, Jack – temporary aberration. I hope you’re not planning to cancel our lunch tomorrow.’
‘Far from it, old chap, calling to confirm – and to say that I’ve got the most shattering piece of gossip for you. Order a brandy in anticipation if you arrive at the Athenaeum before I do.’
‘What gossip?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly reveal it over the phone! I just wanted to make sure you rushed panting to London.’
‘Does it have anything to do with Piccadilly Circus?’
‘Piccadilly Circus? No, I seem to have missed that one. Hang on while I find a pencil and paper –’
‘See you tomorrow,’ I said. ‘Sorry – got to dash.’ But having replaced the receiver I found I still could not face the ordeal of confronting Michael. For some minutes I lingered, speculating about Jack’s piece of gossip and then brooding on Desmond’s disaster, but finally I remembered I had promised to call Charley back. At once I put through the call.
‘It’s me again,’ I said as he answered on the first ring. ‘Sorry about the interval. Are you all right? I hope Aysgarth didn’t upset you with all that talk of Samson.’
‘No, but I admit I’m bothered about something else. Are you by any chance going to be in London this week?’
‘I’m lunching with Jack Ryder tomorrow before chairing a committee meeting at Church House. Why don’t we meet for tea at four-thirty downstairs at Fortnum’s?’
Charley was pleased by this suggestion and seemed to think this marked the end of the telephone call, but I hung on, unable to resist the temptation to delay my interview with Michael. ‘Any other news?’ I enquired hopefully.
‘No – except that I’ve just heard the most awful piece of gossip about Michael. I bumped into Eddie Hoffenberg today and he told me that Venetia had told him that Marina had told her that Michael was actually talking of marrying that ghastly tart of his! Could he really be so fantastically unhinged?’
The door of my study crashed open and Michael stormed into the room.
‘It is extraordinary how we betray our friends. Or (as we think in our conceited minds) it is not extraordinary at all: for we, of course, are superior persons, viewing mankind from a great height, and awarding our acquaintances praise and blame with poetic justice, if not with justice, anyhow with such charm, that even malice ought to be forgiven us.’
AUSTIN FARRER
Warden of Keble College, Oxford, 1960–1968
A Celebration of Faith
I
As the door shuddered on its hinges I said quickly into the telephone: ‘Sorry, got to go – see you tomorrow.’ Meanwhile Michael had swept to my desk and was standing in front of me with his fists clenched and his arms held rigidly at his sides as if he were barely able to restrain himself from aiming a punch at my jaw.
This was clearly a situation which demanded all my pastoral skills, but I had long since discovered that during confrontations with Michael my professional experience was of no use to me; Michael knew at once when he was being treated as a pastoral ‘case’ and became more unpleasant than ever. On the other hand all my attempts to treat him affectionately as a son fell on stony ground. It was as if Michael was never satisfied until he had needled me into losing my temper, and the more I slaved at the task of keeping calm the more he slaved at the task of provoking me.
I repressed the urge to bolt from the room and shout in despair for Lyle.
‘Have you quite finished?’ said Michael.
‘I’m sorry, it’s been chaotic here tonight –’
‘I bring my fiancée; down here to announce our engagement and you can’t even find the time to drink a glass of champagne with us!’
‘I really am very sorry –’
‘I don’t want you being sorry! I just want you to do something halfway decent such as saying: “Congratulations!” If it had been Charley who had arrived here with his fiancée, you’d have been beside yourself with excitement!’
‘Not if the fiancée were Dinkie,’ I said before I could stop myself, and as Michael showed signs of extreme rage I said very rapidly: ‘Now calm down and be sensible – you must realise that this kind of aggressive behaviour does neither of us any good. What happened to your New Year’s resolution to reform?’
‘You’ve just wiped it out by continuing to disapprove of everything I do! There’s no pleasing you, is there? I live in sin with Dinkie and you storm and rage until Mum shuts you up, but when I try to do the moral thing and marry, you sulk and skulk in corners!’
‘If I’m lukewarm about your news it’s only because I don’t think she can make you happy.’
‘If you married a pregnant woman, why shouldn’t I do the same?’
‘Are