Susan Howatch - Absolute Truths

‘ – but it’s absolutely vital that in our desire to protect Desmond and the Church we don’t wind up obstructing the police in the execution of their duty. We’ve got to be very careful here.’

‘Of course, but if there’s nothing in this box which links Desmond with any particular man, the odds are that the criminal’s a lunatic and has no connection with Desmond’s sex-life whatsoever. Let’s just wait, Charles, and see where the police get to. If you ask me, we’re in the clear: we’re not withholding evidence that Desmond knew his assailant.’

This opinion certainly chimed with mine, but I found I was still worried. ‘The trouble is there’s still a possibility that he was being blackmailed. Maybe he just didn’t keep the letters in this box – maybe they’re hidden away somewhere else in the house –’

‘I doubt it. Charles, I’d be very surprised if Desmond was being blackmailed and I’ll tell you why: he’d crack up almost straight away as the result of the strain and by this time I’d have received reports from the churchwardens that Father Wilton was no longer able to celebrate mass. Desmond just doesn’t have the emotional stamina to sustain a double-life with a blackmailer.’

This assessment had the ring of truth. I finally began to relax.

‘I’ll take this stuff home,’ said Malcolm as he closed the box and stood up. ‘The sooner it’s burnt the better.’

Automatically I said: ‘No, you can’t burn it.’

Malcolm’s long nose quivered as if he scented trouble. ‘Why not?’

‘Because this is Desmond’s property, taken from his house without his permission, and we have no right to destroy it. What I have to do is confront him with the box, explain exactly why I felt obliged to search his bedroom, and apologise for the invasion of his privacy. Then I must make it clear I trust him to do the burning himself.’

‘But my dear Charles, I can see that’s a magnificent example of Christian behaviour, but is it really appropriate for a bishop? No, wait a minute – hang on, just let me rephrase that –’

‘Please do.’ I started to laugh. I suppose I was finally suffering a nervous reaction to the crisis.

‘Well, what I’m trying to say is this: of course you have to behave like a Christian, but do you necessarily have to behave like an English gentleman with an over-developed sense of fair play? A bishop has to show compassion for sinners, we all know that, but don’t let’s lose sight of the sin! Personally I think you should be quite tough with Desmond here and feel no obligation to treat him with kid gloves. After all, supposing the police had found this box? We’d all have been up to our necks in scandal!’

‘But they didn’t. And we’re not. And I don’t see why you should think I’m glossing over the sin by giving Desmond a soft option – it’s not a soft option at all. His punishment will lie in the fact that I know what’s been going on.’

‘Very well,’ said Malcolm with reluctance, ‘but meanwhile what are you going to do with the box? You can’t leave it lying around the South Canonry! Supposing Miss Peabody finds it?’

‘By all means let’s protect Miss Peabody from a potentially heart-stopping encounter, but isn’t there an equal risk that your wife and daughters will stumble across it at the vicarage?’

‘In my study there’s a cupboard which locks and only I have 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.

‘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?’