Susan Howatch - Scandalous Risks

‘I beg your pardon, Mr Dean?’

With a laugh he led the way to a wooden seat on the northwestern corner of the lawn, and as I drew closer I saw that the back of the seat bore a brass plaque inscribed: ‘In memory of Lady Mary Calthrop-Ponsonby, 12th February 1857–8th November 1941. “FIGHT THE GOOD FIGHT WITH ALL THY MIGHT.”’

‘Three cheers for Lady Mary,’ I said as we sat down, and told him how I had decided to abandon London in search of a new life. ‘… and I’ve now reached the point where I’m trying to decide what to do next,’ I concluded. ‘Mrs Ashworth thinks I should go to Oxford, park myself on Christian and Katie and wangle my way into their set, but I’m not sure I have the nerve to exploit them so brazenly.’

‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t stay with Christian and Katie for a few days while you decide if Oxford has anything to offer you, but I can’t quite see why Lyle is pointing you in that direction.’

‘She thinks I’d enjoy mixing with an intellectual jeunesse dorée.’

‘On the contrary I think you’d soon be bored stiff with all those academics.’

‘Would I? Are you sure? I just feel that if only I could get in with the right set –’

‘In my experience right sets tend to be much too fast.’

‘When one’s been crawling along like a tortoise, Mr Dean, the idea of pace begins to seem attractive.’

He laughed. ‘Was London really that bad?’

‘Yes, it really was. I’ve been a failure there. Don’t just tell me to go back and try again.’

‘Very well, let’s be more imaginative. This could be a great opportunity for you, Venetia! A fresh start is always a great opportunity, but you should remember that happiness isn’t ultimately dependent on getting in with the right set; it’s about serving God by using your God-given gifts in the best possible way.’

‘I only seem to have a God-given gift for drifting in and out of boring jobs.’

‘It’s obvious that you haven’t yet found your métier, and in my opinion pondering on the right métier, not choosing which city to live in, should actually be your number one concern at the moment. You need to escape to somewhere very quiet and very remote for a few days so that you can ponder in peace and see your situation in perspective … Come on holiday with me after Easter!’

I nearly fell off Lady Mary. ‘What a breathtaking suggestion!’

He laughed again before adding: ‘Dido’s not coming but Eddie’s accompanying me and Primrose is joining us twenty-four hours later. Come up on the Wednesday after Easter with Primrose!’

‘Where’s “up”?’

‘The Outer Hebrides.’

‘IS there an Outer Hebrides?’

‘Apparently. The new Earl of Starmouth has very kindly lent me his hunting-lodge on Harris.’

‘Don’t Elizabeth and Pip want to go?’

‘Dido’s taking them to her sister in Leicestershire where they’ll ride horses with her and be blissfully happy.’

‘Chacun à son goût,’ I said. ‘Personally I’d rather live it up in a Caledonian Shangri-La.’

‘My sentiments exactly!’ said Aysgarth, and as he smiled I suddenly wondered if he, like me, was seizing the chance to escape from intractable private problems.

‘What is most real to you? What matters most for you? Is it money and what money can buy? I doubt it, deep down. For you know that you can’t take it with you”. And seldom does it bring real happiness. Is it love? That’s a good deal nearer, because it has to do with persons, not things.’

JOHN A. T. ROBINSON

Suffragan Bishop of Woolwich 1559–1969

Writing about Honest to God in the Sunday Mirror , 7th April 1963.

After staying the night in Primrose’s flat, I caught a train the next morning to my country home at Flaxton Pauncefoot, a village which lay ten miles from the port of Starmouth in the south of the diocese. Here I sorted out some appropriate clothes for the holiday, selected a couple of books and dumped my current stock of dirty laundry on the housekeeper who returned it, faultlessly washed and ironed, that evening. Nowadays there are very few advantages in being a member of the aristocracy, but at least one never has to worry about laundries. Nor does one have to waste time shopping for food or sweating over a hot stove. I said to the housekeeper: ‘I’d like baked beans on toast with a poached egg on top, and tell Pardoe to look out a half-bottle of that nice St Julien, the one with the picture of the purple vineyard on it.’ That solved the problem of dinner.

Afterwards, greatly fortified, I phoned my mother to inform her I would be heading for the Hebrides, retired to the blue drawing-room where the television set lurked behind a fire-screen, and watched the latest episode of the comedy series Down at the Surgery in which two doctors have their virtue constantly assailed by a stream of diverse nymphomaniacs. The elder doctor was played by Martin Darrow with a professional deftness which prompted me to giggle so hard that I dropped cigarette ash all over the floor. He was far better looking than his young half-brother, but nevertheless I was conscious of the strong resemblance between them. I wondered idly what their father, the ancient hermit, thought of his elder son’s career as a television star.

The next morning I extracted my red MG from the stables, heaved my bags into the back and returned to Primrose’s flat. I had remembered it was Sunday but somehow I managed to arrive too late to attend matins, so taking advantage of the spring sunshine I lounged on the seat in the Deanery’s garden as I waited for everyone to return from the Cathedral. Unfortunately Primrose and the Dean stayed on for the sung Communion service. I should have remembered that possibility and removed myself, but I was still lolling in the sunshine when Dido turned up to torpedo me.

‘So there you are, Venetia! Primrose was under the impression you’d be back in time for matins. I do think you might have telephoned to say you’d be late, but then that’s the upper classes, isn’t it, my dear, always expecting the entire world to fall into step beside them, and personally I’ve always been devoutly thankful that I was merely the daughter of a self-made Scottish millionaire and irredeemably nouveau riche because at least I was taught consideration for others from the cradle. Now –’ She paused for breath as she parked herself purposefully on the bench beside me ‘– I’m so glad I’ve got the chance for a word alone with you, because I think it’s time that an intelligent, honest older woman – and as you know, my dear, I always pride myself on my candour – I think it’s time,’ said Dido, without even pausing for breath after this parenthesis, ‘that I gave you a piece of sensible and I hope not unaffectionate advice – because of course I’m very fond of you, Venetia, just as Stephen is, although I do see all your little faults and foibles rather more clearly than he does, because darling Stephen’s so noble that he always sees the best in everyone, whereas I, being a realist – and I’m always being complimented on my realism – I, being a realist,’ said Dido, battling her way out of the jungle of this monstrous sentence, ‘take a much more pessimistic view of humanity, and having been a rich young girl myself I know all about the pitfalls waiting to ensnare rich young girls who drift around without any proper direction – which brings me to what I want to say.’