A Blessing In Disguise (52 page)

‘You will come in for coffee, or a drink?' I said to Nigel when we reached the Vicarage.

‘If you hadn't asked me,' he replied, ‘I would have invited myself!'

We went straight through to the kitchen. ‘Since it's been such a lovely evening,' I said, ‘shall we open a bottle of wine?' I stood with my back to him, facing my small wine rack.

‘Not yet,' he said. ‘There's something I have to say first.' Then he put his hands on my shoulders, turned me around to face him, and took me in his arms. It was the first time since Philip that anyone has ever kissed me or I have ever kissed anyone, at least like this, because this was a lovers' kiss, long and sweet. I had no thought of Philip then, only of this man here, who was holding me as if he would never let me go and whom, I knew, I never wanted to leave. It was as if I had come home after a long journey, had reached the only place in the world I wanted to be. I didn't think all this at the time. There were no words. The words which describe my feelings have only come to me now in the telling. Then it was all feeling, but oh!, it felt so right.

Was I surprised? It was certainly sudden, and yet it didn't feel sudden, and no, I wasn't surprised. It felt inevitable, as if I'd known inside me that one day it would happen.

Eventually Nigel released me, but only to hold me at arm's length and look at me. ‘Venus,' he said, ‘I love you. I think I have ever since that first evening when I drove you to the hospital. Please tell me you love me!'

‘I do,' I said. ‘I don't think I quite knew I did until this evening, but I know now.'

We kissed again, hungrily, as if we could never get enough of each other, and then again he broke off and let me go, though I didn't want to go.

‘Will you marry me, Venus?' he said.

‘I will!' I said. ‘Oh yes, I will!'

‘Then we'll open the bottle of wine and celebrate that!' Nigel said.

‘I'm sorry it's not champagne!' I apologized. ‘If I'd known . . .'

Between us we chose the best bottle of red I had, though it was nothing special except to us, for whom it was the finest wine ever to come from the grape. We toasted each other, we drank out of each other's glasses, we kissed with the taste of wine on our lips. Then he raised his glass again and said, ‘To the future! Yours and mine, together for always!' I repeated his words. ‘To the future!' and then reality hit me.

He saw the look on my face. ‘What is it? What's wrong, my darling?'

‘You do know it's not going to be easy?' I said. ‘We're already divided, you and I. We're divided by what we each hold most dear.'

Nigel shook his head. ‘I know what you mean, but nothing's going to keep us apart. I won't let it!' he said.

‘It's not as simple as that,' I said. ‘If we were both lay people we could do what we liked. You are, and you can. I'm a priest. Once a priest, always a priest. My priesthood is mine for life. There are things I can't do.'

‘What things?' he asked. ‘I don't understand!'

‘I can't just say I'll marry you, and get on with it. I must have the permission of my bishop. I don't know what he'll say when I tell him I want to marry someone from your church.'

‘But we're the same faith!' Nigel protested. ‘We've talked about this before. Our churches might be divided – more fool them – but you and I follow the same paths.'

‘Not entirely,' I said. ‘Oh, Nigel, I wish we did! But we don't and we won't. You won't give up what you hold dear and I won't give up being a priest. We're divided by two churches which both preach the same love of Christ as their central theme.'

‘I'm not going to give you up as easily as that,' Nigel said.

‘No, nor am I you!' I said. ‘I'll phone the Bishop tomorrow and ask to see him as soon as possible.'

‘I'll go with you,' Nigel said.

‘If the Bishop agrees,' I said. ‘I daresay he'll want to see me on my own, first. I really don't know. It's all outside my experience.'

He took hold of my hands. ‘Venus, I love you, I always will. And you love me . . .'

‘And I always will!' I added.

‘So we'll let nothing and no-one come between us. And now we'll drink the rest of the wine and then I'll go home – though I don't want to leave you, I never want to leave you again.'

‘And I don't want you to,' I said. ‘You must know that.' I would have liked to have led him up to my bedroom there and then. ‘But you have to go, my love, and the sooner the better.'

Nigel phoned me next morning before he started his surgery. It was a call in which we reassured each other that what had happened the night before was not a dream, it was all true, that come what may we were engaged to be married.

‘I'd like to keep it to ourselves until I've spoken to the Bishop,' I said. ‘Except that as it concerns the Bishop I think I must also tell Henry Nugent. But no-one else – and Henry is very discreet. I shan't even tell my parents or Becky.'

‘And I suppose that means I can't tell Sonia,' Nigel said. ‘I've seen her briefly. She said, “I don't know what it is, but you look like the cat that's got the cream!” But whatever you say, my love. Personally I'd like to broadcast it far and wide! I'm just so happy!'

‘Me too!' I agreed. ‘But I must speak to the Bishop first. We don't want to start by doing the wrong thing, do we?'

‘I suppose not,' he said. ‘But you will ring him soon, won't you?'

‘Of course!' I assured him. ‘I think around ten o'clock. I don't want to interrupt his breakfast, do I? In any case he's quite likely to have an early service.'

‘I'll ring you straight after surgery,' Nigel said.

It had been hard not to say a word to Becky before she left for school, and then when my mother phoned just after I'd spoken to Nigel – more details of the move – it was even more difficult. I managed it only by putting Nigel completely out of my mind, at least for those few minutes.

When, on the dot of ten, I phoned the Bishop I was put through first to his secretary.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. ‘The Bishop's on retreat. He'll be away for the next three days. Is it something I can help you with, Mrs Stanton?'

‘I'm afraid not in this case,' I said. ‘It's personal, not parochial.'

‘I'm sorry!' he said. ‘As you will know, I can't interrupt his retreat except for something very urgent. Would you describe it as that?'

‘I don't think so,' I told him. ‘To me, but perhaps not to the Bishop. I'll ring later in the week.'

‘I'm terribly disappointed,' I told Nigel when he phoned, which he was doing, he said, the very second he'd seen his last patient out of the door.

‘Can I come and see you later this afternoon?' he asked.

‘Of course,' I said. ‘But bear in mind that Becky will be there and I can't tell her yet. It would be impossible to expect her to keep it to herself.'

‘Do you think she'll be happy about it?' Nigel asked anxiously. ‘I do want her to be.'

‘I'm certain she will,' I assured him. ‘She's very fond of you.'

‘All right then, my darling,' he said. ‘I'll see you later and I'll try to hide my feelings, though it won't be easy.'

‘Nor for me either,' I said.

I badly wanted to tell Ann about all this, perhaps Ann more than anyone else. I wanted to be sure that she knew I was not deserting Philip, or being in any way disloyal to him. Philip would always be an important part of my life. Apart from having been my much-loved husband he was Becky's father, wasn't he? I would always want Becky to acknowledge that, and to remember him. We live as long as we live in someone's memory, which is the way my great-grandmother lives for me. Though she died when I was seven my memories of her are sharp and clear.

Nigel came as arranged, and was there when Becky arrived home from school. As always, they seemed pleased to see each other and I hated the fact that I couldn't give her the good news there and then. She had a glass of orange juice and a biscuit and then, as usual, went up to her room. ‘I have something to ask you,' Nigel said when she'd left us. ‘Would it be all right if I told my mother? I hate not to do so. And as she lives in Ireland and the only person she can contact in England is me, I don't see what difference it would make. I hate this secrecy!'

‘Of course you can tell your mother,' I agreed. ‘And I don't like the secrecy either, but it's only for a few days, until the Bishop is back. I have the feeling that he'll see me quite soon after that.'

‘He's in for a surprise,' Nigel said.

‘Will your mother be surprised?' I asked. ‘And will it be pleasantly or not? She's a Catholic . . .'

‘In a way she'll be disappointed you're not Catholic,' Nigel said, ‘but she'll be so pleased I'm to be married that I reckon it will outweigh the disappointment. Anyway, she's basically a nice woman, she's not going to hold it against you personally. I'm not expecting her to be prejudiced. So you're happy for me to phone her this evening?'

‘Of course! And tell her how much I'm looking forward to meeting her. For my part,' I said, ‘and I've only thought of this in the last hour or two – I really would like to tell Ann. I feel she has a right to know, apart from the fact that I want her to. There's no way she's going to disapprove.'

‘Of course you must tell her,' Nigel agreed. ‘And you and I haven't talked much about Philip, have we? The way he'd feel. I do want you to know, my love, that there's no way I'm going to think I'm taking his place.'

‘That's all right,' I said. ‘You're not. You couldn't. Philip was Philip and he had his own place which no-one can usurp. But you wouldn't need to take his place. You'll have your own place in my life, unique to you. And I won't ever be holding anything back from you.'

He left soon afterwards; he had a string of visits, he said. People complain that doctors never visit these days but I know that isn't true.

Later on – I waited until Becky had gone to bed – I phoned Ann. She was so gracious, so pleased for me – and I have to say she didn't seem the least bit surprised. ‘It's wonderful news, Venus darling,' she said. ‘And I'm sure it'll work out just fine with the Bishop. There must be lots of Anglican priests who've married Catholic women. I don't see the fact that yours is the other way round makes any difference. Anyway, promise you'll let me know what he says – and as soon as you can.'

Two or three days later – it was a Friday morning so Ethel Leigh was zooming round the house with the vacuum – the phone rang and when I answered it was George Phillipson, which was unusual because apart from PCC meetings he doesn't have a great need to talk to me, he does most of the financial stuff with the churchwardens.

‘Surprise, surprise!' he said. ‘I've had a letter!'

Now that would be the least surprising thing in the world to me, and I'd have thought to most people. Letters, packets, unsolicited catalogues, book offers, invitations to win large sums of money, drop through my letter box and thud on the floor every day except Sunday, most of them to be consigned within minutes to the waste paper bin. So what was it about George's letter? I almost said, ‘So what!' but drew it back because he was speaking again.

‘From Miss Frazer!' he announced.

My heart dropped like a stone. I've always thought that was a fanciful phrase, but no, it was exactly how I felt, as if there was a heavy weight inside me. I had been so happy; Nigel, Ann, everything going well with Becky, my parents coming. The sky was blue. I should have known it couldn't last.

‘I'll read it to you,' George said.

‘Please don't bother,' I said sharply. ‘I'm sure it's the usual abusive stuff and I've had enough of that, thank you.' But I knew of course that I'd have to listen to it.

‘It is a bit abusive,' he admitted, ‘but not entirely.'

‘Go on then! Let's get it over!' I said.

He began to read.

‘“Dear Mr Treasurer,”' (Only Miss Frazer would address George as ‘Mr Treasurer'.) ‘“The enclosed cheque for four hundred pounds is to take the children of St Mary's Sunday School on their annual trip to the pantomime. As you doubtless know, my father did this for many years before he died and since his death I have always made it my responsibility. I would not wish the wrong and sinful views and actions which, alas, now prevail in St Mary's to deprive the children of their treat. They are the innocent ones. Please let me have a receipt.

‘“Yours faithfully, Amelia Frazer.”

‘So what would you like me to do, Venus?' George asked.

‘What I would
like
you to do,' I said, ‘is to tear the cheque into very tiny pieces and return it to her by registered post!'

He laughed – and then was immediately serious.

‘I can't do that,' he said. ‘Four hundred pounds is not to be sneezed at!'

‘I would do more than sneeze at it,' I said, ‘I would spit on it – after I'd torn it to bits!'

‘It
is
for the children,' he pointed out. ‘Why should they miss out?'

‘They're not missing out,' I said. ‘They're already booked to go to the pantomime.'

‘So what am I to do?' he asked again.

‘Write her a short note. Thank you very much but the pantomime is already taken care of. Say that if she wishes we will put the money towards the children's summer outing. If she would rather we didn't do that, then we will be happy to return her cheque. Don't bother to give her my love!'

‘OK,' he said. ‘And if she doesn't ask for it back we'll ring-fence it for the children.'

And then I thought I was being rather nasty, and very unChristian. There is that thing about turning the other cheek, isn't there? The Gospels are full of bits like that which prevent you doing what you'd really like to do. Very frustrating! So I said, ‘Don't make it as rude as I sound – and you'd better tell Henry, see what he says.'