Absolute Truths (11 page)

‘
I hid it in the dining-room when you went to answer Michael’s
ring at the door,’ she said, setting the box on the kitchen table
as
I slumped down with relief on the nearest chair.

‘
Dare I ask what’s inside?’ enquired Malcolm, eyeing the box
with dread.

‘
Desmond’s bedtime reading,’ said Lyle, confirming his worst
fears.

Malcolm went so pale that the freckles stood out starkly across
his cheekbones.

I had first
met
Malcolm after the war on a course designed for
army chaplains who were returning to civilian life. I had been
asked to give a lecture on the theology currently fashionable, and
afterwards Malcolm proved to be the truculent member of the
audience who sat at the back and asked awkward questions. At
that time he had red hair and an impudent look. Later in the
canteen he apologised, explaining that he was only taking the
course because he had been ordered to do so by his bishop and
that he considered it a waste of
time to
listen to theology when
he could be out and about preaching the Gospel. I liked both his honesty and his zeal. Not everyone
is
born to be a theologian, and
certainly not everyone is born to appreciate the Neo-Orthodox
theology of Karl Barth.

Word reached me by chance in the early 1950s that Malcolm had raised some market-town from the dead in the Starbridge
diocese, but I never dreamed our careers would intersect. Then
in I957 I accepted the bishopric and found I had inherited an
unsatisfactory archdeacon. As soon as I had freed myself from this
millstone, I offered the archdeaconry to Malcolm.

The archdeaconry was attached to the city parish of
St Martin’s-in-Cripplegate, but Malcolm had curates to help him
run the parish while he roamed his section of the diocese on my
behalf. The archdeacon is by tradition ‘the bishop’s eye’, the hench
man who keeps watch on all the clergy and churches in the arch-deaconry and tells the bishop everything he needs to know. The diocese was divided into two archdeaconries, but the other archdeacon lived in the port of Starmouth forty miles away so I saw less of him, particularly since I had appointed a suffragan bishop to supervise the south of the diocese for me. Meanwhile Malcolm patrolled the north. The exercise of power had made him a trifle
bossy in his manner, but he remained devout, diligent and efficient.
I relied on him in my professional life almost
as
much
as
I relied
on Lyle in my private life, and considered him one of my most successful appointments.

‘
Am I right in thinking,’ he was saying morosely, ‘that the parish
of Langley Bottom has finally driven its vicar completely round
the bend?’

‘I hate to intervene at this point,’ said Lyle, ‘but Charles, we’re all waiting for you to join us for a drink. If you could just leave Malcolm alone for ten minutes to browse through the box —’

‘I’ll be along in a moment.’

Lyle withdrew, trying not to look exasperated.

As soon as we were alone Malcolm heaved up the hasps, flung back the lid and demanded: ‘How bad is it?’

‘Appalling.’

‘Within the meaning of the Act?’

‘Not being a legal expert on pornography, I’m not sure. What do you think?’

Malcolm efficiently inspected the cover of each magazine and
flicked through the collection of photographs. His final verdict
was: ‘No children or animals. All this might set the
News of the
World
alight, but it’s not going to raise any eyebrows among the vice-squad.’

‘I certainly don’t believe the police would have any interest in prosecuting an elderly man who has no connection with a por
nography ring and no interest in corrupting minors. But could
there be a connection between all this stuff and what’s just happened to Desmond?’

‘
Where’s the link?’

‘
Exactly. There isn’t one, so in my opinion there’s no need to
turn the box over to the police, but —’

‘
Good heavens, no — quite unnecessary!’

‘
— 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 whatso
ever. 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 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 dosed 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 with
out 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 rustle 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 night
mare 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.’

W
ell, 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 Lyles 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 distin
guished friend of far too many years’ standing, the editor —’

‘
— of the Chunk
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 com
mittee 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.