Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (28 page)

‘You must know. You’re an archdeacon.’

‘But not in Leonard’s diocese.’

‘He’s being considered for a bishopric.’

‘Leonard? But he’s only been at St Albans for three years.’

‘They like him there.’

‘A bishop.’ (
And before me!
Sidney thought before being ashamed of himself.) ‘Whereabouts?’

‘Bedford. It’s vacant.’

‘I’ve just recommended one of our own clergy for the position. But Leonard would be far better.’

‘He’s not so sure. Will you talk to him, Sidney? Not about this, but about his future. I’ve been so worried. He’s been such a supportive friend and I don’t want to add to his anxiety.’ He waved his arm in the direction of the fire damage. ‘I am sure this was just a one-off.’

‘It does seem unfortunate. You haven’t had any unusual visits recently? People watching when you lock up?’

‘The police have asked about all that. I’ve told them I’d rather not make a fuss. It’s probably not even worth claiming on the insurance. I’ll just have to cough up.’

‘But your shop has been attacked. The police can’t stand idly by; otherwise the perpetrators triumph. We have to defend ourselves against those who would do us ill.’

‘But what if I don’t want a confrontation? What if I am happy with my privacy?’

‘Is something else troubling you, Simon? Something that you would rather tell me than the police?’

‘It doesn’t take too much to make me nervous. If you could have a proper chat with Leonard I would be grateful. I don’t want him getting all worked up about my worrying.’

‘He’ll be concerned about you, I’m sure.’

‘Talk to him, Sidney. It’s not been easy recently. He’ll tell you.’

Rather than arranging to meet Leonard directly, Sidney took a more tangential approach, using the opportunity of their joint attendance at a forthcoming conference at Church House to discuss matters informally. He did not want his former curate to think he was barging in, but he was pretty sure they would both have limited patience with the bureaucratic minutiae involved in the formation of a new synodical form of government for the Church of England. The possibility of a mutual escape was almost guaranteed.

It was a bitter afternoon when they emerged into the Westminster gloom. Sidney offered Leonard a toasted teacake and a warming brew at the Army & Navy store. After reviewing the
events of the day and exchanging ecclesiastical tittle-tattle, he pressed his friend for a little more information. He had heard rumours . . .

Leonard hesitated, his teacake suspended midair. ‘Rumours?’

‘About a forthcoming appointment.’

‘I don’t think that’s likely. I am sure it will all go away.’ Leonard resumed eating as if the swallowed teacake would also involve the disappearance of the subject-matter.

‘A bishopric?’

‘I have let them know that it is too soon.’

‘You don’t want it?’

‘I don’t feel I’m ready, Sidney.’

‘And is that the only reason?’

‘Pretty much.’

Leonard’s lack of a direct answer convinced Sidney to press further. He asked if everything was all right. Why hadn’t he been told, for example, about the arson attack on Simon Hackford’s shop?

‘I didn’t think it was anything to do with you.’

‘But Keating is the investigating officer. He’s your friend too.’

‘Simon doesn’t want a fuss.’

‘When did you last see him?’

Leonard turned to his tea. ‘Everything’s been a bit difficult recently.’

‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’ Sidney asked. ‘You haven’t run into financial difficulties or anything like that?’

‘No, nothing, really. But thank you for your concern.’

Sidney felt that he was getting nowhere. He tried a more oblique route to the heart of the matter. ‘I was with Amanda last week . . .’

‘And how is she?’

‘We were talking about her potential discovery of a drawing by Michelangelo. I’m sure she must have mentioned it when she last saw you.’

‘She did.’ Leonard perked up, relieved to be talking about something else. ‘We had a long discussion about Renaissance theories of beauty and the quest for the ideal; how we, as mere mortals, may have to start from people we love and the world around us, but the idea is to transcend our merely sensual experience and reach out for the divine.’

‘A religious approach to art, almost?’

‘Exactly. How successful those artists were at following their prevailing beliefs is another matter. I said that it’s probably easier to grasp the theory when in the presence of a beautifully proportioned young man or woman but it’s a lot harder with people who’ve got their flesh in all the wrong places. Amanda was quite amused.’

‘Oh, I think she likes a balance between scholarship and larky conversation.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been that risqué before. But, with her, you feel you can say anything. She gives you confidence, don’t you think? I suppose that’s why you’ve always got on so well.’

Sidney stuck to his guns. He was not going to be sidetracked into a discussion of his affection for a woman who was not his wife. ‘Why have you asked her for money, Leonard?’

Leonard put down his teacup and their companionable mood was gone. ‘She told you?’

‘Amanda is my oldest friend.’

‘She is a friend of mine too. She promised it would go no further.’

‘You know what she’s like.’

‘I trusted her.’

Sidney thought that Leonard might walk out, but they hadn’t paid and he was not the type to make a scene. ‘She is worried about you; and now I am too. Why do you need the money, Leonard?’

‘I don’t want to tell you. It would put you in a difficult position.’

‘Is it something illegal?’

‘Not according to the laws of the land. Although it is not something that is spoken about very much in the Church.’

‘Does it concern your private life?’

‘Do I need to spell it out?’

Sidney decided that he would have to help his friend get to the point, whether he liked it or not. ‘Is someone blackmailing you, Leonard?’

‘I knew as soon as we started this conversation that you would guess. I wish we hadn’t got into all this.’

‘You know that I am one of your greatest supporters. I will do nothing to harm you. And I am still your priest.’

‘Have you always known?’

‘I have not thought about your life in that way at all. You are just my friend Leonard to me. And your friends love you for your Leonard-ness, whatever that might entail.’

‘People used to be more private about things.’

‘That did not always help matters. Secrecy can bring forth its own terrors.’

Leonard looked for a distraction – a piece of teacake, another cup from the pot, but there was nothing left. ‘I think a man’s private life is his own business.’

‘We talked about this when you first became my curate. Our vocation makes it more complicated.’

‘And sometimes more simple if only God is privy to our thoughts.’

‘That does not make life any the less true.’

Leonard thought for a moment. ‘Do you think the Church will ever accept people like me?’

‘You are here, Leonard, working in the Church.’

‘But you are different, Sidney. You turn a blind eye.’

‘You do not force me to look.’

‘And so a man’s feelings should remain hidden, you think?’

Sidney tried to balance friendship with duty. ‘There is the question of tact: offending others, drawing unnecessary attention. You know the reasons given. The Church doesn’t like these things out in the open. Nowadays people are all too keen to declare their emotions; just because you
feel
something deeply doesn’t mean that you have to tell everyone about it. There’s a lot to be said for discretion.’

‘Some would call that hypocrisy.’

‘As I say, not everything has to be transparent. It is perhaps less painful to keep these matters to oneself.’

‘But what if one is so in love that you want to declare it to the world?’

‘Then tell me, Leonard.’

‘It’s Simon. Is that a shock?’

‘I know it’s Simon. I saw him yesterday.’

‘Has he told you anything? I mean about . . .’

‘He has not. You tell me.’

‘It’s quite a long story. He came for the Feast of St Alban in June, when we decorate the shrine with roses. It’s in memory of
the legend that roses grew from the ground where his blood was shed. You remember, Sidney?’

‘“So among the roses brightly shines St Alban.”’

‘Simon brought a little bouquet he had picked from his mother’s garden. It was odd because they were a creamy yellow, and I told him that I had never liked the colour and he told me that he had gathered them specially because the crest of the city is yellow and blue and he wanted to bring something appropriate. He was amused because one of the varieties he had chosen was called “Rambling Rector”. I hadn’t ever discovered that he knew about roses but then there was so much about him that I didn’t know, and I realised then that I
wanted
to know.

‘We had lunch in the White Hart and then we went for a walk round the lake and across to the Roman theatre. He’d never seen it. We talked about drama, and that production of
Julius Caesar
during which his old friend Lord Teversham was killed. He said it all seemed a lifetime ago and that he had felt alone ever since his death. I think we talked a little about the nature of friendship and he came back for tea. I’d made one of Mrs Maguire’s walnut specials. She gave me the recipe when I left Grantchester. It was her little farewell. She told me that she’d never given it to anyone else and it would have to remain “our secret”. Simon and I sat together and I can’t really remember what we talked about because my head was filled with the delightful terror of what might happen next. When the time came for him to leave and get his train I knew that I didn’t want him to go. It was silly really. He got up and went into the hall and I opened the door and a handshake was insufficient and a hug embarrassing, and then he just kissed me and everything changed.’

‘You don’t have to tell me, Leonard.’

‘It’s quite all right. I understand it now. In the past, I didn’t know that I was a homosexual. I didn’t think I was anything. It didn’t bother me very much. But then there was someone. Simon. And I fell in love. It didn’t feel “unnatural” or “abnormal” at the time. It felt right. Do you know the poem by Southey that has the words “Not where I breathe, but where I love, I live”?’

‘I do.’ Sidney had once said those same words to Hildegard, and he thought about her now, as Leonard talked about falling in love and how right it felt.

‘When you and I first met, Sidney, I noticed how tactful you were when I didn’t know who I was. I think we had a conversation about the Archbishop of Canterbury’s position on the matter. Then there was the death of Lord Teversham and Ben Blackwood and the Wolfenden Report. Before then they thought that a love of another man was something that could be cured; that such feelings were temptations that should be resisted. But I don’t believe that a Christian should ever renounce the possibility of true love, even if it is earthly, flawed, and doomed by mortality. We have to acknowledge the possibility of becoming better people, of being made more than we ever could be on our own, of having the capacity to love. Surely to deny that would be to commit the greater sin?’

‘You don’t have to deny it; but in your position you have to be careful. It can damage your chances . . .’

‘Of being a bishop, you mean? I’m not worried about that.’

‘But you are worried about the blackmail, I presume?’

‘It has unsettled me, I have to admit. It’s come just when I’ve found happiness. We’d even bought a double bed.’

‘You shouldn’t tell me that, Leonard.’

‘It doesn’t matter. I know you will be discreet.’

‘I will, but these things can get out. Perhaps the arsonist knew . . .’

‘I don’t know what he knows. That’s the terrible thing. I don’t even know who is doing all this.’

‘The threats are not signed at all?’

‘He is using what I take to be an assumed name: Christian Grace; although his is neither very Christian, nor very gracious. He has told me to leave the money in a pigeonhole in the abbey next Wednesday.’

‘He is a member of the congregation then?’

‘He doesn’t have to be. Anyone can use them. No one checks. I am supposed to leave it under the letter “G”. And there’s no way of knowing when he will pick it up, so there’s no point anyone lying in wait.’

‘A verger could keep an eye.’

‘I doubt that’s possible. I can’t confide in them.’

‘But, Leonard, it must be someone who knows the workings of the abbey?’

‘A fellow priest, you mean? Surely not.’

‘No, but someone who has sufficient familiarity with the building to know that the scheme will work. I say “he” because I doubt it’s a woman.’

‘Perhaps not. Although you have had experience of threatening letters before; with Henry Richmond’s ex-wife, I seem to remember.’

‘This is very different, Leonard.’

‘I suppose it’s always unlike any other time. Whoever it is, they can certainly quote the Bible to their own ends.’

‘Will you show me the letters?’

‘I can recite them for you. They are burned into my mind.’

‘And you haven’t told the police?’

‘I have not.’

‘Geordie is already involved with the arson attack on Simon’s shop. The two crimes must be related.’

‘No one knows both Simon and me. We don’t have any friends or acquaintances in common; apart from you, of course.’

‘People might have seen you together; on one of your walks, perhaps.’

‘We have done nothing wrong. You can walk alongside someone in your work.’

‘Has there been anything controversial recently; anything that you might have done to annoy someone?’ Sidney asked.

‘I can’t think. I suppose I want everyone to like me, just as you do. Is that such a sin? I want to be a good priest, kind to my parishioners, faithful in the work of the Lord. I do not know what I have done to make someone hate me.’

‘It is almost certainly nothing personal. It is the idea that seems to provoke people to irrational anger. You must try not to take it to heart.’