Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (29 page)

‘It certainly feels personal. I hate it, Sidney. It is so vindictive, so filled with the lack of any charity or understanding. How can it be Christian? It makes me lose all my faith in humanity. I’ll have to stop. I can’t go on like this.’

Leonard was on the verge of tears. Sidney reached out his arm in comfort. He couldn’t bear it. ‘Don’t be reckless,
Leonard. We can sort this out, I promise. It’s early days. Be patient, that’s all I ask.’

‘But, Sidney, you are aware that a bishop cannot knowingly ordain a homosexual; and much less can a homosexual become a bishop.’

‘You are already ordained.’

‘But in my next job, whatever it is, wherever I am installed, I will have to submit to an examination in the articles of faith.’

‘As you do every day of your life.’

‘And people will be there,
judging
me, I know it will never end. What if the man goes on tormenting me? What if this never stops?’

Sidney held on to his friend’s arm. ‘Don’t cry, Leonard.’

‘I can’t help it. I’m sorry.’

The waitress came over and asked if she could bring the bill. The manager had sent her. She clearly didn’t want a scene.

‘Remember the prayer?’ Sidney asked:

‘Anoint and cheer our soiled face

With the abundance of Thy grace.

Keep far our foes, give peace at home;

Where Thou art guide, no ill can come.’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Leonard replied, letting go of Sidney’s arm and reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. ‘I will either have to give up being the man I have become or resign as a priest. I cannot be both.’

*    *    *

Geordie Keating was unsurprised when his friend visited him with the inevitable theory that the arson in Cambridge had to be connected to the threats Leonard had been receiving.

‘Hackford may want silence, but I am afraid he’s not going to get it. Blackmail’s always nasty and you can’t hide arson. The
Evening News
is on to the story and Helena Randall’s found out, so I expect we’ll be getting a visit from London’s finest soon enough.’

‘Small beer for her, I’d have thought.’

‘Actually she was quite interested. Perhaps she’s got something up her sleeve.’

‘She’s always been fond of Leonard, as has Malcolm.’

‘Do you think they are aware that he and Simon are more than friends?’

‘Now, Geordie, you don’t know that for certain.’

‘But you do.’

‘I haven’t told you anything specific.’

‘You don’t need to. I know you well enough. Still, I thought it was supposed to be easier for people like that now the law has changed and we’re expected to tolerate everything they do.’

‘You are referring to the Sexual Offences Act?’

‘The “charter for queers”, we call it. Not that it makes much difference to me. Homosexual acts committed in public conveniences are still illegal, and the act’s provisions do not apply to members of the Armed Forces. It does make them vulnerable to blackmail.’

‘I remember the Christine Keeler case and the Russian spy . . .’

‘Stephen Ward definitely swung it both ways. But what I want to know about the act is why doesn’t it exclude priests?
I know it’s legal, but presumably you boys still take a dim view of this kind of thing. It’s a sin, isn’t it? And please don’t tell me “it’s a bit more complicated”.’

‘Do you want the full theological explanation?’

‘Is there a quick version?’

‘There’s my version.’

‘You mean you’re all allowed to think different things?’

‘The Church is governed by Canon and Measure. Canon is the law and Measure is the interpretation of that law. Are you with me?’

‘It doesn’t sound so very different to my world. But I think I’ll need another pint before you go on.’

‘There have been some very good lectures on the subject by Norman Pittenger at King’s. We could have gone together, Geordie. That would have created a bit of a stir. We could have held hands in the back row.’

‘Are you joking? I wouldn’t want people thinking . . .’

‘I am teasing. Although some people probably think . . .’

‘What!’

‘Still teasing, Geordie. You really do have to work on your sense of humour.’

‘It’s not a laughing matter.’

‘Sin,’ Sidney resumed after he had bought the second pints, ‘is generally regarded in Christian thought as a state or condition; it is the separation or alienation from God.’

Geordie took a swig of his beer. ‘Adam and Eve and the tricky business with the serpent.’

‘The opposite of sin is the “state of grace” in which the separation or alienation or deprivation has been overcome by God’s act in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.’

‘And therefore we are redeemed.’

‘Very good. Pittenger argues that we must distinguish between
sin
, in the singular, and
sins
in the plural.’

‘Here we go,’ Geordie replied, lighting up a cigarette. ‘I knew there’d be some hair-splitting.’

‘Human sin is when we seek to live in the denial of our dependence upon God and upon others. It is when we live like animals, turning, and here I think Pittenger is rather apt, “our human existence into something more suited for the barnyard than for the community of men”.’

‘Rutting and such like . . .’

‘Sex, if you would like me to go on, is not, in itself, a sin.’

‘Depends who it is with.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Steady, Geordie. The idea is,’ Sidney continued, determined to get this lesson out of the way, ‘that sex is God-given. It is promiscuity, exploitation and abuse that is sinful.’

‘So where does degeneracy come in?’

‘Do you mean sex between men?’

‘I do.’

‘The irony is, as I am sure you will know, that most of the sexual practices between men also form part of heterosexual intimacy. What makes the same private actions, performed by consenting individuals, “disgusting”? You might as well argue that sexual activity between ugly people is not to be countenanced.’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

‘Would you like me to be specific about the actions involved?’

‘No thank you, Sidney. We’re in a public place and it’s quite disconcerting to hear a clergyman talk like this.’

‘Then let me put you at your ease, Geordie. There are, I think, two things that determine the sinfulness of the act. First there is the
inner spirit
with which it is performed; and second there is the
intentionality
, in which both parties to the act understand the nature of what they are doing. The two persons must be committed one to the other, in such a fashion that neither is using the other. They must give and receive in tenderness, so that there is no element of coercion, undue pressure, or imposed constraint.’

‘So you are saying that this is the same as in normal relationships?’

‘
Heterosexual
relationships, not “normal”.’

‘You think homosexuality is normal?’

‘I think homosexual acts between persons who intend a permanent union in love are not sinful nor should the Church consider them as such.’

‘Blimey, Sidney.’

‘I cannot see what is wrong when two men engage in physical acts which will both express their love and deepen it.’

‘I haven’t really thought about it like that.’

‘Well, perhaps it’s time you did. Would you like another pint, Geordie? Or something stronger, perhaps: a little whisky? I’ll tell the barmaid that you’re feeling a bit delicate, a little faint. It’s your feminine side . . .’

‘Don’t you bloody dare . . .’

‘What was I saying about your sense of humour?’

The next morning, unable to concentrate and just before lunch, Sidney put a new LP on the turntable. It was
Ummagumma
, the Pink Floyd album. Roger Waters had sent it to him, and two
tracks stood out: ‘Astronomy Domine’, which seemed to be some kind of lilting electronic mystic trance, and ‘Grantchester Meadows’, which included natural sounds he had seen the great bass player record on location.

There was something transcendental about it all. Sidney wondered whether he could buy some coloured light bulbs and turn his study into something more meditative. If he closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, then perhaps . . .

‘Daddy?’

Anna shook at his arm, told him the noise was too loud and then announced that she had lost Dizzy, her imaginary friend.

Sidney lifted the needle from the record player and gave his daughter his full attention. This was going to be a difficult conversation. How could one find an imaginary friend? When had Anna last seen him?

‘I don’t know. I think he’s gone away.’

‘I’m sure he’ll come back.’

‘He didn’t tell me he was going.’

‘Sometimes I don’t tell Mummy when I’m going somewhere.’

‘And she gets cross.’

‘Are you cross now, Anna?’

‘Very. Do you lose your friends, Daddy?’

‘I try not to.’

‘Is God your friend?’

‘I hope so.’

‘Sally at school says I’m making Dizzy up but I’m not. You don’t make God up, do you, Daddy?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But I’ve never seen God. Like you haven’t seen Dizzy.’

Sidney was flummoxed by this epistemological immediacy, but if he could not explain the concept of God to his own daughter, what chance did he have with anyone else? He would have to start with the character of Jesus Christ and work up from there.

Anna lost interest almost as soon as he began. ‘I know all about that,’ she said. ‘I’m going to find another friend.’

As she turned to leave, Sidney realised that he had failed to notice Amanda standing in the doorway. She had come for lunch. ‘It’s just as well you’ve got another friend too,’ she said. ‘Otherwise you would have been quite alone with your thoughts and, Hildegard has been telling me, that dreadful music.’

‘It’s not too bad once you get used to it.’

‘I don’t think that’s really the point, is it?’

‘There’s a rather amazing track called “Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict”. Would you like to hear it?’

‘You are making that up. No, thank you.’

‘How is your Michelangelo investigation coming along?’

‘The drawing has been authenticated, so it’s all gone rather well.’

Amanda explained that the British Museum was to put on a special event to celebrate the discovery of the new drawing. There was going to be some music and a reading of some of the artist’s sonnets and she was planning on asking an up-and-coming actor called Ian McKellen to perform.

‘I think he’s got the necessary flamboyance. I met him at a party and he was wearing a brown corduroy suit and a cravat that was so stylish among all the boring grey flannel. In any case, gay men are so much easier to talk to.’

‘Mr McKellen is homosexual?’

‘He doesn’t advertise it, but I think it’s pretty obvious. I rather wished Leonard could have been there. I am sure they would have got on like a house on fire. Oh. Perhaps I’d better rephrase that . . .’

‘They might well, but Leonard’s too troubled to think clearly at the moment.’

‘You’ve seen him?’

‘I have, Amanda.’

‘And it is as we feared? His private life?’

‘I am afraid so.’

‘If he’d lived in Renaissance times we wouldn’t be having any of this nonsense. To think that civilisation is going backwards.’

‘Not according to the scientists.’

‘But morally, Sidney. Whatever happened to tolerance? You should preach about it.’

‘I do.
You
should come to church.’

‘I don’t feel confident about that. People stare and jump to conclusions.’

‘No one is judging you, Amanda.’

‘But I
feel
judged. Just as Leonard does. That’s why we get on so well. We both understand what it’s like. Are you going to help him?’

‘Unfortunately, I think it may take more than money to sort out. Inspector Keating’s involved. Helena Randall too . . .’

‘And you and me. Goodness, Sidney, Leonard’s got the complete set.’

‘I hope we will prove formidable opponents.’

‘The blackmailer hasn’t a chance; but this gives me an idea. Let me give you the fifty pounds instead. You can see the
blackmailer in Leonard’s place. That would take the pressure off and you could do a bit of investigation at the same time. I’m so annoyed I didn’t think about all this before.’ She reached down into her handbag. ‘I’ve got it in my purse . . .’

‘Just a minute, Amanda.’

‘These are emergency funds, really. I seem to remember doing something like this before when you went off to France.’

‘I’m not sure . . .’

‘Oh come on, Sidney. It will be a true act of friendship; and, for once, you need have no qualms about the validity of your actions. You’re the only man who can do it and we’ll all be proud of you.’

Shortly after Amanda had left, Sidney received a telephone call from Helena with more information. The situation had escalated. The
Daily Mirror
had received letters from ‘Christian Grace’ asking for money for an exclusive on ‘perverted priests’. She had set a reporter on to it, he had done a bit of digging and found the writer’s real name: Nicholas Trent. He worked for a furnishing store in Watford.

Sidney remembered the double bed.

‘There’s not really enough evidence for a story so far, but the man’s language is vitriolic. I think we have to be careful. This could get very nasty. I don’t like it, Sidney. It might make a great story, but Trent is some kind of moral vigilante. I don’t trust his religious certainty. Perhaps I’ve been listening to you for too long.’

‘Sometimes I think you haven’t listened enough.’

‘I’ll let that pass. I think we should both do something about it. I have some standards and they include loyalty. But we’re going to have to act fast to control the story.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘We have to frame it in a different way with Leonard as victim.’

‘Does it have to mention him at all?’

‘Not necessarily but Trent will then go to another newspaper. We have to string him along and get what we can. That gives you time to go in.’