Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (9 page)

The house had somehow managed to make itself colder than the exterior temperature. Once they had unpacked, they were shown into the drawing-room and asked to wait. Sir Mark would be in shortly for a welcoming drink. The room took up the central part of the rear of the house and looked out on to a large lawn, a formal garden, and a ha-ha that divided the cultivated ground from the fields and farmland beyond. Mature oaks and elms framed the edge of the garden, and the last autumn leaves blew across the grass as the sky darkened into night.

Sir Mark Kirby-Grey had the air of a preoccupied man who was doing his best and was not prepared to take criticism. Prematurely bald, and smaller than he wanted to be, he wore a bespoke navy suit with one cuff button undone, and he spoke to everyone as if they were employees who fell short. Unused to relaxation or sitting still, he preferred to ‘get on with things’, and his quick, attentive movements were either a sign of shyness and social discomfort or a deliberate attempt to remind people of his influence and importance.

His wife, Elizabeth, was a watchful woman who wore a high-collared full-sleeved evening dress in black with white lace appliqué over a mesh bodice. Her conversation was filled with self-deprecation (‘I am sure no one would notice if I just disappeared’) despite the fact that her days were filled with running the house and the estate, ordering delicacies from Harrods, typing her husband’s letters and helping out with various charities. She didn’t see too many of her friends because she was so busy and so it was ‘absolute bliss’ that Amanda had agreed to come and stay. Elizabeth had high hopes of her friend ‘making a go of it’ with Henry Richmond ‘despite the recent difficulties’.

When Sidney enquired as to what had happened to the first Mrs Richmond she replied that it had all been ‘too ghastly to explain’ but that Amanda’s potential beau was a free man and her friend was an independent woman. Although it was unrealistic to hope for children it certainly wasn’t ‘too late for happiness’.

Asked about her other friends, Elizabeth was equally reticent. She seldom travelled away from home. ‘Mark doesn’t want me to. He says it’s because he needs me so much; and he does like to take care of everything, especially the money side of things. It makes life so much easier. And it isn’t too much of a sacrifice. I love my home.’

She had a quick smile that soon faded, perhaps worried about being caught out, and Sidney could see that her attentiveness as a hostess included keeping a close eye on her husband’s alcohol consumption. Sir Mark had enjoyed two large whiskies in company before dinner and they were probably not his first of the evening. It was likely that he would be well oiled before the port and cigars.

Amanda was wearing an evening dress in midnight-blue silk and wondered whether she should change between cocktails and dinner. ‘I am worried this is all a bit too revealing but I suppose a shawl covers a multitude of sins.’

‘Hildegard’s noticed that there’s no heating.’

‘There never is, darling.’

She looked magnificent with her hair pinned back to reveal pearl earrings that matched her necklace. She smelled of jasmine, violet and vetiver. It was Je Reviens.

Henry Richmond was an inoffensively handsome man in his early forties, with thick dark brown hair parted cleanly and, Sidney suspected, held in place with a touch of pomade. His olive skin gave him a continental air, a demeanour enhanced by an over-liberal use of Trumper’s aftershave, but his deep clear voice, confident jawbone and firm handshake were enough to reassure any doubter that he was distinctly English.

Dr Michael Robinson, with his wife Isabel, had also been invited, together with Major Tom Meynell, of the Royal Artillery, an ebullient widower who was known as ‘Shouty’ to his friends, and Serena Stein, a psychologist with a surprisingly fruity laugh. She began by telling Sidney that she was writing a history of contraception; a conversation-stopper if ever there was one.

After all the introductions had been made and the drinks poured, the guests began to share news of acquaintances of whom Sidney and Hildegard had never heard. (Giles Cox-Slaughter was going to be a judge, so at least they could all be guaranteed a sympathetic hearing if they ever got into trouble; Marcus Treeves was leaving to start a salmon farm in Scotland despite there being ‘plenty of fish in the sea already’; and Shouty Meynell’s daughter Wistful (named after one of his favourite hounds) had become engaged to a second cousin who had a bit of ‘a lack’ but she was fortunate to find anyone on account of her being so plain.) Sidney and Hildegard felt they were spending a first night at a school that they had been reluctant ever to attend.

Amanda was all ears as Henry Richmond regaled the company with a series of well-rehearsed anecdotes concerning the pranks he had played on his friends. He had once managed to convince a naive colleague that if you put a pigeon next to a magnet it would always face north due to high levels of iron in the blood; that chickens fly south for the winter; and that kilts were originally made from the tartan pelt of a wildcat.

They partook of a winter consommé before settling down to lean pheasant, on which Sidney made little purchase. This was served with overcooked vegetables and underdone roast potatoes. Sidney wondered if the glacial room temperature and the indifferent cooking were a deliberate attempt to make the Kirby-Greys’ guests drink more of the welcoming burgundy that had been laid down by the host’s father in the early 1950s. Such thoughts he knew were ungrateful, and he told himself that he really should be less judgemental, especially when a rather decent bread-and-butter pudding was produced for dessert.

The butler poured a too-sweet wine as an accompaniment while two maids, Kay and Nancy, circled the table. Sidney saw that Sir Mark was particularly watchful of Nancy, the smaller and darker of the two; a girl in her early twenties who was at pains to avoid eye contact. Her service was one of indifferent, even sullen, efficiency.

Serena Stein noticed Sidney observing the maid in action and gave him a nudge. ‘It’s rude to stare.’

‘I didn’t think I was.’

‘Your reputation precedes you.’

‘I was unaware I had one.’

Miss Stein’s voice was deep, and she clearly knew that it was one of her most seductive features, with her head held back in a mixture of interest and amusement. ‘Tell me, Canon Chambers,’ she asked confidentially, ‘with all your experience, can you ascertain, perhaps even just by looking, if a couple are happy or not?’

‘Not always.’

‘And when they first come to you and say they want to get married, do you have a good idea whether it’s going to be a lasting union?’

‘I haven’t had a failure yet.’

‘You mean you haven’t had a divorce. That’s not quite the same thing.’

‘Some couples think that the initial stages of being “in love” will see them through any difficulty ahead . . .’

‘And you don’t believe it will?’

‘I think friendship is often as important as love.’

‘That may not be enough.’

‘I am not saying it is. You need both. Love has to be supported by care, patience, tolerance and understanding. Kindness too . . .’

‘But when the passion goes,’ Serena continued, glancing at the maid, ‘then all of those things might not be enough. One or other of the partners could start to look elsewhere.’

‘And that’s when friendship should protect that passion,’ Sidney replied. ‘You have to put each other first.’

‘Is that what you do in your marriage?’

‘I try. It’s different every day.’

‘I thought that love was “an ever-fixed mark”, as Shakespeare has it?’

‘The love should be fixed but its workings are not. Like a watch, perhaps. It is always the same entity but the parts keep moving . . .’

‘Until the watch stops.’

‘Then you have to keep winding it up.’ Sidney reached for his wine. ‘This is not a very good analogy. I’m sorry.’

Serena Stein was conciliatory, leaning in with almost a whisper. ‘I think your wife must be a very fortunate woman.’

‘I rather think I am a very lucky man.’

‘I heard you were going to marry Miss Kendall.’

Sidney put down his wine glass and hoped for a speedy refill even though he didn’t actually like dessert wine. ‘That was never a possibility.’

‘I think it was. She told me.’

Sidney checked that his friend was fully engaged in a conversation elsewhere before continuing to speak about her at the table. ‘Amanda could never have married a vicar. And besides, I am happy . . .’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘As soon as I found Hildegard, I knew.’

‘You did, did you?’

‘
Yes
,’ Sidney snapped. ‘
I did
.’

He wished he could sit next to his wife instead. He wanted them both to be on a sofa back in Grantchester with Byron asleep at their feet and their baby daughter beside them. What was he doing at this hopeless dinner party, seeking justification and approval from a ghastly woman who kept asking him impertinent questions? He tried to catch the butler’s eye for another drink.

Serena Stein was still speaking to him when Sidney realised that he had not been listening. He regained his awareness as she repeated a question. ‘Do you not want to answer? Plenty of people have made a go of a second marriage.’

‘You know that Hildegard had a previous husband?’

‘I have done my homework, Canon Chambers. It could be that you benefit from the experience of someone who has been through it all before.’

‘Perhaps I do.’

‘The vicarious experience of failure. Are you here to approve of Amanda’s new man?’

‘I wasn’t sure he was.’

‘He will be by Sunday.’

Sidney tried to deflect the questions back on his interlocutor. She was bloody rude, he decided. ‘You’re not married yourself?’

‘No. I am not.’

Sidney then wondered if Miss Stein was a lesbian. That might, at least, make the conversation more interesting; talking to someone who, in his father’s words, ‘batted for the other side’.

‘I don’t really believe in that kind of thing,’ Serena continued. ‘I don’t think a woman needs a man to be happy.’

‘I am sure she doesn’t. But perhaps we all need someone to help us feel a little less lonely.’

‘Are you lonely, Canon Chambers?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Really?’

He had walked into Serena Stein’s trap. Why had he made himself vulnerable? ‘It’s not always easy,’ he confessed.

‘Being married or being a priest?’

This woman was clearly good at her job. ‘Both . . .’

‘Would you care to explain?’

‘Not really. I think we all have moments when we don’t quite know who we are or if what we are doing is the right thing.’

‘You have doubts?’

‘Not about my marriage. Or my faith. I think.’

‘You sound as if you’re trying to convince yourself.’

Sidney was even more irritated. How dare this woman make assumptions? It didn’t matter how attractive she was. It didn’t give her licence to talk about his marriage. ‘I don’t think this is an appropriate subject for the dinner table,’ he answered. ‘Perhaps we should listen to the general conversation? People will think we are being rude.’

‘Do you find intimacy impolite?’

‘When it is at the expense of others. I am not afraid of intimacy
per se
.’

Serena Stein smiled. ‘Then I look forward to being better acquainted.’

Henry Richmond was beginning another of his anecdotes, explaining away his volubility by saying that he had an extraordinarily taciturn older brother and had therefore grown up speaking for both of them. ‘The strange thing is that he’s become an ambassador, which means that he is forever in the public eye.’

‘Has he got a good wife?’ Sir Mark asked.

‘Not as fine as yours, of course.’

‘That goes without saying.’

‘I went to see him in Paris earlier this month and he told me that the only day he really enjoyed was Remembrance Day because he didn’t have to speak to anyone. All he had to do was lay a few wreaths.’

Shouty Meynell turned to Sidney. ‘I imagine in Grantchester you lost a few good men?’

‘Sixteen in the Great War, six in the last. Even in a small village . . .’

‘Did you take part yourself? Or were you a conchie?’

‘No, I fought.’

‘Unusual for a clergyman.’

‘I wasn’t one at the time.’

‘I would have thought it might put you off.’

‘Most people say that, but once you have seen such darkness and despair perhaps you reach out for hope.’

Sidney could hardly contain himself. Why was he being put on his mettle like this?

There then followed a discussion of how war affected faith and Serena Stein asked Hildegard ‘what it felt like’ to be a German, before Amanda changed the subject by asking Henry Richmond about his plans for Christmas. No one dared mention his dead wife.

Just before the women left and the port and cigars were brought in, Sir Mark drew the dinner to a close by looking forward to the shoot on the morrow. He said that the weather was set fair and he hoped that he would outdo his previous record provided there was no poaching of his air space. Did everyone know the rules? ‘The main one being that I have to bag the most.’