Absolute Truths (45 page)

Charley had come down to Starbridge by train, but he decided I
might enjoy the drive up to town so we departed the next morning
in my car. Unfortunately I was a nervous passenger when either
of my sons was driving, but although I offered to take the wheel
Charley insisted on acting
as my
chauffeur. I felt relieved that as it was early on a Sunday morning, the traffic was light and the
strain on my nerves was minimal.

Since I was having a day off, far from the diocese, I had aban
doned my uniform and was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt
and a Carlton Club tie. This sartorial retreat into anonymity proved
soothing, and
as
we approached the suburbs of London I thought
how pleasant it would be to walk down a street without attracting
the stares of the passers-by. I had even left my pectoral cross behind
in my bedroom. Jon would no doubt have recommended that a
smaller cross should be worn beneath my shirt, but I belonged to a generation which regarded the wearing of a cross
as
Romish and
even now I tended to think of it as merely part of my uniform. I
knew Jon insisted that a cross repelled demons, but that was just
his old-fashioned way of saying that by reminding its wearer
of Christ a pectoral cross was an aid in promoting Christian
behaviour. To invest a piece of metal with miraculous powers is
to flirt with superstition — and with the error of mistaking a symbol
for the reality to which it points. Besides, a bishop hardly needs
to adorn himself with a cross in order to remember his obligation
to behave properly.

I was just indulging in these brisk, sensible thoughts and
reflecting that several hours of deep sleep had wrought a miracu
lous improvement in my health when Charley yelped: ‘Jumping
Jehoshephat!’ and nearly drove through a red light.

‘
What on earth’s the matter?’

‘
I’ve just remembered I’m supposed to be having lunch with the
Welbecks and I can’t possibly cancel it — they’ve recently given
two thousand pounds to the Church Roof Fund! I’m so sorry,
Dad — I was really looking forward to our lunch at the flat —’

‘
Never mind,’ I said, taking care to look acutely disappointed.
‘I’ll get a sandwich somewhere, take a walk in the park and return
to your flat for tea.’ And when I saw that the promise of tea cheered him up, I tried to cheer him still further by adding:
‘You did quite right to persuade me to have a day out! I’m
already feeling much better and I can’t wait to hear this sermon
of yours.’

The sermon was indeed excellent and reminded me of my
Bampton lectures which I had so greatly enjoyed composing. This
memory in turn made me think of my unfinished book. If I could
only take a month off to do some writing ... I began to dream
of a miniature sabbatical which would miraculously restore me to
an even keel.

There was a Communion service directly after matins, but I
decided not to attend it; I wanted to make my confession to Jon
before I took the sacrament again, so after repeating my promise to Charley that I would return to his flat for tea, I left the church,
ignored my parked car and began to stroll downhill through
Mayfair. The sun was shining and I knew the exercise would do
me no harm.

I had just reached the Connaught Hotel in Carlos Place and was
trying to remember how long it had been since I had lunched
there when I remembered that other, very exclusive, very English
hotel in Albemarle Street, now only a stone’s throw away. Or
perhaps I should say that I allowed myself to remember it.
Of course I could not have forgotten entirely that Loretta was
staying there, but since I had made up my mind not to see her
again I had until that moment suppressed all thought of her
hotel.

I skirted Berkeley Square and decided not to go down Albemarle
Street but to take the parallel Dover Street instead. I supposed I
had forgotten — or had I? — that Brown’s had a Dover Street
entrance. The next moment I had halted outside it.

I glanced at my watch. It was only quarter past twelve but I
was sure that Loretta, having inevitably been invited somewhere
for Sunday lunch, would have already left the hotel. Still loitering on the pavement I toyed with the idea of leaving her a note to say
how much I had enjoyed meeting her and how I hoped one day
to hear more about her journey towards Christianity. This plan
struck me as being perfectly safe and well within the bounds of
propriety. I entered Brown’s.

The porter directed me to a desk where I could write the note, and after I had given him the sealed envelope I prepared to leave
by the Albemarle Street entrance. Then it occurred to me that
there would really be nothing improper and very little that was
unsafe in drinking a quick Tio Pepe with Loretta. In my acute
anxiety to do nothing foolish I was being over-cautious and even,
possibly, neurotic.

I returned to the porter. ‘I’m almost sure Professor Staviski’s
out,’ I said, ‘but could you try her room for me?’

The porter said encouragingly that she had not turned in her
key, but when he telephoned the room there was no reply.

I decided that she was out, that this was all for the best and that
I could be quite happy drinking Tio Pepe on my own.

I did take a look at the dining-room as I moved past the open
door, but it was too early for anyone to be lunching. Drifting
on through the quiet, old-fashioned, sparsely populated reception
rooms I finally reached the bar.

The first person I saw
as
I crossed the threshold was Loretta.
She was drinking a very sparkling, very stylish champagne
cocktail.

After we had recovered from the shock of seeing each other I
realised with relief that there was a large, loquacious group of
some six people in another corner of the room and that their noise
would guarantee us a certain degree of privacy. Having grasped
this important detail I then had the chance to note that Loretta
herself, no doubt in deference to a London Sunday, had left the
pink trouser-suit in her wardrobe and was wearing a jacket and
skirt, both cherry-red, with a frilly black blouse. When she stood
up to greet me I was interested to see that the skirt barely covered
her knees, and when she sat down again, crossing her legs, the
hem of her skirt rose to daring heights. She wore black stockings, a fashion which seemed to have returned after a long absence, and
very high-heeled black shoes which drew attention to her excellent ankles. Lyle would have approved. She had always hated what she
called ‘old ladies’ footwear’ and had worn youthful shoes until the
bones of her feet had finally rebelled six months ago. I wondered
how Loretta’s bones were faring, but it was hard to remember that she was older than Lyle. Immaculately groomed and effort
lessly smart, she appeared, in our dim, secluded corner of the bar,
to be no older than forty-nine.

‘
You look quite wonderful,’ I said. ‘Do you dress up like this
every day?’

‘I could hardly go moseying around London in my muumuu!’

‘What’s a muu-muu?’

She laughed. A waiter arrived to ask what I wanted to drink,
and suddenly a Tio Pepe seemed a symbol of everything I had
temporarily escaped: the agonies of the bishopric, the agonies of
parenthood, the agonies of life at the South Canonry without Lyle.
Turning to the waiter I said impulsively: ‘Bring me a champagne
cocktail.’

Loretta said: ‘I thought you’d be pussy-footing around in purple
this morning!’

‘
I’m still officially incapacitated.’ I explained my presence in Mayfair before demanding: ‘Why aren’t you visiting friends for Sunday
lunch?’

‘
What friends? Apart from Enid Markhampton in Starbridge my
friends from before the war arc either dead, like Evelyn, or senile,
like poor Sybil Welbeck. Incidentally, talking of Enid and my visit
with her, what did you make of that Bacchanalian orgy at the
Deanery?’

‘
I was in such a state of shock that I barely remember it.’

We both laughed before she exclaimed: ‘You were wonderful,
Charles — so debonair!’

‘
I only hope that dreadful Dido didn’t suspect anything!’

‘
Oh, don’t you like her? I thought she was adorable, a real British
eccentric! And
be was
adorable too, so cute and cuddly —’

‘I’ll never understand what women see in that man.’

‘
You think all men have to look as gorgeous as you before they
qualify for a sex-appeal rating?’

‘
I’m sure that at present I look about as gorgeous as Methuselah
on the day he finally died! I feel like knocking on the door of the
nearest old people’s home and begging for admittance.’

‘
Well, don’t be surprised if all the old gals fight to push your
wheelchair.’

The waiter arrived with my champagne cocktail.

‘Put that on my check,’ said Loretta to him.

No, no, I can’t have that!’ I exclaimed scandalised. ‘I couldn’t
possibly let a lady pay for my drink!’

‘
Oh Charles, Charles, do say you haven’t turned into one of
those hidebound old-timers who think all women should be kept
in the kitchen along with the stove, the ironing board and the
washing-machine —’

‘
I’m not laying down the law about how a lady should be treated
at home! All I’m saying is that when a lady’s in the bar of Brown’s in the company of an English gentleman, ifs unthinkable that she
should pay for his drink!’

‘
Then maybe it’s time you had fun thinking the unthinkable,’
said Loretta amused, and added kindly: ‘Relax — lie back and comb
your mane, Mr English Lion!
Miss
American Eagle’s winged in
to take care of you ..

‘
I almost looked in on St Mary’s myself this morning,’ said Loretta
later, ‘but then I decided I could do without that particular trip
down memory lane, so I looked in on the Grosvenor Chapel
instead to salute the shade of Rose Macaulay ... And talking of
memory lane, do we refer to 1937? Or do we just preserve a
discreet silence?’

‘
Wouldn’t that be taking discretion to unnecessarily heroic
lengths?’

‘
I’m used to being heroically discreet where you’re concerned.
The only person I ever told about our meeting was my analyst
and he’s dead now.’

‘I only told my spiritual director.’

‘What about Lyle?’

‘
Lyle ...’ I hesitated as I recalled the events of 1937. Then I
said simply: ‘Yes, she knew.’

‘
What a pity! If I’d been in your shoes I wouldn’t have told her — I’m always suspicious of married couples who tell each other
everything, but no doubt that’s because my sadist of a husband
made a habit of telling me every detail of his homosexual affairs.’

‘You never remarried?’

‘
Never. Once was more than enough,
as I’m
sure I told you.’

‘
But you were never tempted to change your mind?’

‘
Oh, I did toy with the idea of remarrying, yes, I did, but I had
my career, and marriage is really a very dispensable institution
when one’s middle-aged and professionally successful.’

‘
I never found it dispensable!’

‘
Of course not, you’re a man. I’m talking about women, and
middle age is the time when most women finally have the opportu
nity n
ot only to find out who they are
but to do something about
it.’

‘I don’t remember you being such a feminist!’

‘
What do you mean — "such a feminist"! I’m just interested in
women having the chance to develop spiritually by getting to know
themselves as people other than wives, mothers and daughters.
You’re a priest — aren’t you interested in the spiritual development
of half the human race?’

‘Of course, but —’

‘
And I’m interested in justice too. How would you like to be
treated
as
second-rate just because you’d latched on to the wrong
bundle of ingredients at your conception?’

‘
Surely a feminist should insist that it was the right bundle!’

‘
Oh, I don’t want to raise your consciousness too quickly — you
might panic and make a new attempt to pay the bill! But forget feminism for the moment and answer me this: am I allowed to
ask what happened at the end, back in 1937? You never told me,
did you? You promised to write, but you never did.’

‘I’m sorry. I felt —’

‘
— that some angles of the story just couldn’t be committed to
paper?’

‘
I’m afraid so. And perhaps too I thought that my silence would
say all there was to say ...
Is
it too late to thank you for having
the strength of mind not to get in touch with me to satisfy your
curiosity?’

‘
That was no strength of mind, that was just sheer mixed-up
emotions and general cowardice. As soon as Evelyn wrote and
told me you were married, I knew I couldn’t handle seeing you
again, Charles. You’d made too big an impact on me.’

‘
I’m sorry — I think I knew even at the time that our meeting
was a disaster for you —’

‘No, it wasn’t.’

and bearing that
in
mind, I can’t begin to understand how I
helped you find a Christian faith! How could I possibly have
achieved such a feat by behaving like a clergyman who deserved
to be defrocked?’

‘
Let’s do a deal,’ she said amused. ‘You tell me what finally
happened in Starbridge in 1937, and I’ll tell you how a roll in the
hay – or in this case the heather – resulted in my conversion.’

‘
Surely it was bracken? I seem to remember –’

‘
Whatever it was, it wasn’t half as comfortable as D. H. Lawrence would have us all believe. How about another round of champagne
cocktails?’

Without hesitation I raised my hand to attract the waiter.