Absolute Truths (64 page)

°That’s a lie!’ By this time Aysgarth was beside himself with fury.

‘
You’ve been longing for years to make a visitation in order to rub
my nose in the mud, and don’t think I can’t guess why! You’ve
never forgiven me, have you?’

With horror I realised that not only was the dagger back in his
hand but that disembowelment was about to begin. ‘Stephen —’

‘
You can never forget that I once made a pass at your wife and
that your wife was very far from being as upset as she should have
been!’

Silence fell at last, but beyond the jagged panes of the window
the Cathedral seemed to crackle with a force no eye could see and
no scientist could measure. No longer was it a mere sullen lump
glowering beneath the dull white sky. It was radiating malignancy,
the scaffolding on the blighted west front as monstrous as a magni
fied scab, the spire resembling an open sore which had begun to
fester. The entire building seemed deformed and rank.

Someone was saying: ‘You bloody liar!’ But of course the man
speaking was not me. It could not have been me because I never
spoke in that tone of voice and I never used that kind of language. Bishops never did. No decent clergyman ever did. Such behaviour
was unthinkable. ‘You bloody liar, she didn’t want you, she fought
you off —’ The Cathedral had begun to writhe like a stone serpent.
I was clearly aware of it writhing on some other plane of reality
in a dimension which existed just beyond the corner of my eye.
‘— I know she fought you off, I know she did —’

‘
She didn’t fight very hard! In fact for a long time she
didn’t
fight at all. If I hadn’t had too much to drink —’

‘
You always have too much to drink! The only reason why
you don’t spend your whole damned time committing adultery is
because you’re always too bloody sodden to achieve it!’

‘Why, you self-righteous, hypocritical —’

‘
What’s so self-righteous and hypocritical about speaking the
truth?’ I shouted, and at once Aysgarth shouted back: ‘It’s not
the truth-! I’m the one who’s speaking the truth when I call you
self-righteous and hypocritical — how the bloody hell do you have
the nerve to accuse me of immorality when it was you, not me,
who went to bed with Harriet March last night?’

‘Went to —’

‘
No, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, and don’t think I’ll necessarily keep quiet for the good of the Church! In fact if you go ahead with that bloody visitation, I’ll make sure
Harriet tells her smart friends in London about your affair with
her — and then the
News of the World
will be on your doorstep
before you can even draw breath to lie about your innocence!’

I stared at him. I could not believe my ears, and automatically,
still too
stunned
to understand what was happening, I said: ‘But
there’s no affair.’

‘According to Harriet there is!’

‘But she’s lying.’

‘
I don’t believe you! And neither will the
News of the World!’

I finally realised what was happening: I was being blackmailed.
I was almost too shocked to speak but at last I managed to say:
‘You’ve just convinced me beyond any shadow of doubt that
you’re utterly unfit to be the dean of a great cathedral. l’m going
to force you out of Starbridge even if it’s the very last thing I
ever do.’

PART FOUR

ONE

‘
The evils of our Ilk have an alarming tendency to spread,
and breed other evils. Every extension of
the
trouble is a
possible occasion of good, through the challenge it throws down to character, or the appeal it makes to kindness. But
how far the evil may have run and multiplied before the
appeal is heard, or the challenge taken up!’

AUSTIN FARRER

Warden of Keble College, Oxford,

1960-1968

Low Almighty and Ills Unlimited

I erupted from the Deanery.

I never looked at the Cathedral, but I felt as if its shadow swept
across the sward to pursue me as I stumbled down Canonry Drive
in the bright white light of day.

As soon
as
I reached home I poured myself a brandy and took
the glass upstairs to my bedroom where I knew no member of my
staff would interrupt me. I glanced at my watch. The time was
still only half-past four. I wanted to leave immediately for Star
. ington but I knew it would be suicidal to drive a car until I was
calmer.

Curiously enough I could not think of Harriet’s monstrous
behaviour. I could only think of Lyle and Aysgarth embracing. Of
course Aysgarth could have been lying. But now Lyle was dead how could I ever find out? Sitting on the edge of the bed I shud
dered with misery, jealousy, rage and despair.

But shuddering in this self-indulgent fashion could hardly be rated a profitable occupation in such circumstances and indeed
could even be judged an escape from this new reality — which was
that I was in the biggest mess of my episcopal life and that my
diocese was now facing the seamiest of ecclesiastical scandals.
Setting aside my empty glass of brandy I finally nerved myself
to drive to Starrington.

Fearing the door in the wall might be locked, I made no attempt
to take the shortest route to Jon’s cottage but parked again outside
the main gates of the Manor. It was still light but I took a torch
from the glove compartment for the return journey.

I had not forgotten Martin’s advice to postpone my visit until the
next day, but I knew Jon would never turn me away when I was in
such a truly desperate situation. I wondered if Nicholas was still at
the cottage. What would he think when I arrived looking distraught?
Young people were not supposed to see bishops looking distraught.
In fact no one was supposed to sec bishops looking distraught .. .
My anxious thoughts, banal yet tormenting, scampered round and
round in my brain like a bunch of greyhounds at a race-track, and
were only stilled when I reached the edge of the dell and could look
down on the chapel, pale amidst the dark trees. The lights were
already glowing beyond the windows of Jon’s cottage.

The cat was washing his paws on the cottage’s doorstep. As he
saw me he hesitated, one paw still upraised, but before he could
decide what to do the door opened abruptly and Jon ordered him
inside. Then Jon caught sight of
me.
He paused, a gaunt figure in
the doorway, and I broke into a run to cover the last yards which
separated us.

‘
Charles! Why are you dressed
as a commercial
traveller?’

‘Never mind, I’m extremely glad to see you.’

Encouraged by this unmistakably genuine welcome, I then
noticed that far from looking worn out he’ appeared to be stimulated and alert. The frantic father, grappling with debilitating par
ental problems, had vanished. The subtle spiritual director,
compassionate but essentially detached, had returned. I felt as if
having seen a man stumbling around in clogs I had returned to
find him dancing in handmade shoes.

Tentatively I said: ‘Is Nicholas here?’ but Jon replied firmly:
‘Nicholas is much better and I’ve sent him to meditate in the
chapel.’ That disposed of Nicholas. So might Jon, in his former role as Abbot of Grantchester, have talked of a troubled novice who had been collared, counselled and cast back into the scriptorium. Could one, in the middle of the twentieth century, treat
one’s son
as an
abbot would treat a novice? Apparently one could,
but I wondered what Nicholas thought of being packed off to
meditate in a darkening chapel when he was probably
still
shaken
from his sinister experience.

‘
He’ll be all right,’ said Jon as if sensing my doubts, ‘because he
knows he’ll be all right. He’s lit a candle and he’s in the presence
of the Blessed Sacrament. No demon can withstand the power of
Christ.’ These statements were made in a very casual manner as if
he were discussing some obvious stage in the housetraining of a cat. Against my will I remembered Martin describing Nicholas
as
a
mixed-up kitten.

‘
Come along in, Charles,’ Jon was adding, ushering me across
the threshold. ‘I must say, you’ve chosen the most interesting
moment to call.’

Pleased but puzzled I walked into the room — and immediately
recoiled in horror.

Aysgarth was sitting at the table by the window.

It would have been hard to judge who was the most flabbergasted
by the situation in which we now found ourselves. Paralysed by
the reluctance to believe we could both be present at the cottage,
Aysgarth and I stared at each other aghast while Jon, well pleased
to have escaped from the rigorous demands of parenthood, was
prowling around purposefully, closing the door, extricating a fold
ing chair from a cupboard and saying: ‘Sit down opposite Neville
at the table, Charles.’

I had never before heard Jon call Aysgarth by his Christian
name, and I realised that Jon was speaking not merely
as a
priest
but as the spiritual director who had helped Aysgarth in the past
and had now been asked to help him again. I was additionally
startled to hear Aysgarth being addressed not as Stephen, the name
Dido had given him, but as Neville, the name he had been using long ago at our first meeting in 1940 when his first wife had been still alive. In my shock my mind attempted to calm itself by fasten
ing on this trivial detail. Absurdly I said to Aysgarth: ‘I didn’t
think anyone called you Neville nowadays.’

‘
This is a new Neville,’ said Jon before Aysgarth could reply.
‘This Neville incorporates not only the previous Nevilles but also
Stephen. He’s been in place since the end of 1963.’

After a pause I said: ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘
No? Have you never had to strip aside various versions of Charles Ashworth in order to uncover your true self ?’
At this point Aysgarth rose to his feet, cleared his throat and
said politely: ‘I’ll
wait outside until Charl
es has finished.’

‘
Sit down,’ said Jon.

‘But surely –’

‘
Sit down.’

Aysgarth sank reluctantly back into his chair.

‘
In that case I must
be
the one who waits outside,’ I said. ‘Obvi
ously you can’t talk to both of us at the same time.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well ...’

‘
In fact it’s not I who have to talk to both of you; it’s both of
you who have to talk to each other. Take a scat, please.’

Reluctantly I did as I was told. Aysgarth and I were now facing
each other. Jon, who had by this time set up the folding chair for
himself, drew it to the table and sat down between
us.

There followed a long silence which finally became so unendur
able that I felt it was worth uttering any idiocy to break it. To
Aysgarth I said: ‘I didn’t see your car.’

‘It’s parked outside the door in the wall.’

‘
Ah. I thought that might be locked. f parked at the gates.’

‘
Splendid!’ said Jon. ‘A very civil little exchange! Perhaps I may
even dare to hope that you can stay in the same room for a few
minutes without generating another unspeakable scene. I say
"another" because I assume that only an unspeakable scene
could
have
driven you both to take refuge here at more or less the same
moment.’

I turned to Aysgarth. ‘Haven’t you told him anything?’

‘
I’ve only just arrived.’

‘
His words on arrival,’ said Jon, ‘were: "All hell’s broken loose
and you’ve got to do something" – which is perhaps what you
would have said, Charles, once you’d established that Nicholas
was safely out of the way.’

I had to concede that I might well have made a similar remark. ‘So you’re in agreement, at least, about the appalling nature of
your situation. Very well, I suggest you take it in turns to tell me
your stories, and I also suggest you toss a coin to decide who goes
first. That’ll eliminate any unedifying squabble about precedence.’
Aysgarth said cautiously: ‘I quite like the idea of a coin,’ and I
said: ‘Very appropriate. Conjures up images of c
^r
icket and civilised
behaviour.’

‘More agreement!’ said Jon. ‘We’re getting on nicely!’

‘
You dreadful old pirate,’ said Aysgarth in
disgust, ‘you
disgrace
ful old ecclesiastical buccaneer, I can’t stand to see how much
you’re enjoying this!’ He turned to me. ‘Remember when we had
that row back in 1946 and you smashed the glass in the grate of his dining-room? The old pirate enjoyed every minute of that too
– what a way to get vicarious thrills!’

I found this speech extraordinarily offensive, but before I could make some outraged riposte on Jon’s behalf Jon himself said in
his most placid voice: Toss the coin, would you, Charles?’ and I
realised I was being advised to keep my temper.

Searching my pockets I finally remembered that I had no change; I had not foreseen I would remain dressed up as a grammar-school
arriviste in circumstances which required me to produce coins. In
the end Aysgarth had to come to my rescue.

‘
Heads!’ he called confidently as I spun his half-crown in the
air.

My heart sank as I saw the image of the Queen. Trust you,’ I
could not help but say, ‘to take a risk and win.’

Aysgarth, looking pleased with himself, proceeded to make the
inevitable decision. ‘I’ll put you in to bat.’

P
anic led me to appeal to the umpire. ‘Jon, wouldn’t it be better
if we took turns to brief you in private?’

‘No,’ said Jon.

‘
But I can’t help thinking it would be so much easier if —’

‘
What’s easiest isn’t necessarily what’s best. Remember that after
bracing exercise the body invariably feels much healthier.’

‘
After bracing exercise my body invariably feels as if it wants to
drop dead,’ said Aysgarth. ‘I’m sorry, but I honestly can’t see why
you’re so against private briefings.’

‘
They’d enable you both to preserve your pride by hiding your
weaknesses from each other. No, much better to have everything
out in the open! No more running away and taking comfort in
illusion — no more hiding behind glittering images! Let’s look
upon the truth at last before you’re both destroyed by your
efforts
to escape from it!’

At that point I realised I could hardly argue in favour of side
stepping the truth, and feeling
increasingly
queas
y I forced
myself
to embark on my narrative.