Absolute Truths (84 page)

‘I’m just surprised you did survive.’

‘
Perhaps I did it to spite the Church! I couldn’t bear the thought
of it breaking us both in two and winning. I remember screaming at Derek once: "How can you be so forgiving to the Church when
it’s forced you to suffer in order to be the priest you’re clearly
meant to be?" but he just said: "I wouldn’t be the priest I am
now unless I’d gone through all that." Oh, and he talked about
redemption and all that sort of thing, but I didn’t understand, I’m
no good at theology. But what I did understand was
him.
He
forgave. He’d been through hell and he still suffered from
depressions right up to the day he died, but he knew how to
forgive and he knew how to love – and he did love me, Charles,
although of course I shall always feel sad that he couldn’t love me
in the way I wanted. And now perhaps you can understand why
last Sunday was so wonderful for me: I’d never been to bed with
a normal man before. It just seemed such a miracle to be given a
glimpse at last of what a normal married life must be like.’ And
still speaking quite without self-pity she added: ‘I suppose it’s all rather pathetic really.’
.

I was just realising with amazement that this brave, honest,
vulnerable, remarkable and even heroic woman was exactly the
kind of partner I needed to accompany me through the rest of my
life when I heard the do
or of the writing-room open. I t
hought:
damn! – not the most charitable of reactions, but I was in no
mood for an interruption. I had my back to the door, but when
I saw Sheila smile I realised that the interloper was known to her.

I swung round abruptly, but the next moment my simple
irri
tation
had been replaced by a far more complex range of emotions,
for the intruder was none other than the Cathedral’s wife-hunting
residentiary Canon, Paul Dalton.

‘
Ah, I see you’ve been purloined by the Bishop!’ said Paul good-
humouredly to Sheila as he moved into the room to join us. ‘Sorry
I’m a little late for that coffee I promised you, but my meeting at
the diocesan office took longer than I thought it would ... Will
you join us for coffee, Charles?’

Since this was obviously a question which expected the answer
no, I said: Thanks, but I must be off.’ However, curiosity welded me to my chair. ‘I didn’t realise,’ I said lightly, so lightly that the
words seemed to waft around the room instead of falling into the
conversation with a succession of dull thuds, ‘that you two knew
each other.’

‘
Mrs Preston was at Communion this morning,’ explained Paul,
and added with a little laugh so carefully manufactured that it
seemed almost a spontaneous expression of joviality: ‘I know you
think we Canons are pretty slow off the mark sometimes, Charles,
but I assure you we do know how to make a visitor feel welcome!’

‘
I knew Canon Dalton had been at theological college with
Derek,’ said Sheila sedately. ‘So naturally after the service I intro
duced myself.’

‘
Naturally.’ I made some idiotic remark about it being a small
world. Then I realised that they were waiting for me to leave so
I unglued myself from my chair and bestowed upon Sheila some
cliché about keeping in touch. Sheila said simply: ‘Thanks, Charles.
I’m so glad we were able to talk this morning,’ and after that, since
there was apparently nothing left for me to say, I withdrew very
t
houghtfully to my car.

In t
he driver’s seat I examined the nature of my deliverance. I
hardly dared believe that I could have been rescued from such a
hell of anxiety, but the more I thought about not only Paul’s arrival
but Sheila’s revelations, the more convinced I became that I was
safe. I felt Sheila would no more make trouble for me than she
had made trouble for Derek, and besides ... I was sure I could
wholly rely on Paul Dalton to pursue his pipe-dream to its inevi
table romantic conclusion.

As the vastness of my relief became apparent to me, I began to
suffer a reaction to all the profound stress I had been enduring. I
felt exhausted. I had told the truth to Hall when I said I had slept
for some hours the previous night, but I had not slept well and
the hours had been few.

I did eventually manage to drive the half-mile back into the
Cathedral Close, but even that small journey seemed to consume my remaining strength. I was just wishing fiercely that Lyle was
at home to fend off everyone who wanted to see me, when I
turned through the gates of the South Canonry and found Charley walking back up the drive to the front door.

halted the car beside him and wound down my window. ‘What happened?’

‘I realised I’d made the wrong decision — I was acting on the
assumption that secretly you didn’t want me around. Then I saw the light. Last weekend you didn’t want me around because you
didn’t have the strength to play the benign guardian, but now
you don’t have to play-act any more, so if you want me to get lost
you can just say so. But this morning you didn’t say so. Which
meant ... well, anyway here I am. What can I do for you?’

‘
Protect me from suffragan bishops, archdeacons, chaplains,
devoted Cathedral ladies, the entire population of the Close and
Miss Peabody. I’m retiring to bed.’

‘Good decision. Leave everyone to me.’

‘And I’d better eat something before I enjoy the luxury of passing out.’

‘Such as?’

‘
Two poached eggs on toast with a large mug of instant
coffee,
and
make sure the mug doesn’t have a picture of the Cathedral
on it.’

‘Black coffee?’

‘
Show it the milk-jug. And when you deliver all that don’t speak
to me.’

‘Okay.’

Finally rendered inarticulate by gratitude I parked the car and
we went indoors.

I
did feel better after eating. After I had put the tray outside the door with a note of thanks, I lay down on my bed and started to
think of Derek Preston, the friend who had felt he could look
to me for neither help nor sympathy, but it proved too painful to
think of him for long. I thought: I shall talk to Jon about him later;
Jon will know how best to pray, how best to deal with the pain. So I put all thought of Derek aside and escaped instead into the soothing
fantasy that I might run away to London to see Loretta. But of
course by this time she had already left. Or had she? Yes, she had; a
mad telephone call to Brown’s Hotel confirmed that she was no
longer registered as a guest; more mad calls to BOAC, TWA and PanAm confirmed that the morning flights to New York had left on time. At that point the energy received from my dose of caffeine ran out and the desire to sleep became irresistible.

I lay down again and closed my eyes.

I
slept for a very long time, and when I awoke it was five o’clock
in the evening. For a full minute I lay inert and savoured my
deliverance from Sheila. Then I remembered my appointment with
Lewis Hall at the Cathedral. I also remembered that I had forgot
ten to ask Miss Peabody to check that there would be no other
visitors after hours, so I telephoned the Chapter Clerk myself to
make sure that Hall and I would be alone.

‘
Can’t you cancel this meeting with Father Hall?’ demanded
Charley when I emerged from seclusion at six and told him of my
plans.

I could, but it wouldn’t solve anything. This is something I
have to do.’

Charley put aside the book he had been reading. It was the first
book I had ever published, the ruthless rebuttal of the Arian heresy
which had made my academic reputation in the 1930s. There
was another book on the coffee-table in front of him: Samson’s
autobiography. Charley placed both books side by side but not
touching, and aligned them with the edge of the table.

‘I’m not sure I entirely approve of Father Hall,’ he said.

‘
I’m not sure I entirely approve of him either, but God isn’t
always going to work through people whom you and I entirely
approve of.’

Charley sighed, moved the two books together until they
touched, and remarked: ‘That child of Father Hall’s hardly goes to church at all. Maybe she’s like me: temperamentally unsuited
to Father Hall’s brand of Anglo-Catholicism.’

‘Maybe she is.’

Charley placed my book on top of Samson’s, straightened the
corners so that the books formed a single shape, and said: ‘It’s a
pity she’s quite so young.’

‘She’ll grow older. Possibly at great speed.’

He sat considering this prospect. It seemed to interest him but
he made no comment on it. Instead he gathered both books into
his arms, stood up and said: ‘Shall I make you a sandwich before
you leave?’

I said I felt this would be a good idea. But as soon as he had gone I thought of the Cathedral and knew I was in no mood for
food of any kind.

When I reached the north front I saw that Hall was already waiting fo
r me by the Dean’s door. He was wearing a black raincoat over
his cassock, and as he stood motionless in the shadow of the walls
he seemed a sinister figure, as sinister as the Cathedral which was
so ferociously floodlit that it seemed to be erupting from the white sward into the pitch-black starless sky.

‘
How are you feeling?’ said Hall casually as if I had complained
of suffering from a head-cold.

‘Rested. I’ve just slept for five hours.’

‘Good. Got the key?’

I handed it over. I can see now that this request was his way of
taking control of the scene, but at the time I was merely relieved
that I did not have to attempt to fit the key in the lock. I was
feeling nervous again.

The door swung open. We stepped inside.

‘
Turn off all the alarms this time,’ said Hall, switching on a
torch.

My hand travelled down the row of switches, and afterwards
we entered the north aisle together.

The flood-lighting was streaming through the windows but
unlike natural light it was slanting upwards so that the entire floor
was in deeper shadow. Hall said at once: ‘We need to see the nave,’
so I led the way to the panel which controlled the lights and we
spent some minutes working out which switches to pull.

‘
What about the choir?’ I said once we could see down to the
great west door.

‘
No, we’ll light the candles there.’ Hall removed his raincoat.
He was wearing his enormous crucifix again, and as soon as I saw
it embarrassment displaced my nervousness. I could hardly believe
I was creeping around my Cathedral with an exorcist. I pictured
Jack Ryder chortling with delight as he concocted an unprintable headline for the
Church Gazette.

‘
Don’t worry, Bishop,’ said Hall, uncannily sensing my
thoughts. ‘A twentieth-century professional like me bears as much
resemblance to the popular idea of an exorcist as the modern detec
tive bears to Sherlock Holmes — and like the modern detective I
find that most of my work is mere routine investigation.’ Having
folded the raincoat into a neat square he placed it on top of the
nearest tomb and led the way into the choir.

We both paused to face the altar, I making my customary nod,
he indulging in his customary genuflection. Then we lit the candles
in the front rows of the choirstalls. He finished his side before I
finished mine; I was aware of him walking west to the pulpit steps
and staring down the nave. The Cathedral seemed so quiet that I
was tempted to think it had recognised his presence and was trans
fixed by the implied challenge to its will.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Hall vaguely as I joined him. ‘I like the
lack of clutter.’ And when he patted the nearest pillar I was
reminded absurdly of a trainer caressing an outstanding race
horse.

I was unable to resist saying: ‘You don’t find it sinister?’

‘Do you?’

‘
Well ...’ Not all the lights were on in the nave and below the
level of the flood-lighting there was a certain dimness. The candle
lit choir was shadowy. It occurred to me that although there was plenty of light in the building, the effect was uneven, ambivalent, disturbing.

‘After your experience this morning,’ said Hall comfortably, ‘it would be only natural if the place still seemed slightly out of alignment with normality. Okay, let’s begin — I want to know exactly what you did after you arrived.’

We retired to the Dean’s door. ‘I came in,’ I said. ‘I switched off the appropriate alarms. I went on ...’ we moved into the choir
again ‘... and I bowed to the altar, just as I did just now, but
that was unnerving because I could barely see the cross. I lit one of the candles ...’ I moved to the spot ‘... but blew it out because the flickering flame reminded me of haunted houses, and anyway by that time my eyes were adjusting to the gloom. The light was
poor but of course the sun was rising all the time and the visibility
was improving with every minute that passed.’

‘
Let’s just recap a moment,’ said Hall. ‘You told me this morning
that you found the Cathedral extremely sinister as you approached
it. You’re now implying that this feeling continued once you
were inside. Would you say you were even more ill-at-ease by this
time?’

‘Yes, I would. I even had the ridiculous notion that someone was watching me. Of course I knew I was alone, but —’ I broke off.

‘
The impression was strong.’

‘
Yes. Obviously what happened was that the image of the cross
being almost blotted out by the darkness was triggering superstitious thoughts.’

‘What’s so superstitious about feeling that you were being
watched? It’s a very common sensation, and for all you knew there might have been an intruder who’d managed to get himself locked
in over-night.’

‘No, I knew rationally that there was no one else there. But I kept picturing the Devil pitter-pattering around in the side-aisles and pausing every now and then to take a peep at me. Obviously I was overwrought.’

‘
For someone overwrought that’s a very dainty, discreet version
of the Devil you’ve conjured up! Well-mannered, concerned, anxious not to give you too much of a fright by a direct manifestation — in fact that doesn’t sound like the Devil to me at all.’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘It doesn’t even sound demonic. More like a disturbed psychic presence who was basically benign ... What happened next?’

‘I pulled myself together by going to my chair and sitting in it.’ I suited my action to my words.

‘
Very sensible,’ said Hall, following me. ‘You took refuge in one
of the most hallowed spots in the Cathedral. And then?’

‘I knelt down and got on with the job of working out a prayer-scheme.’ I sank down on the hassock.

‘Were your eyes open or closed?’

‘Open while I worked out the scheme.’

‘May I ask whom you decided to pray. for?’

‘
The Dean and Chapter and all those employed at the Cathedral.’

‘
Did you have
^,
any trouble in-planning this prayer?’

‘
None at all. I had the right pattern arranged in no time and
was able to embark on the prayer itself. I closed my eyes, opened my mind — and it was then that the trouble began.’

‘Who exactly were you praying for at that moment?’

‘The Dean. It’s hard to describe what happened, but my mind resembled a car which had gone into a long skid. Simultaneously
— or almost simultaneously, about a second later — I was aware of
the temperature falling and I became intensely cold.’

‘
Did you also notice an unusual smell?’

‘Are you trying to explain why I wanted to retch?’

‘
No, I’m just trying to grasp what happened.’

‘Well, I certainly didn’t notice any smell. There’s been a recurring
problem with the lavatory which was built on the cheap at the
back of the sacristy, but –’

‘
I think we can pass over the Cathedral’s sanitation arrange
ments. Were you holding your cross?’

No, I had my hands clasped in the conventional position. The
stupid thing was that when I panicked I forgot I was wearing a
cross and I blundered around trying to find one.’

‘Let’s just walk through those movements.’

‘
I got up from my knees,’ I said, rising to my feet as I spoke,
‘and headed for the cross on the altar, but when I remembered
that the alarm was on there, I hurried down the length of the
choir –’ We were both moving west as I spoke ‘– until I reached
the pulpit steps. I had some idea of grabbing a cross from one of
the side-chapels, but I never reached the transept. As I glanced
down the nave I saw – or thought I saw – watching me intently –’
I broke off.

‘Are you going to tell me who it was?’

At once I said: ‘I’d rather not.’

‘
Okay.’ Hall turned to face the altar. ‘Let’s go back to your
prayers for a moment – back to the point where the image of the
Dean was at the forefront of your mind. Were you praying in
words?’

‘
I would have done, but I never got that far. The trouble began
when I held up the mental image of Aysgarth.’ I paused, struggling
to recall the exact quality of the experience. ‘The atmosphere
seemed to infuse the image with evil,’ I said at last, ‘and the next
moment the evil seemed to be everywhere. When I felt I was
suffocating the evil seemed to be pouring down my throat. I’m
sorry, I know that sounds absurdly melodramatic –’

‘The fact that it sounds absurdly melodramatic doesn’t mean it’s
incapable of happening. Bishop, I’m sure you’ve already thought
of this, but could this experience of yours be classified as an
example of fragmentation during prayer? I mean,’ he added, tact
fully giving me time to think as he saw the possibility had not
occurred to me, ‘the phenomenon which occurs when the psyche
can’t cope with the images rising up through the prayer-channel
from the unconscious mind.’

‘But that’s an internal dislocation,’ I said at once. ‘What I experienced was a dislocation which came from without: the drop in
temperature, the thickened atmosphere, the sense of an evil which
was quite external to me. Besides, why should Aysgarth cause
such a cataclysmic fragmentation? I’ll admit he isn’t my favourite clergyman in the Church of England, but I can’t believe this experience could have been generated by a mere antipathy.’

‘I agree.’ By this time we were standing by the episcopal throne
again. ‘Okay, let’s set Aysgarth aside for the moment and refocus
on this appearance in the nave. There was no question, you said,
of mistaken identity. But how good is your eyesight?’

‘
I need glasses for reading and my distance vision isn’t as keen
as it used to be, but –’

– but you were convinced, despite the distance involved and
the uncertain light, that you saw this particular man. That suggests
you must have known him well.’

‘
My acquaintance with him was actually confined to a few
months in 1937, but yes, I did feel afterwards that I knew him
better than most people did.’

Hall made no comment but stood gazing at the throne for a
long moment. Then he said to me: ‘Sit down here again for a
couple of minutes and call out at once if you feel any change in
the atmosphere. I’m going to take an exploratory stroll around the
nave.’

‘
Don’t you want to know the exact spot where the appearance
took place?’

‘
Oh, I’ll know that when I get there,’ said Hall, cool as a confi
dence trickster, and moved casually away down the choir.

Resuming my place on the throne 1 clasped my pectoral cross
and watched his progress. The Cathedral seemed quieter than ever. Evidently Hall was wearing rubber-soled shoes.

I waited in a state of increasing tension, but I found there was
no change in the atmosphere and I was soothed by the fact that
Hall, far from performing any embarrassing ritual, was wandering
around like a vacuous tourist. I did lean forward to see if some
psychic twinge would compel him to stop at the right pillar, but
he ambled past it without pausing. It interested me that although
so many people were sceptical of psychic powers they were usually
always disappointed when a psychic failed to display the magical
cognition attributed to him, and certainly I was no exception to
this general rule. I was disappointed by Hall’s failure. And having
admitted my disappointment to myself, I felt greatly irritated by
it.

Eventually Hall stopped at the centre of the wide space where
the north and south transepts faced one another across the head
of the nave. It was the centre of the cross formed by the Cathedral;
he was now standing directly under the spire. As I watched he
removed his crucifix and suddenly thrust it high above his head.
This, obviously, was the start of one of the embarrassing rituals I
had dreaded, and at once I looked away, just as I would have
done if a friend had committed a faux-pas at some elegant social
gathering. However, so gripped was I by curiosity that I almost immediately looked back. Facing west down the nave, Hall was
still maintaining his melodramatic pose. Then he lowered his arm,
turned to face the north transept and thrust his crucifix upwards again for a further ten seconds. As far as I could see nothing
whatsoever happened — and nothing whatsoever happened either when he faced the south transept and repeated the movement. By
this time I was wondering what he hoped to prove by this showy
behaviour. His antics were so theologically ‘not the done thing’
that I gritted my teeth, but still I found I had to keep watching
him.