I decided to find out more about you, and soon I realised how much I respected your attempt to uphold traditional moral standards, your advocacy of spiritual direction, your friendly attitude to both wings of the Church and your unusual ability to be both a highly-qualified theologian and a gifted spiritual leader. I felt then that you were exactly the bishop I was looking for – and after the recent change of bishops at Radbury I assure you I was looking hard. I got on well with Derek Preston, but Sunbeam leaves me cold.’
I emerged from my stupefied silence. ‘Sunbeam?’
‘Leslie Sunderland, the new bishop of Radbury. Surely you know that his clergy call him Sunbeam! It’s a tribute to his radiant liberal optimism.’
Recognising my obligation to be loyal to a brother-bishop, even a radically liberal brother-bishop, I suppressed my amusement and said austerely: ‘I did notice that you enclosed no reference from Bishop Sunderland with your letter.’
‘I confess I never wasted time asking for one, but the Fordites will speak up for me. You know the Abbot-General, don’t you?’
‘Well enough to be surprised that he hasn’t told you my policy on the licensing of divorced priests.’
‘He did tell me, but of course I knew that an exceptional bishop like you would always know when to be flexible about applying those sort of rules. After all, why should you wish to penalise me for the fact that my wife ran off with another man? With your happy marriage you’d be much more likely to offer me sympathy.’
‘I certainly wouldn’t hesitate to be sympathetic, but –’
‘And of course you’ll have grasped that as an extremely conventional Anglo-Catholic I don’t believe remarriage is an option for a divorced priest. In fact I shall never embarrass you either by remarriage while my wife’s still alive or by any other unsuitable behaviour,’ said Hall firmly, and added, looking me straight in the eyes: ‘I consider myself called to celibacy.’
After a pause I said in my most neutral voice: ‘Really.’ But before I could say more we were interrupted – to my relief – by the buzzer of the intercom.
‘You must leave for the station in twenty minutes, Bishop,’ intoned Miss Peabody, ‘and don’t forget that you still have to talk to Roger about the government’s education graphs.’
‘Thank you.’ I replaced the receiver. Well, Mr Hall,’ I said, rising to my feet. ‘I confess this has been an interesting interview – and certainly, despite your marital status, I wouldn’t object to engaging you on a temporary basis as a locum, but –’
‘Thank you so much, Bishop, I knew I could rely on you to be flexible. Now, I’d only need about twenty minutes to explain my. plans for the healing centre, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a slot for me in your diary, particularly since I can come back here at any hour of the day or night –’
There was a tap on the door and Lyle peeped in. ‘Excuse me, Charles, but Michael’s here again. Could you have a quick word with him before you rush off to London?’
I immediately wanted Hall to expound for twenty minutes on his healing centre.
Meanwhile Hall himself was saying rapidly: ‘I’ll see Miss Peabody, shall I, to fix a time when I can come back?’
As I heard myself consenting docilely to this suggestion, it occurred to me to wonder if I had been hypnotised.
III
‘Who was that extraordinarily sexy priest?’ muttered Lyle, reappearing after I had parted from Hall at the front door.
‘Today’s English version of Elmer Gantry. He tells me the clergy in the Radbury diocese call Derek’s appalling successor Sunbeam.’
Lyle was still laughing when my lay-chaplain sped out of the office to waylay me. ‘Bishop, about those graphs –’
‘He’ll be with you in a moment, Roger,’ said Lyle, instantly becoming ruthless. ‘He has to have a word with Michael.’ And as I found myself being propelled towards the drawing-room door she added to me sotto voce: ‘Dinkie broke off the engagement this morning, thank God, and poor Michael felt so wretchedly upset that he came straight here for consolation after putting her on the train to London.’
‘You mean he really did want to marry her after all?’
‘No, no, no, of course he didn’t! Deep down he’s sick with relief that it’s all over, but just think for a moment how you’d feel if you’d taken endless trouble to try and “save” someone only to have her kick you in the teeth at the end of it! He’s absolutely mortified that he could have been so idiotic as to practise his idealism on a money-grubbing tart – apparently in the end she just said straight out that he wasn’t rich enough for her. Imagine that! I suppose she was simply too stupid to find a tactful excuse – oh, and talking of stupidity, don’t mention the phantom pregnancy. It turned out he colluded with that lie because it was the only reason he felt would justify me marriage.’
‘But if he didn’t want to marry her anyway –’
‘Well, of course for his pride’s sake he had to pretend that he did! Otherwise he’d have had to admit he’d been a perfect fool and allowed his idealism to lead him up the creek!’
‘But isn’t he having to admit that now? Surely he’s too humiliated to want to face me!’
‘That’s not the point. The point is that because he’s at such a dreadfully low ebb you have the golden opportunity to forge a new relationship by being kind and sympathetic and understanding, and if you dare slink off to London now without seeing him –’
‘All right, all right, all right?’
Terminating this feverish conversation, which had been conducted almost entirely in whispers, I resigned myself to my fate and ventured reluctantly into the drawing-room.
Sprawled on the sofa Michael was drinking black coffee and looking hungover. I noted that his long hair was uncombed, his face was unshaven and he wore no tie. My own father, presented with such a challenge to his standards, would have exclaimed: ‘What a debauched, decadent and downright disgraceful sight! Disgusting!’ but I thought my old friend Alan Romaine would have said gently: ‘You look a trifle wrecked, old chap. Anything I can do to help?’ I tried to keep Alan’s memory in the forefront of my mind as I faced Michael, but it had been Eric Ashworth, not Alan Romaine, who had brought me up and I found it very hard at that moment not to react like a strict Victorian father.
I cleared my throat. ‘You look a trifle wrecked, old chap,’ I said, carefully uttering the right words, but as I spoke I realised with horror that every syllabie vibrated with insincerity. The worst part of this débâcle was that I was genuinely desperate to show kindness, sympathy and understanding. It was just that I was quite incapable of articulating it.
‘Oh, you needn’t pretend you’re not thrilled to bits!’ said Michael exasperated. ‘God, how I detest the hypocrisy of the older generation!’
I struggled to repair my error. ‘Sorry,’ I said, finally managing to sound sincere. ‘I didn’t mean to hit such a false note. And yes – it’s true I’m glad the engagement’s off, but I’m genuinely sorry you’re upset.’
