A Blessing In Disguise (40 page)

‘Poor Sonia!' I say.

He nods. ‘Fortunately for Sonia she's found someone else. He's a lawyer. It seems to work well, though there's no talk of marriage, or even sharing the same house.'

‘So which bit of this brought you to Thurston?' I persist. I'm interested in Sonia but much more interested in him.

‘Sonia knew I was a bit restless in London so when Kit left she asked me if I'd like to join her here. I was also at the end of a relationship which hadn't worked, so I jumped at it. She's a good person to work with.'

In my romantic heart I'm thinking he could have married Sonia, they could have lived happily ever after, though I'm pleased he didn't or I wouldn't be here this afternoon. They could have spent Sundays doing the garden together instead of him going off to concerts on his own. Or with the widowed Vicar of a church which is not his own, any more than his will ever be mine, though we worship the same God. This is sad in the wider sense – I hate these divisions and I'm sure they're contrary to God's will – but at the moment I'm not thinking in the wider sense.

‘Sonia had already met Ian before I came to Thurston,' he continues – answering the question I haven't asked. ‘In any case there's nothing like that with Sonia and me. We're partners in the practice and very good friends.'

So, all these good friends around, all going their own sweet way!

In the car, on the way back to Thurston, Nigel says: ‘I've just remembered something else I read about Sibelius. He said he always imagined life as a block of granite. Given a chisel of willpower, he said, and having the idea of what you wanted to do, you can carve out life according to your wishes.'

‘It's an interesting idea,' I concede. ‘I can see some truth in it, but the chisel, that's to say the willpower, would have to be strong and you'd have to know what you wanted from the block of granite, and have strength to wield the chisel.'

I can see it in my own life. I knew what I wanted to carve out of the stone: my priesthood, a long and happy married life, children.

‘But life doesn't always allow you to get on with your carving, does it?' I say. ‘You find awkward places in the granite which won't yield to your chisel, the chisel isn't sharp enough, or there's a flaw in the granite you can do nothing about.'

‘And what then?' Nigel asks.

‘Then I suppose you have to realize you can't carve out life exactly according to your wishes. I don't suppose Sibelius could all the time. You have to find a new design, adapt to what's within your power. Am I mixing my metaphors like mad?'

‘I'm not sure,' Nigel says. ‘It doesn't matter. I think you're right. But you have to keep chiselling away at the granite, don't you? You can't just give up, throw away the chisel.'

‘Of course not,' I agree. ‘Like I said, you have to adapt.'

‘Sonia told me about your husband,' Nigel says after a minute or two, changing the subject – or not quite changing it because Philip certainly came into what I'd been musing out loud about Sibelius and his theory. ‘I'm sorry. It must have been difficult for you.'

Difficult is too mild a word, but I go along with it and say, ‘Yes, it was.'

Then for no reason that I can think of the Hon. Miss Frazer pops into my mind. Drat the woman, she pops into my mind when I least want her to! Now will the flaw in the granite block of my life, which she is, yield to my chisel, or will I be the one who has to adapt?

I'm tempted to mention Miss Frazer to Nigel – possibly he'll hear anyway – but instead I broach it in a roundabout way, not mentioning names.

‘Do you have ups and downs in St Patrick's Church?' I ask.

He takes his eye off the road for a second and turns and looks at me, clearly surprised. And well he might be because what, as far as he can see, does that have to do with Sibelius and his block of granite?

‘Oh, I suppose most churches do,' he says. ‘I try not to get involved. A lot of people in the congregation are patients.'

‘Well at least you won't be having arguments about women priests,' I say.

‘Not a lot,' he admits. ‘More about celibacy in the priesthood. That's a hot topic sometimes.'

‘And what view do you take? Or shouldn't I ask?'

‘It's no secret. I've grown up with the idea. My mother is Irish, a cradle Catholic and so am I. My father is a convert. My mother's view is that whatever the Pope says is right. If he'd said she should bathe in the river every night at midnight for the good of her soul, then I reckon she'd do it. Even so, I don't go along with celibacy. I also think it's at the root of the dwindling number of vocations to the priesthood.'

I decide not to talk about Miss Frazer. There's a short silence. And now we're turning into Thurston High Street and then we're at the Vicarage. ‘Thank you, but I won't come in,' Nigel says in answer to my invitation. ‘I have a load of paperwork to get through. But thank you for coming with me this afternoon. I've enjoyed it so much.'

‘On the contrary, I must thank you for taking me,' I say. ‘It was great.'

‘We must do it again,' he says as he comes around and opens the car door for me to get out.

‘I'd like that!' I say.

‘He seems a very nice young man,' my mother says.

‘He is!' I agree.

‘How old would you say he is?' she enquires casually.

‘I don't know. Possibly my age, or a couple of years older.'

‘And he's never been married?'

‘No.'

I can guess where this conversation is going. I know my mother.

She lowers her voice. ‘You don't think he's . . . ?'

‘Gay?' I supply the word over which she's hesitating. ‘I wouldn't think so. But then how would I know? I haven't slept with him.'

‘VENUS!'

She doesn't like things spelt out, and I'm a bit naughty. I do it on purpose. ‘Why? Does it matter?' I asked innocently.

‘You know perfectly well what I mean!' she protests. And of course I do. She's wondering if he's eligible. She worries about me remaining unmarried. She was very fond of Philip but she does like everything tied up in neat parcels.

‘Why do you always think unmarried men in their thirties must be gay?' I ask her.

Her answer comes pat. ‘Because they usually are!'

‘Well, I don't think for a moment he is,' – and I'm not telling her he's had a relationship – ‘but anyway, he's not eligible. For a start he's a Roman Catholic.'

‘Oh dear!' she says. That puts him farther away than if he was coal black, an avowed atheist and a member – God forbid – of the Labour Party (though she thinks Tony Blair is a nice-looking young man and probably a very good father).

My parents leave for home after breakfast on Monday morning. My mother seems reluctant to go.

‘I would like to take another look at the cottage,' she says.

‘Why?' my father demands. ‘You've looked over every inch of it. What more is there to see?'

‘I know,' she admits. ‘But when you think something might possibly be yours you want to keep looking at it! Before we got engaged I saw the exact ring I wanted in the jeweller's window and I went back at least six times to look at it!'

Dad gives her his ‘I shall never understand women' look, but I can guess how she feels and I agree with her.

‘Anyway,' he says, ‘we need to get home, see what's happening about our house. We've got to sell that, remember.'

‘We could call in the estate agent's on the way home,' my mother says. ‘We have to pass the door.' And to this Dad agrees.

Later in the morning the Blessed Henry phones me.

‘What are we going to do about yesterday's episode?' he asks. ‘Have you thought about it?'

Of course I've thought about it, a hundred times, but I'm not going to admit that.

‘Do you reckon we should tell the Bishop?' he asks.

‘I'd much rather we didn't,' I say. ‘That would be the sort of thing she'd like, giving it special attention. So my idea is to treat it as if it was a mere pinprick – unless, of course, it shows signs of upsetting the congregation. If it were to do that I'd think again.'

‘Well, if you're sure,' Henry says. I don't think he's totally convinced. ‘But if he should ring, I mean about anything, then I think we should tell him. Or if by any chance it gets into the
Brampton Echo.
You never know what gets into that, I reckon they have spies everywhere. And they'd make a meal of it.'

I agree to that also. ‘But I don't want the Bishop to think I'm going to run to him with every little setback,' I say. ‘Anyway, I'm not going to take it as a setback, I'm going to see it as a spur!'

‘You're a brave lady,' Henry says.

‘Also,' I say, ‘I've thought of a way we can use this episode to our advantage. If we were to have this meeting you know I'm keen on with members of the congregation as soon as possible, I think what I have to say might strike a sympathetic note. One of the things we need to tell them is the effect Miss Frazer's withdrawal of her financial support will have, and I think that that, together with yesterday's behaviour, will galvanize people into doing what I want, which is moving forward in a very positive way. I think the congregation themselves might well come up with some suggestions about what we can do.'

‘You're an optimist,' Henry says.

‘I know!' I agree. ‘I hope you are too!'

‘Oh, I'll support you every step,' he assures me. ‘So will Richard. But you need to recognize that there might be people who won't.'

‘You mean there are those who will agree with Miss Frazer?' I ask.

‘Possibly. When it comes out into the open.'

This last week has been a full one, especially the last three days. On Wednesday my mother phoned me to say they'd had people to look at the house. ‘A Mr and Mrs Dawson. A nice young couple with a toddler and a baby. They haven't been in Clipton long – well, strictly speaking they're not yet
in
Clipton, though he is because he's got a new job with the Council so he's travelling to and fro every day, which is why they want to buy a house as soon as they can, only they have to sell their house first and that's . . .'

I had to break in. I have no doubt my mother now knows everything there is to know about the Dawsons, she could do a ‘This Is Your Life', but Wednesday is early closing day and I needed to shop in the village.

‘Did they like the house?' I asked.

‘Oh yes! They said it was exactly what they wanted. It was, as I've told you, simply a question of getting a buyer for theirs. We have someone else coming to view it tomorrow but I would like the Dawsons to have it. They're such a nice couple and you like to think of someone nice living in the house where you've been happy, don't you?'

‘Well, it sounds as though it could be good news,' I said, ‘but I'll have to go now, I have to do some shopping. Keep me posted, won't you? Shall I drop in on Miss Jowett and tell her?' Mum agreed that that would be a good idea.

I made Bertha Jowett my first stop and asked her if there was anything she wanted from the village. She said she'd like a brown loaf from Gander's and a packet of unsalted butter from the Co-op. I thought she seemed rather frail, also she had a niggling cough. When I returned with the shopping I made us both a cup of coffee and we each had a fruit scone from Gander's. Though I was wearing my leather jacket it felt really cold in her room and I suggested I should turn up the heat which she allowed me to do. I don't imagine that she can't afford to have the heating on, I thinks she just neglects herself. I'll feel easier when she's being looked after.

I wrote down my telephone number for her. ‘Don't hesitate to give me a ring if there's anything you need,' I said. ‘I'm always about in the village. It wouldn't be the least trouble.'

She was pleased to hear of some progress – if you could call it progress – on my parents' house and I promised to keep her closely in touch with things. I shall also not hesitate to pray about it – in my book we're allowed to pray about the little things as well as the big – but I didn't tell her this. I doubt she's a woman who would like to be prayed for, I'm not sure that God is allowed into any part of her life and I don't intend to ask her, but when I said ‘God bless!' as I was leaving she didn't protest, or throw a cushion at me. She ignored me.

I went back to Mr Winterton's for some salad things and vegetables. ‘How's your little granddaughter getting on?' I asked him. He said she was doing fine, so I said, ‘Any more thoughts on the baptism?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘We were discussing it only last weekend.'

So I suggested he should ask his daughter to give me a ring and arrange for her and her husband to come to see me about it. ‘Wednesdays are best,' I told him, ‘and this evening would be fine. But if that's too short notice, then whenever suits them.'

Back at home, Rose Barker phoned me.

‘I've arranged the meeting you want for Thursday of next week, tomorrow week that is,' she said in her melodious voice. ‘Seven-thirty, at the Vicarage. I must say, Venus, I think you're very brave!'

Whether that was because I'm crowding everyone into the Vicarage, or because I'm having the meeting at all, I wasn't sure. Anyway, will it be crowded? I don't know, do I? In terms of bridge, which I hear is a ruling passion in Thurston, we might not be enough to make up more than two tables.

And then in the evening, to my surprise and pleasure, but also to my chagrin because I've been neglecting her, my mother-in-law phoned. It was more or less a race between us to see who could get in first with apologies for not having been in touch with the other.