Vatican Vendetta

by Peter Watson

  ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Yes. You said in that paper that Isabella d’Este gave Elisabetta Gonzaga “a Leonardo” on her marriage. Have you found out any more since then?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘Well, you might like to know that there are some letters of Elizabetta Gonzaga in the Vatican Archive. I stumbled across them about a week ago. I haven’t read them but I’ve got the archive number. If you’re interested, I can let you have it.’

  ‘Interested? I’ll say. Have you started here yet? Is this where I find you?’

  She nodded but before she could say any more she was hauled off by the museum press officer to be introduced to someone else. David looked around for a drink but instead found himself staring straight at Jasper Hale.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ David asked, shaking Hale’s hand. ‘Oh yes. I forgot. You’re a museum trustee now. By the way, there isn’t any news—?’

  ‘Yes, there is. I only found out myself today and it’s been so hectic I haven’t had a chance to let you know.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well,’ the monsignor’s eyes twinkled. ‘I’m not absolutely certain … but I think this little mystery could have a happy ending as well.’

  David followed the Holy Father’s trip to South America closely through the papers and on television. Thomas was received enthusiastically wherever he went, with thousands waiting at every turn to see him and to be blessed by him. The centre for the devolved Vatican functions was to be located in the official residence and offices of the Cardinal Archbishop of Rio and there was no little speculation in the press as to what this new organization should be called. Vatican 2 was clearly out, being too close to the shorthand title for the second Vatican council. And ‘Little Vatican’ was hardly respectful. Then Bess surprised everyone by announcing that, in gratitude for the twenty million dollars Thomas had ear-marked for the shanty towns and for transferring those Vatican functions which could be so transferred, the Brazilian government had given to the Church the land on which the cathedral and the archbishop’s residence stood. Furthermore, it recognized this new extension of the Vatican as a separate city state just as the other Vatican was recognized in Italy. And, since the cathedral and residence were located in the Prato area of Rio, the new base of the Roman Church would be known as the Prato City State. Vatican stamps, tax and other diplomatic privileges would all be recognized at Prato.

  While the European press seemed bemused by this plan, newspapers of the Third World were ecstatic. The development showed clearly the direction the Church was moving in. It gave their problems a recognition and, more, it showed that they were high up on the Church’s list of priorities. The Americans, in general, regarded the new city state as an imaginative gesture; they were less hidebound than the Europeans and were inclined to watch how the new arrangements worked out in practice before condemning them. The Italians, of course, were outraged since the developments in Rio meant that there was now a potential rival to Rome as a religious centre.

  For David and Bess, the Pope’s South American visit came at an awkward time. As a result of Hale’s researches, David was to face a tribunal in London, since the apostolic delegate had found reason to believe that his marriage could indeed be dissolved. But it was impossible for Bess to avoid the events in Rio; otherwise she would have been in London for the meeting.

  The spotlight was temporarily taken off the Rio announcements when, in the same week, the eight would-be assassins of Castro went on trial in Havana. The case was heavily covered. Apart from anything else, for once it was made easy for western journalists to get visas. Photographs of the defendants in the dock showed them to be well-fed, well-dressed, and it was reported that they had no complaints about their treatment in captivity.

  Meanwhile, in London, however, before David’s confrontation with the tribunal, he had to face another: with Ned. David was all the more conscious that he needed to persuade his son to see Wilde because the Dead Sea Scrolls sale was coming up in New York and he would have to spend a lot of time away in the next weeks.

  Since Ned had come out of hospital the school had been very helpful. At one stage, David had thought that they might refuse to have Ned back, as too much of a risk. But the headmaster was understanding, and had his own plans for dealing with Ned. Despite the fact that he was senior enough to merit his own bedroom, he was made to share with another boy who was briefed to keep an eye on Ned at all times. There was nothing secretive about this, however. It was all discussed openly.

  Still, Sarah had agreed with David that expert psychiatric treatment was called for, and David said he would be the one to raise the subject with Ned.

  So, while Thomas and Bess were in Rio, David travelled down to Hamble one weekend. Ned met him by the car and wanted to go for a walk. They went in the opposite direction to the weir, and tramped along what Ned said was the cross-country course. It ran through some woods where they saw one or two deer.

  ‘How’s the new arrangement working out? Is he nice, the boy you’re sharing with?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘And school in general?’

  ‘Fine.’

  Ned obviously wasn’t feeling very talkative. ‘And how have you been keeping? Since you … came out of hospital, I mean?’

  ‘I feel fine, Dad.’

  They negotiated a stile. ‘That master—Yates. He said you used to get depressions. Is that true?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘What were they like?’

  ‘You forget to breathe.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your mind wanders, you have no control over it, you pay so much attention to it that you forget to breathe. You make little grunts. It’s exhausting.’

  ‘And … since hospital … has it been any better?’

  ‘Yes. A bit. No.’

  They were coming to the end of the wood. It was windier now. The track they were following began to curve to the right. David walked for a while in silence. Then: ‘Ned, I’m worried about all this. There’s a friend of mine in London. A doctor. Would you mind going to see him?’

  Ned lowered his head. ‘What sort of doctor?’

  ‘A psychiatrist.’

  ‘You think I’m mad.’

  ‘No, of course not. But … these depressions … we have to do something about them.’

  David couldn’t look at his son but he sensed the way Ned scrunched up his frame, hunching his shoulders. They walked on, their footfalls matching exactly, emphasizing how alike they were. In some ways.

  They came to a gate which led on to the lane back towards the school. Ned stopped. He looked down. ‘If I refuse to see this … doctor—what happens then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Your mother and I hope you won’t refuse. But we shan’t force you, if that’s what you mean.’

  They walked on. To David the clouds reminded him of those over Windsor, the day he first saw Seton. Ominous.

  ‘Am I mad?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Ned. But you must have been very unhappy to do what you did. I have a feeling you won’t talk to me, or to your mother. You may not think it consciously, but somewhere you probably blame us. But you might talk to this man Wilde.’

  ‘Is that his name, Wilde? Great name for a psychiatrist.’

  David looked at him. It was a typical Ned remark, to see the joke in the name.

  But neither of them was smiling

  They came to the edge of the school grounds. There were people in the middle distance.

  ‘Well?’

  Ned looked across at the school. ‘All right, I’ll see him. Anything to keep Mum and you sane.’

  9

  David ran up the steps of the archbishop’s house in Westminster and rang the bell. March was offering one of its sunnier days. The door was opened by a steward who showed him into a waiting room. ‘The tribunal is running a little late, Mr Colwyn,’ he said. ‘But they won’t keep you long.’

  David sat down. As usual he had brought som
e work with him so he didn’t have to waste the time. He took a report from his briefcase and read it through. He had already looked at it briefly in his office and it did not make pleasant reading. A very rare collection of ancient weapons, known as the Rookwood Armoury, was soon to be sold—but the collection wasn’t coming to Hamilton’s. Once again Steele’s had slipped in and, once again, the Prime Minister had clearly had a finger in the decision. The report David was holding was written by the director of Hamilton’s weapons department and explained why, as in a growing number of cases, Hamilton’s had lost out to Steele’s. On this occasion, it appeared, Cyril Rookwood had been told—discreetly, of course—that the government would put up no objections to the export of his armoury, provided it was sold through Steele’s. This made the sale particularly attractive to foreign buyers, and increased the amount of money Rookwood could expect from the sale. All this was rumour and conjecture, of course, but David had little doubt it was true. It was yet another of the ‘quid pro quos’ Paul Clegg had warned David about when they had met at the club.

  The Prime Minister knew how to harbour a grudge and, it seemed, was determined to hurt Hamilton’s to the point where they would be forced to back out of the royal sale. The board meeting called by Averne, after the Duffield Manor business, had been stormy. Although an American, Averne held no brief for the British Royal family. He believed that the PM’s vendetta could seriously harm Hamilton’s in the long run, and could more than off-set the boost which the royal sale was bringing. He advocated pulling out.

  David, vociferously supported by Lord Afton, had disagreed. He countered by saying that the publicity which would attach to such a move would be far too damaging. He admitted that the Argyll and Duffield house sales represented serious losses of Hamilton’s traditional business; but once the royal sale was over, he said, it would pick up again.

  Averne had insisted on pushing the matter to a vote and this had gone 8 to 7 to David. He had won again—but these attacks by Averne were getting stronger and now, after this latest report, David wasn’t sure he could hold the firm on its present course.

  The steward came back into the waiting room ‘The tribunal will see you now, Mr Colwyn. Follow me, please.’ He led the way out into the corridor and up a flight of stairs wrapped around an old-fashioned caged lift. They reached a long dingy corridor with rows of mahogany doors. The steward knocked on one and entered. He held the door for David.

  Inside the sunlight streaming through the windows was so fierce it hurt David’s eyes for a moment. He thanked the steward who showed him to a seat and then left the room. There were five men in front of David, none of whom he recognized.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Colwyn,’ said the man in the centre. ‘I am Monsignor Desmond Waterford and I am chairman of this tribunal. As you will know, this is a somewhat unusual case, both in the way it was referred to us—through the apostolic delegate who, of course, has no jurisdiction in matrimonial matters—and, of course, in the individuals involved.’

  David looked along the tribunal. It had not occurred to him that this body might not be friendly. After Jasper Hale had given David his momentous news that evening at the British Museum, he had imagined that this meeting would be a formality. Now he realized it wasn’t, that Bess’s closeness to the Holy Father was likely to be as much a hindrance as it was a help. There were still plenty of conservative Catholics who didn’t like His Holiness having women so close to the throne of St Peter and there were even more people, David himself included, who hated string-pulling of any kind.

  Bess, however, had had no such qualms. She had been just as delighted as David when he told her Hale’s news on one of their transcontinental calls to Rio. Like many Americans, she did not view string-pulling as an exercise of privilege but merely as one of the ways the game was played.

  The chairman went on. ‘Monsignor Hale has told me the gist of your case, Mr Colwyn, and my colleagues here have all seen your file, with the personal details that you sent. Perhaps you would be good enough to tell us now, in your own words, the grounds on which your appeal to have your marriage dissolved is based.’

  ‘Certainly.’ David took his briefcase off his lap and placed it at the side of his chair. ‘May I begin by saying that the information I am about to give has been obtained by Monsignor Hale, who is a friend. I realize, however, that you may have to verify it.

  ‘I am a Catholic but my wife Sarah, from whom I was civilly divorced earlier this year, is a Protestant. Sarah was born in Hawsker, north Yorkshire. It was a difficult birth and she was born a month prematurely. She was tiny—41b—and not expected to live. It was a winter birth—February—in a year in which there was an influenza epidemic, with the deaths of many young babies and old people. Because she was small, and in dangerously poor health, Sarah was christened immediately. However, and this is the crucial point, Monsignor Hale has discovered that because of all these circumstances the Church of England vicar who christened her decided that it was too risky to pour cold water on her forehead. Instead, he simply made the sign of the cross with holy water.’

  David looked along the tribunal again. ‘Monsignor Hale tells me the practice of merely applying the sign of a cross was not at all uncommon in Church of England christenings, in years when influenza was particularly high, but I understand that in the eyes of the Catholic Church a baptism is not valid unless the water has actually been poured over the head of the child. Now, in the course of his investigations on my behalf Monsignor Hale checked in Hawsker. The vicar is now dead but the organist’s assistant still lives there. He remembered Sarah because she’d been such a tiny, frail child everyone in the village had been surprised she survived. It was he who told Monsignor Hale that the vicar had been so worried about her health he did not go through with a full baptism.’

  David wrapped his hands together. He was more nervous than he sounded. Like on the rostrum. ‘My case before you is therefore unusual but, I hope, straightforward. Since my wife was not properly baptized, our marriage was not sacramental. As a non-sacramental marriage, it is eligible for dissolution by the Pope himself in exercising what I believe is known as the Petrine privilege.’

  Ten thoughful eyes stared at him. These were men who handled difficult cases every week, in which faithful Catholics wanted to extricate themselves from marriages which were no longer working. Very often they had to disappoint these people. The British tribunals had not yet started to abuse canon law, as the Americans had, by accepting pleas that people had been psychologically immature when they got married—at twenty-seven or twenty-nine even—and therefore had not ‘meant’ their vows.

  The chairman was scribbling his notes. He finished and looked up. ‘Thank you, Mr Colwyn. Very clearly put. Let me explain what happens now. We shall verify your story, and if the witnesses bear out what you say, we shall ask to see you and take your evidence again, but this time on oath. Then, your evidence and that of the witnesses is written up by this tribunal into a petition. The petition is sent to someone called a “defender of the bond”, normally a canon lawyer from another diocese. If he is happy that the procedure has been properly followed and the petitioner’s case is valid, the petition comes back to the bishop of this diocese, together with the “defender’s” comments. The bishop reads both documents and if he is satisfied all is as it should be he sends the case to Rome, to the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the Holy Office as it used to be called. There the procedure is repeated. The commissioners and another “defender of the bond” examine the case. If they decide that the merits of the petitioner warrant it, they recommend a dissolution to the Holy Father. The Holy Father personally grants the dissolution—and here I must stress it is a favour, not a right. The Holy Father does not have to give reasons for his decision, and of course there is no appeal. Is all that clear?’

  David nodded.

  ‘Then, unless you have any questions, we need detain you no further.’

  ‘Just one,’ said David. ‘How long does a
ll this take?’

  ‘Ah yes. Normally it would take us three to five months to reach our verdict. When it goes to Rome add another year. The Holy Father usually takes six months to make up his mind. In this case, however, Monsignor Hale has been a good friend to several members of the tribunal, Mr Colwyn, so you are lucky. Expect our reply in a month. After that, it’s out of our hands.’

  David left the archbishop’s house fairly satisfied. Jasper Hale was an important ally. He had good contacts in Rome and was no doubt able to make useful representations on behalf of the Catholic hierarchy in Britain. If this thing came off, he told himself, he owed the apostolic delegate a favour.

  When he got home Bess was in the air, travelling back from Rio, so David couldn’t call her with the news of the tribunal. And next morning, before he had a chance to place his call to Rome, Sally Middleton buzzed him and said: ‘Michael Callaghan on two.’ He raised his eyebrows. Callaghan was press secretary at Buckingham Palace.

  He lifted the receiver. ‘Colwyn.’

  ‘Ah, good. I’m glad I’ve got you.’

  ‘What can I do for you?’ David didn’t know Callaghan well. They had met, of course, in arranging the exhibition of pictures which the Queen intended to sell. David found him rather distant and obviously capable.

  ‘If you will forgive me for being rather blunt, Mr Colwyn, the answer to your question is: “Keep your mouth shut”.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I have just had a call from the editor of The Times. You will probably get one any minute. It seems they are publishing a letter tomorrow by three art professors. The letter is very critical of Her Majesty’s decision to sell some of her paintings.’

  ‘Oh no!’ David’s heart sank. Lister must have lost his battle. ‘Are they Heritage Trust people?’

  ‘Yes—and that’s part of the reason I’m calling you. The Times’ editor was very courteous. It seems he’s running a front-page story about the background to the letter. There’s been a hell of a row in the ВHPT between those who want to oppose the sale and those who think that the fund will lose a lot of financial support if they attack Her Majesty. For the time being, according to The Times’ editor, the activists have lost—but three of them have decided to go ahead on their own, as individuals.’