Ask Me to Dance

by Sylvia Colley

  It was fortunate that Godfrey welcomed him as he did. To all intents and purposes he was a novice, and there was no doubt that Godfrey had hoped very much that he would go on to take his vows and was disappointed when he told him he’d decided to return to general practice when he left them. Of course, he couldn’t make everything right for his patients; all he could do was his best and that had to be good enough. One had to take some risks in life; he didn’t need to constantly beat himself up about failure.

  The irony was that this fear of failure would, of course, cause him to lose much, most particularly in the area of relationships, especially with women. Can’t go through that again, he was thinking. The one time he had risked it, the only time, it didn’t work out, so never again. That was real failure. Deep, cutting, ‘I don’t want you’ failure. So never again. He thought about Rose and decided he must take her painkillers. He would fetch some from the surgery as soon as he got back. She was in a lot of pain; he could see it in her face.

  He walked on to the old dog kennels. The area was unkempt. Brambles straggled through the long grass, and the rhododendron and hazel saplings, which surrounded the place, had grown to form thick cover. It was now impossible to find the paths that had once led to the wooded area beyond. He examined the run and noticed the new wire battened to pale, fresh timber. They had made a good job of it. The hinges on the gate had been renewed too. It now stood shut but not locked. There was a homemade wire hook that fixed into a coupling, but now it hung stiff and still on the gatepost. He tested the gate for solidity and yes, although it could only be opened with difficulty because of the thick clumps of grass, it was strong and sound. He pushed the gate shut and placed the wire hook into position; it slotted in well. The place was safe enough, he thought. And the wire high enough to deter foxes. Foxes could be a menace, apparently.

  He recalled Rose’s concern. It was true the brothers treated the rabbit as a joke; Joseph was a joke. He had seen and heard them. Rose, even in the short time she had been here, showed sympathy, seemed concerned. Strange, that.

  He, personally, had not minded one way or the other – the rabbit in Joseph’s room or in the run – it was all the same to him, but Bertram seemed to have a thing about it. However, he thought Bertram was overreacting when he argued so vociferously that the attention given to the animal undermined Brother Joseph’s devotional life – what a load of rubbish – and that the absurdity of a monk trailing a rabbit around on a lead reflected on them all and on the monastic life as a whole. Pompous ass! Guy had never taken part in these discussions, not considered it to be his business, but now he thought about Rose. She had picked up a situation in a matter of hours, something the rest of them had not realised over months.

  He shook his head and smiled to himself. She would be quite a match for Bertram. And in any case, he didn’t think Bertram’s preoccupation was really about the rabbit at all. But he wasn’t going to get involved one way or the other, for surely this issue was of no real consequence. How could it matter, in the great scheme of things, whether Guy avoided the rabbit question or not? There were, after all, far more important things to concern him. He would rather think about the woman. There was something about her. What was she doing here, really?

  As he crossed the lawn back to the house, he turned to look in the direction of her room. He couldn’t see it from where he was but he looked anyway, wondering if she was still resting, and remembered that he must organise some lunch for her. He would take it himself with the painkillers and then he could check on her foot again. Why did he rather look forward to that?

  Chapter 28

  After Matins, the monks made their way to Father Godfrey’s study for the customary pre-lunch sherry, a weekly event he had instigated but that for several years now he rather regretted. None of them was easy with informal chatter and Godfrey found himself left with the onerous responsibility of making it jolly. The whole thing was exceedingly tiresome. However he had been assured by Brother Bertram, when he had suggested abandoning the event, that the brothers would be very disappointed and looked forward to their chats very much. Godfrey thought it was more likely to be the sherry that they would miss and this he could well understand, as he suspected that he was not the only member of the community to keep a bottle on hand.

  He had left his door ajar, as usual, and began pouring out the sherry into the small glasses he kept in the corner cupboard. Well, at least this morning he would have something definite to talk about, as there was so much to organise. He wondered how the attic sorting-out was coming along. He would have to go up there himself this afternoon. Which reminded him: he must ask Brother Bertram if he and Brother Oswald had sorted out the valuable books from the library. Bertram had been so preoccupied with the business of the rabbit, he might well have forgotten.

  Brother Bertram really was a thorn in his side. The trouble was, it was hard to fault him; he was always so reasonable and he was, strictly speaking, quite right about the rabbit but Godfrey doubted whether any of the others would have bothered had not he stirred things up. He seemed to have it in for Brother Joseph. The phrase ‘sure, he is an honourable man’ came into his mind. In addition, Bertram had Oswald as his staunch ally and everyone liked Oswald for his quiet, kindly ways. Chameleon-like, he blended into any situation and, because he was so agreeable and so devoted to Bertram, everyone accepted that Bertram must be agreeable too. Sometimes Godfrey wondered about the nature of that friendship, but oh well, what the eye didn’t see, the heart couldn’t grieve over, and he didn’t believe in looking for trouble.

  He didn’t want any trouble with Brother Joseph either. Pray Heaven he accepted the new arrangements. Anyway, Mrs Gregory would keep Joseph occupied for a day or two, hopefully. Godfrey sighed. He had had no time to see Mrs Gregory today, and this afternoon would be busy with the attic business, and yet he had promised to show her the rest of the garden. Perhaps Joseph could do that and he would try to think of something for tomorrow. But he knew it was uncharitable of him to foist Joseph on her.

  Hearing the brothers’ footsteps coming up the corridor, Godrey gulped some sherry from the glass in his hand, quickly refilled it, and then placed himself by the window and arranged a ‘welcoming look’ on his face.

  ‘Come in, come in. Help yourselves to a sherry.’ He indicated the tray of glasses before flicking the lock of hair out of his eyes.

  Bertram always came in first. Today he was followed by Brother Joseph, for whom this was a new experience. This, at any rate, was some consolation for not working in the kitchen. The kitchen staff were always too busy getting Sunday roast to enjoy the sherry party. Today Joseph would have been first had not Bertram manoeuvred himself into that position with a firm, ‘Excuse me, Brother!’ and, picking up a glass, advanced on Godfrey, leaving Joseph grinning at the sherry glasses uncertainly. Having examined the sherry carefully, he picked up one in his quivering hand and passed it to Oswald, who had followed them in.

  ‘Have one yourself, Brother,’ Oswald said, but Joseph shook his head and giggled, taking upon himself the task of handing a sherry to each brother as he came into the room, and so replicating the joy of serving, which the kitchen work had given him for so many years.

  ‘We’ve mended the run for you, Brother.’ Stephen’s rather high voice made Joseph jump. ‘You’ll be able to put your rabbit there tonight.’

  Joseph put down the glass he was holding and looked up at the spotty, ginger-haired youth. His smiled disappeared momentarily, and then he turned away as if hadn’t heard.

  Father Godfrey interrupted the low, hesitant mutterings by raising his voice slightly, ‘Just a word, please. Brother Bertram assures me that you all know what you are doing this afternoon. I shall come up to the attic myself at some stage. Could I ask you all to work as speedily as possible so that we are ready for the Philips man tomorrow. I need not remind you what little time we have left before the move. And, by the way, we shall need a large box or boxes to put the books in, so could someone
please sort that after luncheon.’

  He paused and looked down at his empty glass. ‘And apparently,’ – this was a little piece of information that Bertram had dropped on him – ‘Dr Guy, unusually, did not attend Matins this morning. Does anyone know where he is? He’s not unwell I hope, or locked in the attic!’ The small joke was greeted by silent faces and Godfrey mourned their lack of humour. He waited as a matter of courtesy but he didn’t expect any response. Only Bertram knew anything, but preferred to inform him at private meetings. Gives him a sense of power, Godfrey thought. He was surprised, therefore, when Joseph waved his hands and shuffled towards him.

  ‘He’s looking after the lady,’ he announced with some excitement.

  ‘She hurt herself.’

  ‘She’s what? What do you mean?’A wave of intense irritability engulfed him. ‘What do you mean, Brother?’

  Joseph began a long ramble which Godfrey, wearied beyond words, interrupted with, ‘Yes, yes, thank you,’ and then muttered, ‘we could do without any more problems, I should think.’ He sighed with exasperation. ‘If you see Dr Guy before I do,’ Godfrey said weakly, ‘please ask him to come to me.’

  After they had gone, Godfrey sat for a moment and gazed out of the window that overlooked the front of the house. He saw Rose’s car and groaned, running his hand across his forehead. She was just an added problem! It was a pity he had ever said yes to her. They really didn’t have time for anything extra – and now this. What on earth was she doing gardening, for goodness sake? Of course, the loss of her children was quite dreadful, but it was three years ago, she must be – well, not getting over it exactly, but adjusting, coming to terms, and so on.

  So, what did she want from them now? People who came to stay were usually looking for something, hoping to find some instant nirvana. But they came in groups. He had never been that keen on having women, anyway; only financial needs demanded it, but one on her own was doubly awkward. Thankfully, though, she appeared self-assured and independent; too independent, it seemed. Yet, despite that, there was that look about her. Was it tiredness? Was it…?

  The memory of his dream of Padma and India retuned and left him with a vague sense of anxiety. But he was too absorbed with his own mortality; making sense of his life and facing his own death was enough; there was no energy left to take on problems belonging to someone else, although he knew he should. Everyone had to cope for himself; it was between him and God.

  And the brothers, too, were silent within themselves, preoccupied. With what? Trying to convince themselves that it was not all some enormous hoax? Deadening feelings against that awful possibility that life was futile, that everything came to nothing? But if visitors were to find anything here, it would have to be some kind of spiritual thing; there was nothing any of them could actually do. Oh Lord, he thought, it had all seemed so clear years ago, giving and loving and doing and being. With age, it became unclear and uncertain. So where was all the wisdom that was supposed to be the compensation for old age? The only compensation he could think of was a kind of acceptance, and that came from loss of energy. A pretty negative sort of compensation.

  He heard the bell ring for lunch. Let’s hope it’s a good roast, he thought. At least there’s still food to enjoy.

  Doctor Guy was waiting outside the dining room.

  ‘Is everything all right? You missed Matins.’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. Bit of an accident, I’m afraid.’

  ‘So, I hear. Apparently Mrs Gregory hurt her foot.’

  ‘’Fraid’ so. Put the prong of a garden fork through it. It’s quite nasty, actually. I’ve dressed it for her. She’s gone to lie down.’

  Godfrey heaved a sigh. ‘What about her lunch, then?’

  ‘I’ll take her something later, if that’s all right.’

  ‘You can cope, then? Well done! Well done!’ Godfrey’s attempt to disguise his exasperation was unsuccessful.

  He shook the hair out of his eyes and stared at Guy uncertainly. He turned to go into the dining room and then said, suddenly, ‘Better ask Brother Joseph to do it. He’s supposed to be looking after her at the moment.’ And, as an afterthought, ‘Come to my room after lunch, will you? I’d better fill you in about Mrs Gregory.’

  The brothers watched the conversation going on outside from under their brows and then waited patiently while the father abbot took his place in the centre of the top table. Grace said, they all sat, and Brother David commenced the reading.

  Father Godfrey looked at the space left for Rose Gregory and felt a tinge of regret. Now and again there did seem something reassuring about having a woman sit at table. It lent a sense of harmony, of balance, but he couldn’t think why this should be so. He had never consciously felt this before. Surely, after all these years, he could not be missing his mother. That was ridiculous! And yet in his old age he had to admit he sometimes yearned to have the comfort of a woman. Perhaps all old people felt like that. At any rate, it was not he that needed the comfort now but rather Mrs Gregory, so, if Dr Guy was seeing to her foot, he might as well also take the opportunity to – well – deal with the other matter, her problems whatever they were. He was a Doctor, after all. And he had the time.

  He sighed. Yes, he certainly had more time.

  Chapter 29

  Staring at Godfrey through his round glasses, Guy listened carefully as Father Godfrey recounted all he knew about Rose Gregory. And he was shocked. ‘Right. Well, thank you for telling me,’ he said before leaving the room.

  Now, walking back to his room, he began to worry. He was going to have to be involved and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be. But in a way it was too late, and there could be no excuses now. No lack of time. Not too busy. But what, if anything, should he, could he, do? This personal involvement frightened him and, wanting to escape it, to think about something else, he decided to clean his car. Anything.

  The somewhat shabby Ford was his and he had been allowed to keep it at the abbey so that it could be used for fetching and carrying, mostly eggs and vegetables from the local farm. Now he carried from the kitchen a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, which he put down beside the bonnet. There was no one around and there was that strange quietness one associates with Sunday afternoons. He slowly stroked the bonnet with the soapy sponge and the grey suds dripped off the car onto the ground at his feet. He was anxious and he knew he had that sulky look.

  He thought about Rose and knew now that he had been right in suspecting she was a troubled woman. It had been obvious to him from the first that she was very defended, tense and anxious. Her quips and almost flirtatious sarcasm had not fooled him. He thought she was lovely, though, with her pale freckles and chestnut eyes. Yet it seemed she was trying to be something or someone else; what he knew about her now gave him a clearer understanding. The temporary amnesia? Well, that was a common post-trauma syndrome but to be taken seriously, nonetheless. Why hadn’t her doctor or friends seen it coming? But he smiled wryly to himself, knowing that she was the very worst kind of person to try to help. He suspected that she could be extremely difficult. And now he was involved and he was a doctor, so there could be no excuses.

  He leaned his arm on the top of the car and the sponge dripped from his other hand. Despite his concern, he recognised a certain excitement about the challenge. He knew now too, that it was medicine that he was looking forward to getting back to. There was much more to medicine than just healing the body, and perhaps the other kind of healing was even more important. One must find time for that.

  He wrung out the dirty water from the sponge and started to wipe round the wheels. He was wasting his time, he knew, because they would get filthy again at the farm. He stopped and gazed over the top of the car to the trees beyond. He could take Rose with him, couldn’t he, take her out for a drive to the farm? And for a cream tea? That’s what he would do. It would get them out of everyone’s way as well, especially as the Auction man was coming. Was the name Philips? – anyway, they were all in a flap about that.r />
  No, he wouldn’t say anything this evening; he would just dress her foot and chat and let things take their natural course. Perhaps she would tell him her story of her own accord. And then what? What should he do? What could he say? He must avoid an emotional scene. But she wasn’t like that; that’s why he was so drawn to her. She was like him: private, self-sufficient. She would never expect or need others to share her private world. Quite right too, and that way it was so much easier to keep relationships under control. Still, as a doctor he would try to win her confidence.

  Now that he had decided some course of action, he felt better. The cleaning of the car took on some significance, and he would even do the inside. It was dreadfully dirty, covered with patches of dried mud and bits of straw and on the back seat were piles of empty egg boxes and some greasy tools wrapped in newspaper. He wanted it to be decent for the woman. He raised his eyebrows wryly at his anticipation.

  He took back the bucket and sponge to the kitchen and found a black plastic bag, which he intended to fill with all the rubbish from the car. As he stood by the window wondering if, with an extension lead, he could hoover out the inside, he saw Brother Joseph crossing the lawn with a large cardboard box in his arms – the rabbit’s box, obviously – and heading for Rose’s room. ‘Leave her alone, man,’ he thought. ‘Leave her alone.’

  Chapter 30

  After Guy, had gone, I lay counting the throbs of my aching foot. I couldn’t sleep and so I found a cigarette and, lying back, puffed great clouds of smoke into the room. I couldn’t relax. I was a bit – not sure of the right word – unsettled, the sort of feeling you get when you are waiting for something. As if something was in the air, so to speak. And it had to do with Guy, but I wasn’t sure what it was.