by Kate Charles
David gazed again at the mirror. He no longer felt like a schoolboy, and he recognised, with the shock of one who usually looks into a mirror without seeing, that it had been a long time since he’d looked like one. His face, never particularly handsome (why had Gabe loved him?) was at least beginning to look what people kindly called distinguished, with that hint of grey at the temples, while the fleshy pouches under his eyes spoke of long tiring days and sleepless nights. And his body, though still reasonably trim, had lost the suppleness of youth.
Gabe will be ten years older, too, he realised suddenly. Funny. He’d always pictured him looking just as he had then, perpetually beautiful, untouched by time. He found himself wondering exactly what he would find when he arrived in London, as he knew he must. Gabe needed him.
CHAPTER 6
Thy tongue imagineth wickedness: and with lies thou cuttest like a sharp razor.
Thou hast loved unrighteousness more than goodness: and to talk of lies more than righteousness.
Psalm 52.3–4
‘So, what did you do today, all on your own?’ Gabriel asked his wife over their evening meal on the following day, Wednesday.
Emily considered. ‘Well, this morning I made a couple of batches of jam for the fête. If I make some every day for the next week, and maybe bake a cake or two for the freezer, it won’t be so awful at the last minute.’
‘How about this afternoon? You were out, weren’t you?’
She made a slightly guilty face. ‘Yes, I went down to Kensington High Street for the summer sales. It’s so difficult to do the sales properly with the children along, so it seemed a good opportunity. Lucy met me along the way, and we had a nice tea at the Muffin Man afterwards.’
‘Did you buy anything?’
‘Mostly things for the twins. I got them some lovely cotton jumpers at Marks and Spencer’s – they’ve quite grown out of the ones they had last year.’
‘You miss the children, don’t you?’ Gabriel smiled sympathetically.
She looked at the empty chairs. ‘I really do. It’s so quiet in the house without them, especially when you’re away in the evening. But I mustn’t be selfish – my parents do so enjoy having them to stay, and spoiling them with little treats.’
Gabriel consulted his watch. ‘Well, I won’t be out long this evening. I need to pay a call on that new family in the parish, but the churchwardens are coming by at eight for a meeting about the Quinquennial Inspection, so I should be back by then.’
Emily grimaced. ‘You’d better be. For heaven’s sake, don’t leave me alone with that appalling Mavis Conwell. I can’t be held responsible for what I might say to one of her frightful remarks.’
‘I’m sure that Cyril will be on hand, more than happy to come to your rescue as your knight in shining armour.’ Gabriel’s smile was tinged with malice.
Emily stuck her tongue out at him affectionately. ‘Poor old Cyril – he can’t help it. Anyway,’ she added, ‘I don’t make fun of all the women who are in love with you.’
‘Except Beryl Ball.’
‘Except Beryl Ball,’ she conceded readily. Glancing at the clock, she asked, ‘Have you got time for a coffee?’
‘Just about. I’ll probably get offered one later, but it’s always best not to count on it.’
Emily rose and went into the kitchen. Gabriel sat quietly, abstractedly drawing designs on the tablecloth with the tip of his knife, a small frown between his brows. The phone bleated in the hall and he jumped, startled.
‘Stay there – I’ll get it,’ Emily called, then put her head round the door a moment later. ‘It’s Daphne, she says she wants a quick word.’
‘Ah.’ In a few strides he was in the hall, picking up the receiver. He tried to keep the eagerness out of his voice. ‘Yes, Daphne?’
‘Oh, hello, Gabriel. I’ve been out all afternoon and just got home to find a reply from David in the second post.’
‘And?’
‘He’s coming. On Friday, he says. I just thought you’d like to know.’
He closed his eyes and sighed, then said, ‘Thanks. That’s good. Will he come straight to you?’
‘Yes, I expect it will be sometime in the afternoon. I’ll probably take him over to the church and show him the crypt chapel.’
‘Why don’t you give me a ring when he’s arrived, and I’ll meet you there?’
‘Fine. I’ll talk with you then.’
‘Thanks, Daphne. I’m sure it will do him good to have a change of scenery.’
‘Right. Ta.’
Gabriel replaced the receiver and felt his shoulders relax. David’s coming, he told himself. He’ll get to the bottom of this somehow: everything will be all right.
He returned to the dining room and accepted the steaming cup of coffee with the first real smile he’d given his wife in days. ‘Thanks, my love.’
Gabriel hadn’t yet returned when the doorbell sounded, a few minutes before eight. Emily went to answer it with a sinking heart. If I’m lucky it will be Cyril, she thought – I can cope with him, anyway. But on the doorstep, under a dripping umbrella, stood Mavis Conwell. As Emily beckoned her indoors, Mavis’s small eyes, fractionally too close together, swivelled round to see if she were indeed the first to arrive. ‘Am I early? Father Gabriel said eight.’
‘I’m very sorry, Mavis. He’s not back yet. He went out on a pastoral call about an hour ago. Can I offer you a coffee?’ Emily took the proffered umbrella and the wet raincoat with a cordial smile.
‘Thank you, Emily, that would be very nice.’
‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the drawing room?’ she suggested. But Mavis followed her into the kitchen and watched her fill the kettle.
‘Actually,’ Mavis confided, ‘it’s nice to have a chance to chat with you. It seems like I hardly ever see you to talk to.’
‘I’m usually around,’ Emily replied, with a vague wave of her hand. ‘But I suppose there are always people who want to have a word with the Vicar’s wife.’
‘Exactly,’ Mavis rejoined. ‘And it’s just lovely the way you try to make time for all of them.’
Emily opened a cupboard and took out the sugar basin. ‘That’s all I can do.’
‘No, you go far beyond that. For example, I think it’s just wonderful the way you’ve been counselling that head server, Tony Kent. Not everyone would have the courage.’
Frankly puzzled, Emily frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, everyone knows he’s a –’ Mavis lowered her voice conspiratorially and glanced around – ‘you know, a homosexual.’ She almost hissed the word. ‘And for a woman like you, with a small son, to counsel him – well, that’s what I call an act of real Christian charity.’
‘Counsel him?’
‘I’ve seen you talking to him after church on Sundays, and I do think it’s very brave. Someone must have the courage to tell these people that what they’re doing is an abomination before God. I’d do it myself, but I’m sure he’d listen more to you, being the Vicar’s wife and all. And a bit nearer his age,’ she added.
‘But Tony’s a friend,’ Emily protested, baffled.
‘Of course he is, dear,’ Mavis agreed smugly. ‘They say that we have to befriend these people before we can really help them. He does want to be helped, doesn’t he?’
‘I think he’s perfectly happy the way he is.’
Mavis was horrified. ‘It will probably take you an awful lot of counselling then. But do be careful. I mean, you never know what you might pick up from these people. Not to mention the danger to Sebastian.’
Emily didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or to scream at her, but she controlled her expression and said mildly, ‘I don’t think Sebastian’s in any danger. And I don’t know what you think I could catch from Tony.’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean AIDS, though on that score I don’t think you can be too careful, do you? But, well, I don’t know . . . Those people go to such horrible places . . .’
&nbs
p; Emily took a deep breath and deliberately changed the subject. ‘How is Craig? I haven’t seen him for quite a while.’
Mavis beamed. ‘He’s just fine. I know he doesn’t come to church very often – it’s not “his scene”, as he says, but he’s a good boy. No harm in him.’ Unwilling to let the subject drop, she went on, ‘Quite a one for the girls, is my Craig. I’m just so glad that I have no worries on that score.’
‘But what about the girls? Don’t you worry about them?’
‘Girls these days can take care of themselves. They’re all on the Pill, aren’t they? Anyway, I’d rather have him get a girl pregnant than to be . . . the other way. I just thank God that I have a manly son!’
Emily was saved the necessity of replying by the pealing of the doorbell. ‘Excuse me a moment, Mavis. That must be Cyril.’
Wing Commander Cyril Fitzjames stood on the doorstep, smiling fondly at Emily as she opened the door. ‘Good evening, my dear,’ he boomed, smoothing his hair carefully across his head. Although he was quite bald on top, he had cultivated a very long piece of hair on the side of his head with which he endeavoured to disguise the fact; the parting started just above his right ear. The effect was never very convincing, and at times was frankly bizarre, but it satisfied his vanity.
He stepped inside, shaking the rain from his mac like a big wet dog. Emily had often thought there was much that was dog-like about him, from his appearance to his devotion to her. He was a large man, and in his prime had been impressive, with his broad shoulders and erect carriage. But the muscle had gone to fat and the military bearing had become a stooped shamble. He had a jowly, heavy face with drooping eyelids and liver-spots, and his hands, large and mottled with age, had a slight tremble. Emily took his mac and offered her cheek for the inevitable kiss.
‘So what’s this meeting tonight all about, my dear?’ he bellowed. ‘Gabriel didn’t say. You’d think a chap had nothing better to do than come out in this rain for a blasted meeting.’
‘Oh, something about the Quinquennial Inspection, I think he said.’
Mavis appeared at the kitchen door, clutching her coffee cup. ‘What’s the Quinquennial Inspection?’
Cyril smiled condescendingly. ‘Ah, Mrs Conwell! When you’ve been churchwarden as long as I have, you’ll know what the Quinquennial Inspection is, all right!’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Quin – that’s five, if you remember your Latin. Every five years the diocese comes in to make sure that everything is shipshape. Looks over the building, goes over the books.’ He gave a short, barking laugh and wagged his finger at her roguishly. ‘So if you’ve been pinching money, you’re sure to get caught, my girl!’ He broke off as the door opened and the Vicar blew in on a gust of rain. ‘Ah, Gabriel, my dear boy! Let the meeting commence!’
It wasn’t until much later that Emily discovered the coffee stain on the hall carpet, but she managed to get most of it up so that it hardly showed.
CHAPTER 7
I have considered the days of old: and the years that are past.
I call to remembrance my song: and in the night I commune with mine own heart, and search out my spirits.
Psalm 77.5–6
Driving across the Fens alone was depressing even at the best of times, David reflected, and this wet summer day was anything but the best of times. The low clouds were unbroken, the rain unremitting, and there was no compensating warmth in the air. In spite of his resolution not to dwell on the past, David found himself remembering a happier time, driving back to Brighton with Gabe beside him at the end of that lovely week. The drive from Brighton to Norfolk at the beginning of the week had been tense, fraught with his anxieties about the wisdom of the enterprise, and the leaden sky had threatened snow. But at the end of the holiday they’d both been basking in the warm glow of their love. It was an afternoon in mid-winter and the Fens had never been more beautiful. In a cloudless sky, dusk was closing in early; the horizon glowed like a creamy iridescent pink pearl. Each twig on every tree – thousands, millions of twigs – stood out in stark relief, like intricate black lace, against the nacreous sky, and the black birds perched in the trees were silent. David and Gabe had been silent, too.
David groaned now with frustration as a lumbering farm vehicle pulled out in front of him from a side crossing. He’d never get to London at this rate. He was unused to London traffic: it had been years since he’d lived there, as a student and as a trainee solicitor, and in the intervening years the evening rush-hour seemed to have begun earlier and earlier. By the time he’d negotiated the M25, then Finchley, St John’s Wood and Paddington, it was nearly tea-time and he was in a black mood when he pulled up in front of Daphne’s flat.
Daphne had been watching for several hours from her vantage-point at the window, the latest P. D. James novel unopened on her lap. In the morning she’d cleaned her flat, bathed, and taken special care with her appearance. Silly old woman, she’d grumbled wryly to herself, but she’d still put on a new coral-coloured jumper with her best summer skirt. She realised, as she sat looking out of the window, that her motives in asking David here had not been entirely unselfish, but that uncomfortable knowledge did not prevent her from taking pleasure in anticipating his arrival. Self-knowledge did not always come easily to Daphne, but once it was achieved, she didn’t shrink from its implications.
As the ancient brown Morris ground to a halt outside, she resisted the impulse to go outside and meet him; she remained in her chair and counted to ten after the bell went. But any potential awkwardness in their meeting was dispelled as she spontaneously burst out laughing at the sight of his grim face.
‘I don’t know what’s so damned funny,’ he said peevishly.
‘You,’ she chuckled. ‘You look like you’ve lost your last friend. Oh, David, it is good to see you.’
He glowered, but unbent sufficiently to kiss her cheek with affection as he came through the door. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea? It’s been a hellish trip.’
‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She retreated to the kitchen and he followed automatically.
‘Nice place you’ve got here,’ he remarked, looking around with interest. ‘This comes with the Sacristan’s job?’
‘Yes. I’m very fortunate. Rents are sky-high in this part of London, that is if you can even find rental property. I don’t know where I would have gone when I retired and left the school if this hadn’t come up.’ She looked at him, hesitating. He usually accepted gratitude with bad grace. ‘Have I ever properly thanked you for finding me this job? I wouldn’t have ever known about it if you hadn’t been such a thorough reader of the classified adverts in the Church Times, and I probably wouldn’t have had a chance of getting it if you hadn’t written such a nice letter of recommendation to Gabriel.’
He was embarrassed. ‘I’m glad it’s worked out for you. I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.’ He paused. ‘How is . . . Gabriel?’ he finally asked, the unfamiliar name enunciated with an effort.
‘Overworked and a bit distracted these days, to tell the truth. I don’t know if I mentioned that he’s likely to be appointed Archdeacon in the near future. That probably accounts for it.’
‘I haven’t seen him in over ten years, you know.’
Daphne looked at him speculatively; she’d often wondered about that, but knew better than to ask. Finally, as if reading his mind, she said, ‘I wonder if you’ll find him much changed. I’ve only known him a couple of years, but he is very well preserved for his age!’ She added sincerely, ‘Of course, you’re not so bad yourself.’
David shrugged philosophically. ‘I’m not the boy you used to know, am I? But at least I’ve still got all my hair, even if it is a bit grey round the edges.’
Daphne warmed the teapot and tore the cellophane off two new packets of Twining’s tea. ‘I remembered,’ she said somewhat self-consciously. ‘Two spoons of Earl Grey and one of Assam. No tea-bags. Milk, no sugar.’
He laughed, delighted. ‘I
hope you haven’t forgotten the English Breakfast and Darjeeling for tomorrow morning!’
‘No, and I haven’t forgotten the Scotch for tonight, either.’
He smiled, but his thoughts were suddenly sober: I shall probably need it by then.
Gabriel paced impatiently at the west end of the church, glancing at his watch. Daphne had phoned a quarter of an hour ago to say they were on their way. They were certainly taking their time about it.
As they walked along to St Anne’s, David had the curious sensation of moving in slow motion, like a fish swimming upstream. Daphne’s flat was not far from the church, but their route led them from her quiet street on to a very busy main road, the pavements clogged with people in a hurry, the thoroughfare bumper-to-bumper with rush-hour traffic. Then suddenly they turned off the main road, and St Anne’s Church was a short distance before them. The rain had stopped, at least for a time, and David’s first glimpse of St Anne’s was in a watery sunlight. Daphne chatted about the building’s architectural merits, pointing out a buttress here and some tracery there with the specialised knowledge of a passionate amateur, knowledge that he shared and surpassed. He half listened and responded in kind.
Nearing the door, some instinct informed her that this meeting should not be witnessed. ‘You go on in and say hello to Gabriel. I’ll . . . uh, check the noticeboard in the north porch to see if there’s anything I need to know about, and I’ll be in directly.’
He stepped into the Pre-Raphaelite gloom of the church’s interior, blinking for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and came face to face with Gabriel. For a very long moment the two men regarded each other, the silence suspended like a crystal between them.
He hasn’t changed, was David’s first coherent thought, after the flood of inchoate emotion. Damn it, it’s not fair. He looks exactly the same. How can I stop loving him when he’s just the same?