CHAPTER 15
Sharma ate little and spoke less. He looked drawn and tired and eventually gave way to Ella’s persuasion to go and lie down for a while in the bedroom. In our bed! thought Franz, but he urged Sharma too. His territory was being invaded as never before, with Sharma in his bed and Phil in his kitchen, but he found he didn’t mind as much as he thought he would.
Phil asked him about Leroy. Franz shrugged.
‘I don’t know the guy. He wasn’t being offensive so I thought I had to give him a fair chance, let him have his say.’
‘What’s your gut instinct about him?’
‘Something makes my flesh creep. But that’s prejudice and I try not to go that way.’
‘It could be something you should listen to,’ Phil said. ‘I find my gut often gets to the truth before my mind catches up with it.’
‘Me too,’ Ella agreed.
‘Oh well, that must be right then,’ said Franz. His tone was acerbic. He didn’t want her on Phil’s side.
She turned her head aside, hiding, as she did when someone hurt her, behind a veil of hair. Somehow he was the one who hurt her these days and he didn’t like himself in the role. She seemed to bring out the worst as well as the best in him. Phil did the same. Perhaps he should be a hermit, live apart from everyone, unfit for human company.
‘You have a stressful job, Franz,’ Phil said mildly. ‘Difficult decisions.’
‘No more than anyone in any other job,’ Franz said. He was wishing he hadn’t invited the man to stay, grateful though he was for Sharma regaining consciousness. He tried to take the edge out of his voice, aware of sounding ungracious. ‘I’m sure you have to make difficult decisions yourself, in your field of work.’
‘Yes, but I’m only a cog in a wheel – accountable to my bishop and able to call on colleagues as well as a parish team for support. You’re in sole charge.’
‘I have loyal colleagues as well,’ said Franz. Again, to his ears, he sounded childish, competitive.
‘Nearly all of them are freelance,’ Ella pointed out. ‘They work for themselves and pay you for the facilities you provide. It’s not like all being on the same payroll, working with each other. The risk isn’t shared; it’s yours, Franz. That’s why he worked eighteen-hour days in the first year,’ she told Phil, ‘and twelve-hour days now, sometimes more. Plus mobile calls and texts at the rate of about ten an hour when he’s home.’
Phil grimaced. ‘What about family, Franz? Are they a support?’
‘I don’t have family,’ he said shortly. The questions were becoming too personal. He stood up and started clearing the remnants of food from the table, hoping Phil would take the hint. He did, standing up and bringing the mugs and plates to the sink, but Ella stayed where she was.
‘He’s a mystery man,’ she said, only half-joking. ‘No family, no history, no photos, nothing.’
‘What happened to your family?’ Phil asked.
Franz frowned at Ella but she was drawing patterns on the table-top with a fork and didn’t look up.
‘Only my mother brought me up. She died. That’s it.’
‘What about your sister?’ Ella asked.
He could feel anger rising, and made himself go calm. Franz’s normal response to too many questions was silence and Ella had learned it wasn’t worth asking. She was using Phil’s presence now as an opportunity to draw him out.
‘I don’t have a sister,’ he said evenly. ‘Rachel was a child my mother fostered for a while.’
‘Where is she now?’ Phil asked. ‘Are you still in touch with her?’
‘She traced her mother and went to live with her. It worked out well for her, as far as I know. I hear from her in Jamaica once in a blue moon. End of story,’ he said firmly.
Ella was staring at him. ‘Rachel came from Jamaica?’
‘Her mother did.’
‘Franz, you are unbelievable! Don’t you see what you did?’
‘What?’ It came out as almost a shout. He saw Phil glance from one to the other of them quickly, noting the tension. Franz forced himself to calm down. He would talk to Ella later about this, just the two of them, making it clear he didn’t like to discuss his private circumstances with strangers - with anyone, not even her.
‘Franz, you said you didn’t understand why you overreacted the other evening, why you felt impelled to get that girl Jacqui out of Phil and Jan’s car, why you were so angry about them arranging for her to go back to Jamaica to stay with her sister! Don’t you see the association?’
‘There was no association,’ said Franz. ‘It was an impulsive reaction to an unconnected incident.’
He looked towards Phil hoping the man would confirm that women let their imaginations run wild, but Phil was nodding thoughtfully.
‘There’s always a trigger, Franz,’ Ella said. ‘You said yourself you don’t usually get angry. It wouldn’t just happen for no reason.’
‘It was irrational. That’s the point.’
‘Then the other night when you … got stressed, that was triggered off by my saying I might go to church. So if you got to the root of your anger with church and religion and things …’
‘I’m stressed out by overwork,’ said Franz. ‘Nothing else, right?’
She hadn’t told Phil, then. ‘Got stressed’ was her euphemism for it. What word would she use next time he nearly hit out – or if he actually did it? He was suddenly sick of pretence, sick of himself.
‘I nearly hit Ella the other night,’ he informed Phil. ‘She may have told you. She’s newly pregnant and I had a sudden flash of anger, lost control and raised my fist to her. She cried all night. That’s what Ella’s referring to. “Got stressed” is her way of letting me off the hook.’
‘I see.’ Phil sat down. ‘I’d imagine it’s out of character for you to act violently, is it?’
Franz shrugged, and sat down too. He blinked fast and hard, feeling suddenly threatened by tears. That was unprecedented, certainly. ‘I don’t know if it is or it isn’t,’ he said. ‘It must be in my character if I did it.’
‘Must it? Or would overwork, over-responsibility and the prospect of further responsibilities, of fatherhood, have something to do with it?’
‘I don’t do excuses,’ Franz said stiffly.
‘No excuses. Nothing excuses hitting the woman you love, or even coming near to it,’ Phil agreed. ‘But it could be a warning sign, to ease up on yourself. When did you last have some quality time, just the two of you?’
‘We’re going to Ireland,’ Franz said, ‘in a day or two.’
Ella looked startled. He remembered he still hadn’t asked her whether she wanted to go.
‘Or I was thinking of it,’ Franz amended. ‘It doesn’t seem like the best time to leave Sharma now, though. Or The Healing Place, with this Watson guy around.’
‘Jan and I could keep an eye on Sharma,’ Phil offered. ‘He’s welcome to stay at our place. It’s one of the traditional old vicarages the Church of England hasn’t got around to pulling down or selling – or improving, so it’s got plenty of space and original features, and more than the original draughts!’
Ella was looking at Franz, under the veil of hair. She looked anxious more often now than she used to in the early days. He wanted to see her smile again.
‘I’d certainly feel happier if Sharma had somewhere to stay,’ he told Phil. ‘Thank you.’
‘My pleasure. Now, I’ll thank you for your hospitality and leave you to prepare for your trip to Ireland.’
‘Thanks, Phil,’ Ella said.
They walked with him to the door, though it was only a couple of steps from the kitchen.
‘Enjoy your holiday,’ he said, then, looking at Franz, ‘if it is a holiday? Is that what it is?’
‘I’m not sure what it is,’ Franz said. ‘Possibly a major mistake!’ His laugh was humourless.
‘Mm,’ said Phil. ‘Well, whatever it turns out to be … a mission? A pilgrimage?’
‘Unli
kely,’ said Franz firmly. ‘I’m not religious.’
‘You’re in good company,’ said Phil approvingly. ‘I can’t stand religion myself. Nor could Jesus, I believe.’
Just when you started to like the guy, Franz thought, he had to come out with something infuriating. It was just as well Franz was going away for a few days. He hoped his usual equanimity would return, by the time he came home.
The Healing Place Page 15
