The Gospel Makers

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘What’s her subject?’

  ‘English, and she’s brilliant at it — a natural teacher. She gets quite exceptional results.’

  ‘How long has she been with you?’ Dilys asked, refilling Hannah’s glass.

  ‘A year now.’

  ‘Why haven’t you tackled her before?’

  ‘It wasn’t so noticeable at first — she merely looked eccentric. Now — well, she’s like a down-and-out!’

  ‘Perhaps she’s taken up gambling?’

  ‘Doubtful — it wouldn’t be at all in character.’

  ‘Has she a friend you could sound out?’

  ‘Unfortunately no, she keeps her own company.’

  A knock on the door announced dinner, and Hannah was glad to let the subject drop.

  ‘I do love this house,’ she remarked as they went into the dining-room. ‘How old did you say it was?’

  ‘It was built in the sixteen-sixties,’ Dilys replied, gesturing for her to seat herself at the rosewood table, ‘by a retired clergyman of private means. Hence the name “Hassocks”.’

  ‘I assumed it was because of those low, rounded bushes by the front door.’

  ‘No doubt he was the first to plant them. Then, of course, bits and pieces have been added over the years, resulting in the hotchpotch it is now. I ask you, two halls and two staircases in a house this size!’

  ‘Well, however it “growed”, it’s full of character, which modern flats simply don’t have.’

  ‘Yours has,’ Dilys said. ‘I envy you its space and stillness. Here, let’s face it, everything’s rather cluttered.’

  Hannah watched her pour the wine. ‘I’ve often thought you have the perfect life; a gorgeous house, someone to run it for you and a really satisfying career.’

  ‘And no husband to put a spanner in the works!’ Dilys finished for her.

  ‘You don’t regret that?’

  ‘Occasionally, but he’d have to be a paragon to satisfy me. Someone who’d agree to live here — because I’ve no intention of moving — but not intrude on my privacy and never, never interrupt me when I’m writing.’ She burst out laughing. ‘I told you I was selfish!’

  Hannah smiled noncommittally. There had been men in Dilys’s life, she knew, some more important than others, but none of the relationships had come to anything. Close friends though they were, it was an area of each others’ lives into which they never pried.

  For many years there had been four of them — herself and Dilys, Gwen, and Monica Tovey — all ex-Ashbourne pupils, all successful, unmarried women. They used to meet once a month, at the theatre or for dinner at each other’s houses, and very pleasant it had been. Then, a few months ago, Monica had belatedly married, and soon after Gwen left for Canada. The ripples caused by both events had unsettled Hannah and, she suspected, Dilys also. For the moment at least, there were only the two of them.

  ‘Peggy’s excelled herself with this mousse,’ she commented, laying down her spoon with regret.

  ‘Yes, I never cease to bless Mother for sending her on that cookery course. It’s paid dividends ever since.’

  At the time of her mother’s death, Dilys was just down from Oxford and looking for a home of her own, deterred only by a pathological dislike of housework. It had seemed a natural solution that she should inherit Peggy.

  The arrangement worked admirably — so much so that when Peggy had married a few years later, her husband Bob was happy to move into Hassocks with her. He worked at the bus depot, but was more than willing to keep the garden in order and do odd jobs around the house in return for his board.

  ‘You’re right!’ Dilys said suddenly, breaking into Hannah’s reflections. ‘I am lucky, and goodness knows I do little enough in return. It’s time I put myself out for someone.’

  Hannah forbore from pointing out that in fact she’d be put out very little. ‘Good for you!’ she said stoutly, and they settled down to enjoy the rest of their meal.

  *

  It was hot and crowded in the back room, and at regular intervals someone struggled through the throng with a tray and the repetitive query, ‘Tea, coffee or squash?’

  For the third time Nina politely declined, and for the third time found herself having to resist a more pressing invitation. ‘Oh, do take one. It helps to break the ice.’

  She smiled and shook her head, seemingly the only one present without a cup in her hand. In strange surroundings, she told herself, it was prudent to eat or drink nothing — not even six pomegranate seeds. The fancy amused her, proof that her mother’s warning had taken root.

  As best she could in the cramped surroundings, she’d been taking stock of her companions. There must have been about forty of them, all obviously nervous, though, encouraged by their constantly smiling hosts, they had begun to chat among themselves, exchanging names and occupations. Why had they come here this evening, she wondered. What were they hoping to find? Surely they couldn’t all be ‘lonely, restless or dissatisfied?’ Surely some, like herself, were merely curious? She hoped so.

  There seemed a roughly equal number of men and women, and a surprisingly wide age range. Catching sight of a couple of girls not far from her, Nina felt a twinge of unease. They must still be at school. Did their parents know they were here?

  She studied them more closely. The fairer one, her yellow curls in the fashionable untidy mop, was tall, slim and extremely pretty. Her companion, though probably the same age, was much shorter and her bushy hair framed a small, piquant face out of which dark eyes glittered almost feverishly from beneath heavy brows. Nina wondered how old they were; fifteen, sixteen? A vulnerable age in this place. She resolved to keep an eye on them.

  A voice interrupted her survey. ‘You’ve nothing to drink. Let me get you —’

  ‘Really, no! Thank you,’ she added, trying to temper her over-firm refusal. She turned to see a man of about her own age smiling down at her.

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said easily, and she felt some of her qualms subside.

  ‘I’m Daniel,’ he went on, shaking her hand. ‘And you’re —?’

  ‘Nina.’

  ‘Delighted to meet you, Nina.’ He took her elbow and led her over to the wall, out of the crush. ‘Tell me about yourself. What do you do?’

  She was ready for that one. ‘I’m a civil servant.’

  ‘Ah, one of the faceless millions! I know the feeling. Married?’ He glanced down at the wedding ring which, to ward off advances, she still wore.

  ‘Divorced,’ she answered, and was taken aback by the swift, brief pressure of his hand.

  ‘Well, you’re among friends now. You need never feel lonely again.’

  The comfort in that spontaneous gesture took her by surprise. She was as green as the rest of them, she thought, mortified. If this expert sales pitch could make her, guarded and suspicious as she was, feel warmed and wanted, what hope had the rest of them of escaping the net which, she had no doubt, would shortly close over them?

  *

  Stephanie French glanced at her watch. They seemed to have been here a long time without much happening, and her head was beginning to ache. She took another sip of squash, spilling it down her blouse as Marina suddenly clutched her arm.

  ‘Steph — there’s Miss Hendrix! Look, over there!’

  Stephanie turned in the direction of her pointing finger, but the crowd was constantly shifting and she recognized no one. ‘It can’t have been,’ she said positively.

  ‘I tell you it was. Who else looks like Henny?’

  Stephanie narrowed her eyes. Marina’s face seemed a long way away and she was finding it hard to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘Suppose she saw us?’

  ‘So what?’ Marina retorted defiantly. ‘She can’t report us without giving away that she was here herself. Anyway, we’re not doing anything wrong.’

  ‘I wish they’d say what it’s about,’ Stephanie complained. ‘It’ll probably turn out to be some boring old political party.’

 
‘Or a high-powered dating agency! Still, it doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s better than sitting at home watching telly.’ And trying not to hear raised voices in the kitchen, she added silently. She pushed back the dark mass of her hair. ‘I’m glad I saw that notice. Everyone here’s so friendly. Even though we don’t know them I feel sort of fond of them, as though we’re all somehow in the same boat.’

  ‘Me too,’ Stephanie agreed. There was a sudden, perceptible movement towards the door, and she added, ‘At last — something’s happening. Now perhaps we’ll find out what’s going on.’

  Chapter 2

  Thank God it was Friday, thought Edward French, weaving his way expertly through the heavy traffic. He’d open a bottle of wine when he got home and they could enjoy a long, leisurely meal, with no meetings for either of them to rush off to. And later, replete and content, they would make love.

  He waited at the traffic lights while a giggling group of schoolgirls, clutching each other’s arms, hurried across the road. Oh God! he thought suddenly, his enjoyable anticipation deflating, wasn’t this Stephie’s exeat weekend? Christina had mentioned it the other evening; she’d arranged to fly up to Scotland on Saturday to meet a potential client, but, inclination conflicting as it so often did with duty, was wondering if she should cancel the trip.

  ‘It’s the limit, isn’t it?’ he’d remarked humorously. ‘You pay an extortionate amount to have your children taken off your hands, and what happens? They’re sent home at regular intervals to give the staff a break!’

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if they coincided,’ she’d replied, ‘but we seem to have one or other of them every few weeks. I had to postpone the Paris trip because Ned was home, and now it’s Stephie. How can I run a business under these conditions?’

  She was the proprietor of an interior design company, an enterprise which made full use of both her artistic flair and her business acumen. After an uncertain start it was just beginning to establish itself, with some lucrative business deals as well as a growing number of private clients.

  ‘I should go if I were you,’ he’d advised her. ‘Stephie’s not a child, she can amuse herself.’

  ‘Will you be around?’

  ‘Not a great deal, I’m afraid. This golf competition will take up most of the weekend.’

  ‘It seems unfair to go off and leave her,’ Christina said hesitantly. He’d waited, aware the decision had been taken and wondering how she’d justify it. ‘On the other hand, I can’t get out of that meeting with Mr Bryant — he’s only here for the weekend. And anyway,’ she’d added, salving her conscience, ‘she’ll probably spend most of her time with Marina, so it won’t make much difference if I’m here or not.’

  The lights changed and with a sigh Edward restarted the car. But when he arrived home minutes later there was no sign of his daughter. Christina was alone in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

  ‘Where’s our weekend visitor?’ he asked.

  ‘Out with Marina.’

  To his shame, a tide of relief washed over him. ‘Out where?’ he asked, to disguise it.

  She shrugged. ‘You know Stephie — vagueness personified. A disco, I suppose. It usually is. Anyway, I told her to be back by eleven and to phone if she needed collecting.’

  ‘So we can have our evening à deux after all,’ he said happily, slipping his arms round her. S he smiled and lifted her face for his kiss and Edward, as much in love with her as he’d been twenty-odd years ago, wondered not for the first time whether they’d done right to have children. They were fond enough of them, but in truth they’d have been as happy simply with their work and each other.

  ‘Stephie wanted Marina to come for the weekend,’ Christina commented, returning to her basting, ‘but her parents wouldn’t let her.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘Trying to play Happy Families, I suppose. Stephie says Marina dreads going home; Gordon and Diane spend all their time shouting at each other and trying to get her and Peter to take sides.’

  ‘Things are no better, then?’

  She shook her head. ‘You saw him yourself, didn’t you, with some woman? If you ask me, divorce is only a matter of time.’

  ‘Poor devils,’ Edward said, ‘and poor kids, too.’ Secure in his happy marriage, it never occurred to him that his own children, for quite different reasons, might also find the atmosphere at home less than welcoming.

  *

  As Nina moved with the crowd into the hall she found herself next to the woman who’d arrived at the same time as she had.

  ‘You’re by yourself too, aren’t you?’ she said shyly. ‘Would you mind if I sat with you? To be honest, I’m a bit apprehensive.’

  ‘I think we all are. My name’s Nina.’

  ‘Pam.’

  They made their way back up the hall and through a door on the right. Double doors halfway down the room had been pushed back, opening what were normally two rooms into one large one, now set out with rows of chairs. At the far end was a dais with two chairs to each side of it and, at the back, a large screen. A projector had been set up level with the front row of chairs.

  ‘Have you any idea what it’s about?’ Pam whispered, as she and Nina seated themselves.

  ‘One of the New Age religions, I imagine.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. They seem very friendly.’

  No doubt because they regarded Pam as a likely catch, Nina told herself uncharitably. She was a faded woman with fair, greying hair and little make-up, and kept twisting her wedding ring nervously round her finger.

  Catching Nina’s eye on it, she said ruefully, ‘My old man would scalp me if he knew I was here. How about yours?’

  ‘I’m divorced,’ Nina said. ‘Why wouldn’t he approve?’

  ‘He thinks they’re a right bunch of charlatans. Not only this lot, the regular crowd at St Martin’s as well. Can’t understand anyone still believing in religion — says we should have outgrown it years ago.’

  ‘The opium of the people?’ Nina suggested.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Like a comfort blanket.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it exactly. But we need a bit of comfort, don’t we? I know I do.’

  Everyone had now been seated, and there were not many empty chairs. A good turn-out, Nina thought cynically. Some of those who had been handing round drinks were now taking up strategic positions, one at the light switches, another by the projector. Then two men and two women came in together and walked down the length of the room to the dais. Nina recognized a couple of them, the man who’d spoken to her, Daniel, and the woman who’d greeted them at the door. They took their seats to the left of the dais, the other two to the right. Then, as an expectant hush descended over the room, the other man stood up again and moved to the front of the stage. Surreptitiously Nina switched on the concealed microphone in her button-hole.

  ‘Good evening, everyone, and welcome. We’re delighted you could come. My name is Adam and my friends here are Mattie’ — he gestured to the odd-looking woman behind him — ‘Sarah and Daniel.’

  Nina settled back, letting the observant policewoman in her take over as she studied the four on stage.

  At a guess, they were in their mid-thirties, though if she hadn’t seen Daniel closer at hand she’d have thought him younger, with his plentiful blond hair and blue eyes. Adam, the man who was speaking, was thin and dark-haired with narrow shoulders and an air of intense, almost desperate, sincerity.

  But it was the women whom Nina found most interesting. Sarah, who had greeted them, was listening intently to her colleague, and in repose her face was sterner and less attractive, her pallor — which Nina hadn’t previously noted accentuated by a total lack of make-up. She was wearing a grey wool dress, the plainness of which was relieved only by the ornate Celtic cross hanging round her neck. Something in her stillness and total concentration hinted at an iron will and rigid self-discipline. Nina found it slightly chilling.

  The other woman — Mattie,
was it? — was even more daunting. Small where Sarah was tall, she was wearing an unbecoming jumper which was obviously hand-knitted and a lopsided skirt that seemed too big for her. Her eyes were deep-set and fixed unblinkingly on the back of Adam’s head as he continued his address, and she’d an exceptionally high forehead on to which her mousy hair grew in a pronounced widow’s peak. That was its only licence, the rest of it being scraped severely back and fastened at the nape of her neck.

  An interesting and unusual quartet, Nina decided, wondering what their positions were in the hierarchy. Adam’s introductory speech had been slick and professional, with a touch of humour to put people at their ease. Now, having warmed up his audience, he embarked at last on the main purpose of the gathering.

  ‘Now, although I’ve told you our names, I haven’t introduced us properly, because the important thing is that we belong to the Church of the Final Revelation.’ He smiled. ‘Yes, I know — another of these strange cults! It’s true that over the last few decades many different movements have come into being. It’s something that always happens at the end of a century, when people are fearful of what the future holds. The late eighteen-hundreds saw the rise of Spiritism, Christian Science, Theosophy and many others. Now we have the Moonies, Scientology, Hare Krishna and so on, all seeking a way through the maze.

  ‘The difference is that this time, my friends, we do right to fear the future. During this last century man has caused more destruction than in any other since the world began, laying waste huge stretches of the planet, polluting its atmosphere and slaughtering its creatures for profit. Now the price must be paid, which is what makes our work so urgent.’

  Adam paused, his glittering eyes raking the rows of faces upturned towards him. No one moved; there was total silence. Confident of their attention, he drew a deep breath and continued.

  ‘Our Movement was born, like many others, in the United States, at the divine inspiration of Captain Noah Bellringer. Now, though still relatively new in this country, it’s one of the fastest growing groups in the world, and I feel I can do no better than let our founder himself tell you about it.’