by Peter Watson
As for the remaining eighty million-plus dollars, that, said Thomas, was to be used immediately for urgent projects still to be named. He was inviting bishops from around the world to submit proposals.
The division of the money into an immediate fund and an ongoing one was widely welcomed. Many people agreed with the Holy Father that there was an urgency in some problems that could not wait a year for the first dividends to grow.
Back in London after all the excitement, one of David’s first tasks was to visit Seton at Windsor. The Queen was delighted with the success of the Vatican auction, he told David, and was more determined than ever to push ahead with her sale, despite ‘one or two difficulties’ David may have heard about. David agreed that he was indeed aware of the opposition to the Queen’s plan.
He still had mixed feelings about the royal sale himself, but there was no going back now. With the great Vatican business such a triumph, Hamilton’s board would think him crazy not to capitalize on it. Even so, David didn’t much like Seton’s choice of paintings to be sold. David had argued from the beginning that the pictures in the Queen’s sale should not include anything by artists who had featured in the Vatican auction. Thus Her Majesty’s Bellinis, Leonardos, Cranachs and Michelangelos should all be left off her list. Seton had disagreed. They were the biggest names, he said, and would fetch the biggest prices, David had also advised against including any pictures by Hilliard. Lely or Holbein. His arguments here were somewhat different. Hilliard was English, and Lely and Holbein, though foreign, had spent important parts of their lives in England and produced some of their best work there. To David this suggested that such art had special associations with Britain, and should stay there. Seton again took the opposite view. The Royal Collection was particularly strong in these artists, he said, and could best afford to lose some examples of their work.
As a result the list he produced was, to David, completely wrong.
David was still pondering its implications when he drove down to Hamble on the following Saturday to watch Ned play rugby. Clearly the right person had at last been ‘crocked’ and Ned had been selected in his place. It was a miserable day, wet and windy, and the cold branches of the trees which surrounded the playing field were like fine cracks in the clouds.
There wasn’t a big crowd in that weather—perhaps a hundred boys and girls of the school and a dozen parents, some of whom David knew vaguely. He arrived about ten minutes before the game was due to start and so didn’t have time to talk to Ned before the kick-off. They waved to each other.
David wasn’t really concentrating on the game, being more wrapped up in the Queen’s list, so he was taken by surprise when, after Hamble had scored, a voice suddenly spoke his name. He looked round to see a man in a sand-coloured sports jacket approaching him along the touchline. It was Kenneth Yates, Ned’s housemaster.
They shook hands. ‘Going well, eh?’ said Yates. ‘Three-nil up and only fifteen minutes gone.’ Like many schoolteachers he treated adults in the same way he treated his charges and bellowed as if he was still in class.
David stamped his feet, trying to keep warm. He paid more attention to the game.
‘Ned’s playing well,’ said Yates. ‘Doing well in class, too.’
David nodded but said nothing. He knew Ned was bright and didn’t much care how well he played rugby, so long as he enjoyed himself.
‘I’m still worried about him though.’
David turned and stared.
‘I mean it.’
‘But how can you be? You just said he was doing well—’
‘This is a school, Mr Colwyn, not a factory for producing Einsteins. The fact is: your son has no friends.’
The game was in the far side of the field and the noise had receded. ‘That can’t be true, Mr Yates. He’s such an enthusiastic boy. He can’t be that unpopular.’
‘He’s not unpopular. He could have all the friends he wants, but he doesn’t want. And that’s why I’m worried. He was in the school play at Christmas yet isn’t part of the theatrical “set”. He plays rugby well but doesn’t mix with the “jocks”. He’s mad about computers but seems to find the others who are just as keen a bit of a bore.’
‘Is all that so unusual?’
‘Quite frankly, at his age, yes. Very unusual. We schoolmasters see a lot more than most people give us credit for, Mr Colwyn, and in my view your son is depressed.’
‘What! You mean—?’
‘I mean clinically depressed, Mr Colwyn. Bad enough to need treatment from a psychiatrist.’
‘No! That’s idiotic, Mr Yates, surely? I don’t mean to be rude but couldn’t it simply be that he has a solitary nature?’ Why was David being so fierce? he asked himself. The man was only saying what Bess had said. He didn’t want to hear it.
‘That’s not the only symptom. He eats excessive amounts of chocolate, he can never get out of bed in the morning.’
‘Those are symptoms of depression?’
‘You can take it from me they are. Depressives often take to what psychiatrists call “comfort foods”. And lying-in in the mornings is usually interpreted as an avoidance mechanism. They don’t want to face the day.’
‘But you just said yourself that he’s doing well in class. He’s just made the rugby team. That’s not the behaviour of someone who is ill.’
‘I’m not a doctor, Mr Colwyn, so you may find it hard to accept that I speak with authority. But I’ve seen a lot of pupils in my time. And I can tell you this: curiously, the fact that Ned is doing well is a bad sign. It means he’s striving to keep up appearances, at all costs. It’s as if he’s built a dam against his feelings. He’s running away from people, from emotions, and into his work.’
David was bewildered. ‘Have you seen this sort of thing before?’
‘Not often—but yes, once or twice.’
‘And? How did it turn out? What happened?’
‘In two cases the parents took my advice, brought in a specialist doctor and the children recovered. In another case nothing was done, and nothing bad happened. And in a fourth case nothing was done …’ He paused, and looked across to Ned on the field. ‘The child committed suicide.’
The two men watched the game in silence for several minutes. Then Yates held out his hand. ‘I have another parent to see, so I must go. I’m glad we’ve had this talk. I know you’re busy but I hope you’ll take what I say seriously. Goodbye for now.’
David watched the rest of the game in a daze. Hamble pulled further ahead until, just after half-time, the rain got more insistent. The heavy going favoured the other side, who were bigger boys, and before the final whistle they drew level. Ned played well and David congratulated him before he returned to London. He didn’t mention his conversation with the housemaster: he wasn’t certain of his feelings. He had quite forgotten the Queen’s list.
The next day David had to travel to Rome for the first meeting of the St Patrick’s Fund Commission. This was held early on the Monday in the Secretariat of State on the second floor of the apostolic palace—in a large, square room with frescoes that began high up the walls and extended right across the ceiling. By now he was known to some of the Swiss guards in their blue uniforms and he even merited a salute as he entered the city state by way of the Sant’ Anna gate.
It was good to see Rich again and this morning the bankers, some of whom he had met at the earlier meeting, when Massoni resigned, unbuttoned their reserve and made him feel more welcome. David was grateful, but it didn’t deter him from making a couple of criticisms of the investment plan they presented. In particular, he considered that the fund was dangerously exposed in shipping, and his advice was that they should reduce its commitment in that area by at least half. He recommended instead investment in the rapidly expanding Australian communications industry.
Rich had thanked him for his advice but David wasn’t sure it would be heeded. Admittedly, the bankers were much more experienced in the ways of the Vatican, and in Vatican p
olitics, than he. He didn’t know how much the commission he had been appointed to had real authority or was merely a rubber-stamping body for the bankers.
Later that day Thomas announced his decision concerning the applications for relief funds he had asked for from around the world. With Rich’s advice, he had decided that rather than fritter the money away on a hundred small projects, he would spend it in six areas only, where substantial amounts might produce genuine and lasting improvements.
David read the press release in Bess’s office late that afternoon. He went there, up behind St Peter’s, since she had been too busy to see him the night before. David leafed through the release as Bess took calls from news organizations all over the world. The six projects, and the amounts involved, were:
*$20 million for the relief of poverty and the improvement of shanty towns in South America—Brazil, Peru and Ecuador.
*$10 million for the relief of poverty and other material support for Roman Catholics in Northern Ireland.
*$20 million for the relief of suffering and other material support for the Christian homeless (not just Roman Catholics) in Lebanon.
*$10 million for the relief of poverty and other material support for Nicaraguans forced to live in Honduras as exiles from the Marxist Sandinista government.
*$10 million for the relief of poverty, provision of housing and other material support for Cuban exiles living in hardship in Florida.
*$15 million to be used to help Catholics and other Christian believers who were suffering persecution in Eastern bloc countries.
At the same time Thomas announced the appointment of a number of new cardinals, in each of the six areas to receive funds: their job would be to oversee the money and make sure it was actually turned into houses, food, clothing, sewers, books, water supplies—whatever was needed.
And finally, in a surprise move, the Holy Father also announced that he was devolving some of the Church from Rome. He was, he said, instituting a Pontifical Commission for the Americas. This would have responsibility for the activities financed by the St Patrick’s fund in South, Central and North America. It would also assess the implications for the Americas of his forthcoming encyclical, Humanae dignitae which was to be published shortly. The headquarters of this commission would be in Rio de Janeiro, which would also become the home of the Pontifical Commission Cor Unum, the Commission for Latin America and those general commissions which did not need to be in Rome—namely, the Pontifical Council for the Family, the Commission for the Laity and the Congregation for the Causes of Saints. It was his intention, said Thomas, to make Rio de Janeiro the second home of the Church, a decision which did no more than reflect the changes that had overtaken Roman Catholicism in recent years. The Cardinal Archbishop of Rio would henceforth be known as the Patriarch of the Americas. Thomas himself would visit South America to inaugurate this second home. The cost of the transfer would be borne by the St Patrick’s Fund.
David had quite a wait in Bess’s office. On a matter as important as this every caller wanted to speak directly to her rather than to any of her aides. She took a short break around seven, when coffee was brought in. ‘How’s it going down?’ he asked.
She made a face. ‘Difficult to be sure. Reporters who ask picky questions are often on your side over the main issues, whereas those who give you an easy ride over the phone go for you later in print.’
‘But you must get some feel from the tone of their reactions.’
‘A bit. Thomas is very popular in South America—I guess you’d expect that. Beirut, too. Obviously there’s no reaction from the Eastern bloc. The two areas I’m not sure about, funnily enough, are Florida and Northern Ireland.’ She stretched. ‘Still, we’ll know soon enough.’
The phone calls went on throughout the evening but at ten sharp Bess called it a day. She had been in her job long enough now to know that if you didn’t have some kind of guillotine, being the Pope’s press secretary and confidante could easily take you over completely.
David had persuaded her to accompany him to L’Eau Vive and they both squeezed into a taxi, as it was late and they were both too tired to walk. The restaurant was very full and the first person they saw as they settled at their table was the British apostolic delegate, Jasper Hale. He came over.
‘What do you think of today’s news?’ said David. ‘Bess has been on the phone to the world all day and even she’s not sure.’
‘That’s one of the reasons I’m here,’ Hale said. ‘To give the Holy Father some idea of what I think the reaction to his plans will be in Britain.’
‘Oh yes? What did you tell him?’ David took some menus from a passing waitress.
‘To expect some opposition from the British. Northern Ireland is very easily inflamed—though he doesn’t need me to tell him that. Another Irish cardinal was not a good idea, not in my view. It merely attracts attention to the Catholic presence.’
‘And why else are you here?’ said David. ‘You said you had more than one reason for being in Rome.’
‘Ah, yes. More advice for the Pope, I’m afraid. You may know that he’s reviewing the church’s attitude to divorce. Any liberalization will be very popular in Britain and Ireland—and in Europe and America, come to that. But there’s a rumour that a big group of bishops want to stop him. They’re gaining ground, so a few of us are here to make sure the Holy Father doesn’t lose his nerve.’
After Hale’s bombshell, Bess and David spent a distraught night together. David would have liked to remain in Rome a few days while Bess found out what truth there was to the rumour, but he had to get back to London. The Royal sale needed attention, as did the Israeli Dead Sea Scrolls auction, now scheduled to take place in New York. The Argyll sale was due soon and there was also the more humdrum, everyday business of Hamilton’s, which was still David’s responsibility. It even looked as though he might be making progress again in his attempt to solve the mystery surrounding Leonardo’s two ‘Virgin of the Rocks’. The Urbino documents he had requested when he and Bess had visited the town had now arrived. The Rimini letters were no help, but the other papers included a hitherto unknown 1489 letter from Isabella d’Este, in Mantua, arising out of the marriage of her sister-in-law, Elisabetta Gonzaga, to Guidobaldo, duke of Urbino. The letter ran: ‘Please accept this beautiful painting on the occasion of your marriage to the esteemed Guidobaldo. I have two pictures by Leonardo, one a pastel, one an oil, and I could not make up my mind which to give to you. The oil I own to be the finer and it is now yours. May it give you as much pleasure as I hope your marriage to the duke will.’
David knew that when the Urbino collection had been broken up, in the seventeenth century, no picture by Leonardo had found its way either to Rome or to Florence, where everything else had gone. Several items went missing—that was known. Now, it seemed, a Leonardo had been among them. There was a meeting of the Renaissance Society soon; he would be able to present another paper.
Much as he might enjoy the private world of scholarship, however, the Vatican and Royal sales and the role he now played in the St Patrick’s Fund, meant that David was becoming public property. Reading the newspapers, once a pleasure, now became a chore. He had to know how Thomas and his plans were regarded. In general, the Holy Father’s decision on how to use the money he had raised met with approval. Probably the strongest objection had come from none other than Michael Greener, who had at last been promoted to Secretary of State for Northern Ireland. Sarah’s civil divorce had come through—on the grounds that her marriage break-up was irretrievable—and Greener and she were to be married very soon. Following the Holy Father’s announcement, Greener had made a statement in the House of Commons. He said: ‘Naturally, Her Majesty’s Government welcomes any aid, material or otherwise, and from whatever source. We are bound to note, however, that since in some places the Holy Father’s plans are designed to help all Christians and not just Catholics, the provisions in His Holiness’s Northern Ireland scheme, whereby only Catholics benefi
t, are provocative, to say the least.
‘This is merely a comment by Her Majesty’s Government, however. We have made no formal approach to the Holy See since, as I said at the beginning of this statement, we do on the whole welcome the aid.’
Other reservations had come from the American government in response to the Pope’s aid to Nicaraguan exiles in Honduras. Though neither Nicaragua nor Honduras was part of the US, the State Department nonetheless regarded that part of the world as its back yard. The US Secretary of State, Erwin Friedlander, and Roskill, the President, welcomed the grant, especially as Thomas, by his grants elsewhere, had shown himself implacably opposed to the Marxism practised by the Sandinistas in Nicaragua. However, the American statement, made in response to Thomas’ plans, concluded with the words: ‘We shall watch the situation with interest.’
The Italians, of course, were against Thomas’s plans, mainly—on this occasion—because they did not want his foreign policy confused with theirs, or, more likely, to overshadow it. But by this time the Italian government was so discredited in terms of aid programmes that not much attention was paid to these grumblings.
Among the British press David was interested to see that The Economist took an independent line. The paper welcomed the shift of certain departments of the Vatican to Rio. It agreed with the Holy Father that this did no more than reflect changes in the Church that had already taken place. But it was more cautious where the St Patrick’s Fund was concerned. It pointed out that, throughout the 1970s, the financial dealings of the Roman Church had been disastrous. Its investments had been misappropriated, corruption had been rife. The relief of poverty was an admirable aim, said the paper, but a world leader like Thomas had to exercise caution and a wide-ranging sense of responsibility. Here, David was interested to see, the paper agreed with him, arguing that the investment profile of the St Patrick’s Fund, so far as it had been revealed, was far from ideal. The article concluded by saying that the Pope might well find, a year from now, that he did not have the funds to continue what he had started and that he ought perhaps to have waited a year to ensure that the fund was performing up to expectations.
