I nodded. ‘Of course, it’s different here. All the same, emotions were running pretty high, and it could have been ugly. I don’t suppose either of you has had a minute to catch up on the news and find out what happened. I hope no one was hurt.’
‘A few scrapes and bruises,’ said Lynn, ‘no worse. I turned on the TV in the kitchen while I was getting supper. The media were out to cover the demonstration, and one of the cameras caught that little business we saw, with the woman and the sign. It looked like a gust of wind caught the sign and it fell on the policeman. It wasn’t deliberate. But then the woman fell, and things got messy. It wasn’t too bad, though, and nobody was arrested or anything.’
‘It was still upsetting.’
Tom frowned. ‘D, I thought you were in favour of women bishops. I know you’re a raving conservative about the church services, but aren’t you pretty liberal about other church business?’
I laughed. ‘I’m not sure conservatives rave, Tom. We rather tend to sulk. But you’re right, of course. There are women bishops in America, and my friends tell me that some are great and some are awful, just as you’d expect. No, it’s not the cause that bothers me, either, though I do think they could have chosen a more dignified way to make their case. It’s more about where they chose to demonstrate. I suppose it was the nearest place to the Abbey that they could congregate, but Parliament Square, of all places! I’m so foolishly sentimental about Parliament. The Houses of Parliament were the first “sight” I ever saw in England that I recognized, and I was so awestruck I couldn’t speak.’
‘There’s a first,’ murmured Tom.
‘I heard that! But it’s not so much the buildings, though I think they’re wonderful and I don’t care if they’re Victorian Gothic. They still stand for representative government, our government as well as yours, Alan, and, with all its flaws, that system is still the best in the world. So yes, I get teary-eyed whenever I look at the buildings, and the idea of a rowdy protest right in front of it seems all wrong!’
I had grown vehement. I had a lot more to say, but I was afraid I couldn’t keep the silly tears away. I picked up my glass, which was empty. Lynn smiled and refilled it.
‘But don’t you see, D?’ Tom sounded unusually serious. ‘Free speech is what it’s all about. It’s only in countries like ours that people can gather like that to protest whatever they want, without fear of the army coming in and mowing them down. There are always going to be incidents, of course.’
‘Incidents! The 1968 Democratic Convention! Kent State! You call those incidents!’
‘Calm down, love,’ said Alan. ‘You’re preaching to the choir. And you’re confused about which side you’re on. Tom’s point is that free speech can be messy, and authorities can overreact. Things can go grossly, horribly wrong, as you say, in cases like the Kent State murders and the Chicago riots – but only when authorities lose control. You’re waxing emotional about representational government, but forgetting that demonstrations like the one you saw today are an integral part of that democratic system.’
‘Which, as somebody said, is the worst form of government, except for all the others,’ said Lynn. ‘Winston Churchill?’
‘Yes, but I think he was quoting somebody else. Okay, okay, you’ve made your point. I want to eat my cake and have it. A lovely building, symbol of a noble idea of government, but with pristine surroundings that no one is allowed to sully with argument or protest.’
‘Furthermore,’ said Alan, tenting his hands in his familiar lecturing mode, ‘if you think what goes on outside the House is disorderly, you should see what happens inside. Have you never visited the public galleries or watched Question Time on the telly?’
‘No. Is it anything like our Congress? I’ve been in both the House and the Senate a couple of times.’
Both Tom and Lynn were laughing. ‘My dear, the House and Senate are both models of decorum compared with the Commons! You would not believe the shouting that goes on! Interruptions, vociferous cries of agreement – or disagreement – it’s a bear garden! I cannot imagine how anything ever gets done, but somehow the government carries on.’
‘Which brings us back to where we started, more or less: the demonstrators and their goals. Do you think there’s actually a chance the church will approve women bishops any time soon?’
‘They’re getting closer all the time,’ said Alan, ‘what with that new woman bishop in Ireland. The Scottish Episcopal Church nearly did it a few years ago, and the Church in Wales has approved women’s consecration. England is still holding out. It will happen, sooner rather than later, but almost certainly too late for Sherebury.’
‘Then what was all the fuss about today? I swear I don’t understand!’
‘That’s because you think logically,’ said Tom, and then ruined it by adding, ‘for a woman, anyway.’
Lynn and I both glared at him.
He grinned. ‘Thought that’d get you. But the thing is, these ladies are thinking that probably the death of Dean Brading will louse up the selection process, and maybe it’ll take long enough that the Church will get off its collective duff and agree to women with mitres. They want to push the process along, and I’m sure they have just the candidate for Sherebury.’
‘Who?’ said Alan and I together.
‘No idea. Better ask them.’ He yawned. ‘Sorry. It’s been a long day.’
‘And it’s far too late for you to head for home, so stay with us another day.’
‘We’d have to anyway,’ I said, standing, and trying not to yawn myself, ‘because we never introduced ourselves to Mr Lovelace, which was Alan’s ostensible reason for coming to London in the first place. It might even be two days, because it’s way too late now to phone for an appointment, and he might not be available tomorrow. I’d better call Jane and tell her we’ll see her when we see her.’
‘You’re lucky to have Jane to look after your menagerie.’ Lynn stood and began to collect glasses. ‘The two cats are easy, but Watson’s a pretty active dog.’
‘Rambunctious, some would say, but we love him. And so does Jane. She is indeed a gem, and I should have remembered to buy her a little thank-you gift. Remind me tomorrow.’ This time I couldn’t stifle the yawn.
‘You’re asleep on your feet, love. Make that call to Jane, and then come to bed.’
EIGHT
Next morning, Alan phoned Mr Lovelace, who professed himself delighted to see us at any time that was convenient for us.
Alan was rubbing his fingers together after he clicked the phone off, as if to rub off something sticky. ‘That man’s personality is so revoltingly saccharine. It oozed down the phone line like treacle, warm treacle, flowing all over me. I need a bath.’
Since he had just showered, I proffered the coffee Lynn had brought up, hot, strong, and bitter enough to counteract the treacle. ‘I’ll go down and ask Lynn to omit anything sweet from the breakfast menu.’
The weather had changed in the night, and we walked out into a depressing drizzle. Alan offered to hail a cab, but I preferred to walk to the Tube. ‘We’ve both got good brollies, and rain is what we both need right now. Something real, to offset the artificial bonhomie Mr Lovelace is no doubt about to offer us.’
It was raining harder than ever when we got to our stop, so we were pretty well drenched by the time we reached the Reverend Mr Lovelace’s unattractive church. A functionary took our coats without wincing as they showered all over him. ‘One point in favour,’ I whispered as we were shown to the office.
The office made a sharp contrast to the church itself. It was small, of necessity since its space had been carved out of the old church. But it was bright, with tasteful modern lamps fighting the drear of the day. It was warm; an ‘electric fire’ tucked discreetly into a corner glowed cheerily. And it was comfortably furnished. The desk and its chair, the two visitors’ chairs, and the few pictures on the wall were designed to suit the room and to welcome and soothe those who entered. They proclaimed good t
aste and, I thought, no little expense.
‘Good morning!’ said Mr Lovelace, moving to greet us. ‘Mr Nesbitt, Mrs Martin, I’m delighted to meet you!’ His handshake was firm but not bone-crushing. One more small point on the plus side. The fact that he knew my name – well, I wasn’t sure about that one. Someone might have told him I didn’t use my husband’s name. Or he might have done some research on his own.
‘May I offer you some tea or coffee?’ he went on, gesturing us to chairs. ‘You must be chilled to the bone.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Alan, ‘but we’ve not got a great deal of time. We’re in the city only for a day or two and must return home soon. As you will have gathered, I’m here as a member of the Crown Appointments Commission. As I’ve never met you in person, I wanted to have an informal chat before the formal interview process.’
‘Yes, indeed. The process will continue as scheduled, then? Despite the tragic death of Dean Brading?’
‘As to that, we have been given no information. The secretaries are trying to schedule an extraordinary meeting, but, as you will appreciate, everyone concerned is extremely busy, and, of course, one of the first priorities of the Church is to deal with the needs of the people of Chelton Cathedral. Did you know the poor man well?’
Mr Lovelace sighed. ‘Hardly at all, actually. The police asked me that when they came to interview me. I seldom have the time to travel far outside my parish, and the dean was also a very busy man. I believe one or two of my parishioners may have known him. A terrible thing, isn’t it? I imagine you, as a policeman, are also interested in the matter from a professional point of view?’
‘I’ve been retired for a long time now,’ said Alan smoothly, without answering the question. ‘My principal interest is to see that we find the right bishop for Sherebury. I very much wish I’d had the chance to meet Dean Brading. I’ve read his CV, but it isn’t quite like seeing him in person, is it?’
‘As I say, I didn’t really know him, either. Certainly, his conservatism is – was – a counterbalance to some of the more radical movements in the Church. I may say I did not always agree with some of his positions, but I’m sure he will be greatly missed in certain quarters. Now, how can I help you further?’
‘I won’t ask you any pertinent questions just now, as this is an unofficial visit. I simply wanted to meet you and get a general impression of your parish.’
‘Yes. When I learned you were coming, I deputized two of my parishioners to give you a bit of a tour and answer any questions you might have about our activities. That is, if you have time?’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Alan, rising. I took my cue, stood and murmured something by way of thanks and farewell, and followed the two men out the door.
A young couple stood waiting for us. They were, I thought, probably Pakistani, and when they introduced themselves, their accent confirmed my idea, as did their names, which I didn’t quite catch except as a combination of exotic sounds.
The woman – I couldn’t help thinking of her as a girl – smiled brilliantly and spoke with animation. ‘We will show you everything! This is a wonderful church and Mr Lovelace is a wonderful man. We knew nothing of Jesus when we came here. He has taught us everything, and he has done so much for our families.’
‘Saida, you talk too much.’ Her husband – brother? – spoke with a more English accent and more slowly. ‘But it is true, we have learned much at this church and have been able, ourselves, to help our families under the guidance of the people here. But let us show you the church. That is what we are here to do.’
He was polite, but his lack of enthusiasm was all the more marked by contrast with Saida’s sparkle as she showed us around, pointing out various gifts given to the church by grateful parishioners. ‘Look, look at these beautiful paintings of Jesus!’ she said, sounding like a little girl opening Christmas presents. I couldn’t help but smile, although the paintings were so-so reproductions of works that were a good deal too sentimental for my taste.
Alan waited until she stopped chattering for a moment and then asked both of them, ‘Did Mr Lovelace tell you why we are here?’
Saida’s face fell. ‘Yes, and he said we must be very nice to you and answer all your questions, and this we will do. But, oh, we do not want him to leave! It would be wonderful for him, to be a bishop, but we do not know what we would do without him!’
‘And you, Mr – I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.’
‘It is long and difficult for the English. Call me Akbar.’
‘Akbar, then, how do you feel about the possibility that Mr Lovelace might be called to be a bishop?’
He shrugged. ‘One holy man is much like another. I do not need a priest to tell me how to speak to God. My wife is devoted to him, so she will be sad if he leaves, and for that I will be sorry.’
‘But not for yourself?’ I persisted.
He smiled for the first time, his teeth very white in his bronze face. ‘My business will perhaps suffer. He has organized many initiatives to make our neighbourhood cleaner and safer, and now more people come to my restaurant. He is a good businessman also, I believe. If conditions become worse again after he leaves, it might not be so well with me. And now, I am sorry, but I believe we have shown you everything, and we must go back to the restaurant. I would be honoured to give you lunch if you would like to eat with us.’
‘We’d like that very much,’ Alan answered for both of us. ‘Tell us how to get there.’
‘It is on this same road, not far from here. It is called the Kashmir.’
‘Oh, you’re Kashmiri, then?’
Again that spectacular smile. ‘No, we are Pakistani, but the town where we were born is in a region that is not well known in this country. Kashmir is well known and sounds exotic to English ears. So …’ He shrugged.
We waved goodbye, retrieved our coats, and went back to the office to pay farewell courtesies to the Rector, but he wasn’t there. His secretary, a sturdy, no-nonsense woman with iron-grey hair and sensible shoes, told us he had left for a meeting immediately after we had seen him. ‘He’s an extremely busy man, you know,’ she said in a reproving tone. ‘He was late to the meeting as it was.’
‘Then please apologize to him for us, and thank him for taking the time.’ Alan doesn’t like being condescended to. For that matter, I don’t know anyone who does. But he was more interested in gaining information than in being treated courteously. ‘It was good of him to see us at all when he’s so busy. He seems the sort of man one would enjoy working for.’
‘He is the best employer I’ve ever had, and the best priest I’ve ever known, and I’ve been a communicant of this parish for sixty-three years and its secretary for forty-two. It’s a sad congregation he’ll leave behind when you take him away to be your bishop, and that’s no lie!’
‘That’s why she was so snippy,’ I said as we walked to the Kashmir. ‘She’s afraid you’re going to take away her precious rector. You’re not, though, are you?’
‘I’m less certain about that than I was a few days ago. He certainly seems beloved of his parishioners.’
‘Some of them,’ I pointed out. ‘Akbar – if I’ve got his name right – was tepid at best. And don’t forget Walter, who fell for him at first but can’t stand him now.’
‘And believes him guilty of embezzlement. Dorothy, do you really think I’m sending him into danger by asking him to look into the matter? I don’t see any other way of finding out anything about it.’
‘I think there’s some risk, but Walter isn’t a child. I think he’ll be able to get out of it if he needs to. Alan, did it bother you just a little that he knew my name – that I don’t use Nesbitt, I mean – and knew you were a policeman?’
‘It surprised me a little that he let us know that he knew. I’d have thought he’d play it a bit closer to his chest. That he took the trouble to learn about us, no, that didn’t surprise me. It’s just good staff work. He’s applying for a job, so to sp
eak. He wants to know as much as he can about us, just as we want to know about him. And here we are. We’d better talk about something else over lunch.’
‘Well, of course!’ I gave him an indignant look as we walked into a room full of delightful smells.
I was still talking about the meal in the train on our way home. ‘The restaurant seems to be doing well, but they’re certainly not rich. I feel bad about getting a free meal from them.’
‘I imagine,’ said Alan, ‘he hopes we’re going to do him a big favour by taking away the rector.’
‘Yes, there’s certainly no love lost there. What did you think of him, Alan, or haven’t you had time to decide?’
‘Are you asking what I thought of him as a potential bishop or as a murder suspect?’
‘Either. Both.’
Alan considered that for a long mile or two, while I watched the new lambs gambolling in soft green meadows, and thought about the vast capacity humans had for creating sorrow and trouble in the midst of beauty and joy.
‘I think,’ said Alan at last, ‘that Mr Lovelace will one day be an admirable bishop. He has obvious administrative ability, or his church would not be so well run. You could see that in the little things – the cleanliness, the neat schedule of services posted on the board, the dragon of a secretary. He has the ability to delegate, as many people have told us. They didn’t put it quite that way, but “getting everyone else to do the work” amounts to the same thing. And he certainly inspires loyalty.’
‘Among the women.’
‘And probably many men, as well. Our sample is minute, Dorothy.’
‘I still think he’d make a terrible bishop.’
‘For Sherebury, I agree. He’s not at all a good fit for us, and I’ll do my level best to persuade the commission of that. But he’ll be a bishop one day. I’m sure you noticed that his concern was not for Dean Brading’s family or his flock, but whether the appointment process would continue. He has “ambition” graven on his heart.’
Day of Vengeance Page 7
