Bold Counsel (The Trials of Sarah Newby)

by Vicary, Tim

  What a job it must be, Terry thought, to tell people such news. How often? Once a week? Once a fortnight?

  ‘How did she take it?’

  The doctor grimaced, and rubbed his ear before replying. ‘She was scared, of course. Everyone is, it’s a natural reaction. I tried to answer her questions, and told her about the treatment - how long it would last, what it would be like, the need for people to care for her and so on. She didn’t seem to have many friends up here, unfortunately. But we have a practise nurse who can visit - I offered her that.’

  ‘Doctor, I have to ask you this. Was there anything in her reaction that suggested to you that she might take her own life?’

  The doctor shook his head slowly. ‘No. She never mentioned it. But then you wouldn’t, would you, to a doctor? Not unless the disease is terminal, which hers wasn’t - not yet. She did seem quite shocked, but that’s normal, in such a situation. It’s not normal to kill yourself. Are you quite certain it’s suicide, then?’

  ‘Not yet, no. We’re still waiting for the post mortem.’

  ‘Well, they’ll find the cancer, for sure - be able to tell you how bad it was. Not that it makes much difference now. She was in here for quite some time - twenty minutes or so. I wanted to be sure she was calm enough to drive home on her own. And she did say one thing, now I think of it, that might help.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Well, she was a Christian, I think, but she wasn’t quite satisfied with our local church. Nothing to do with the vicar, I gather - it was more to do with doctrine. She’d been planning to be received into the Catholic church, she said, and had been taking instruction from a priest in York.’ He smiled sadly. ‘She even tried to make a joke of it - that’s when I knew she was getting over the initial shock. She said this would give her something really big to talk about next time she met the man of God.’

  ‘Do you know who this priest was?’ Terry asked.

  ‘I do as a matter of fact. I recognised the name when she told me; I’ve met him before. Nice man. Father Roberts, at the Catholic church in York.’

  Father Roberts was in his early thirties; brisk, friendly, serious, with a pleasant Irish accent and a twinkle in his eyes which suggested that despite all the problems in the world he, somehow, had found the secret of inner peace, and was happy to share it with anyone who was interested. The perfect recruiting agent for the church, Terry thought; no doubt that was why he had been given the job.

  ‘Alison Grey? Yes indeed,’ he said, sitting quietly in a corner of the Catholic church near York Minster. ‘I met her several times. A tragedy - how did she die?’

  ‘That’s what we’re investigating,’ Terry said. ‘It looks like suicide, but there are several unanswered questions. That’s why I’ve come to see you. Did she say anything ...’

  ‘ ... to indicate she might take her own life? Not to me, Inspector, surely. I would recall something like that, you can be quite certain.’ Father Roberts frowned. ‘She had a number of troubles, it’s true, but ... well, for one thing, suicide, you know, it’s a mortal sin. I imagine she would have known that.’

  ‘What does that mean, exactly, a mortal sin?’

  The sparkle faded from the young priest’s eyes. He met Terry’s gaze gravely. ‘A sin from which there is no redemption. After death, most of us go to Purgatory until our sins are redeemed by time, suffering, and the prayers of those left behind on earth. But there are some sins so serious that they cannot be redeemed. Suicide is one of those.’

  ‘So what? She would stay in this - what do you call it? - purgatory for ever?’

  The priest drew a deep breath. ‘She wouldn’t go there. If you believe in the full doctrine of the church as I do, her soul would go straight to hell. Unless - it is possible there were circumstances known to God which would make forgiveness of such a sin possible.’

  ‘Let’s hope we find some then,’ said Terry grimly, shocked by the stark horror of the pronouncement. ‘Do you really believe in that?’

  ‘It’s not fashionable to talk about heaven and hell these days but yes, Inspector Bateson, I’m afraid I do. And I would have told her so had she asked me. Unfortunately she didn’t.’

  ‘Why exactly did she come to meet you?’

  ‘For instruction in the Catholic faith. She had been toying with a number of eastern religions, I believe, and attending the Church of England, but found them all unsatisfactory in some way. So she told me, anyway. We were halfway through a course of instruction. She was due to meet me again next week.’

  ‘Did she seem depressed in any way? Worried about anything?’

  The priest hesitated. ‘There is an issue of confidentiality ...’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, man! The woman’s dead! What I’m looking for are some of those mitigating circumstances which may help us to understand the reasons for her death, and from what you say, keep her soul out of hell!’ Terry’s voice echoed in the vast cavern of the church, and several heads turned curiously. He realised his outburst was blasphemous, but didn’t care; he found the whole discussion somehow obscene.

  ‘Forgiveness comes from God, not man,’ the priest reproved him gently. ‘But yes, I understand your motives, inspector. And since she was not yet received into the church I learned nothing from her under the seal of the confessional. She was a troubled lady, certainly. Much of our discussion was around the theme of sin and forgiveness. This seemed very important to her. She never told me why, exactly, but it seemed to be both an attraction and a barrier to her hopes of conversion.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘As if there was some great sin she wanted to confess, but dared not. I tried to describe the relief that confession and absolution can bring. She seemed attracted by this notion, but afraid of it too. She cried once or twice, in our discussions.’

  ‘Did she tell you what this sin might have been?’

  ‘No. I was not her confessor, and ... I doubt if she was ready.’

  ‘What about her health?’ Terry asked. ‘Did you know she had cancer?’

  ‘Yes, she told me. She had visited her doctor the day before, and received the diagnosis. She was anxious about it, naturally.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  The priest stroked his chin thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Well, naturally she was afraid - anyone would be. Not just of the disease, but of the treatment - it’s no picnic, this chemotherapy. I’ve seen the effects. But you know, in a strange way I think she was looking forward to it.’

  ‘Looking forward to it? How?’

  ‘I know, it sounds odd. But it’s something she said. What was it now? We all get what we deserve in the end. That’s how God works. Something like that, anyhow.’

  ‘What do you think she meant?’

  ‘Who knows? Only God can be certain in the end. But as I told you, she mentioned this sin that she dared not confess. And so, when God inflicted this dreadful disease and its treatment on her, maybe she saw it as a punishment that she deserved. Maybe even a punishment that would absolve her, in the end.’ The priest shrugged. ‘It’s probably all in my imagination.’

  ‘Not necessarily. You knew her, after all, and I didn’t.’ Terry thought for a moment. ‘If you are right though, Father, and part of her was looking forward to this treatment, then it’s less likely that she would avoid it by killing herself, isn’t it? Particularly if she believed, like you, that suicide is a mortal sin?’

  The priest nodded. ‘That would make sense, surely. Let us hope, for her soul’s sake, that she didn’t do that.’

  ‘Yes, quite. Maybe you should pray for her as well.’

  ‘Oh, I will, of course. I have done so already.’

  Terry got to his feet and held out his hand. ‘You’ve been very helpful, father. Thanks for your time. But if she avoided the sin of suicide, as you hope, then someone else committed a worse one. Of murder.’

  35. Location, location

  ON MONDAY morning Sarah put her house on the market. It was a str
aightforward process - absurdly simple, she thought, for such a momentous decision. She chose the estate agent who had given her the highest valuation, and that was it. The family home that had once been the pinnacle of her and Bob’s shared ambitions, the symbol of their joint success, was to become a commodity, an advert in a window, a photo on a website, a signboard in the garden. She shouldn’t expect an immediate sale, the estate agent warned - this was the dead season, after all, between autumn and spring - but even so he had a few clients on his books who had expressed interest in that sort of property. He would ring them today, if she had no objection.

  And so it began. Another change - where would it lead? She picked up a few brochures, of smaller houses and flats which she might afford if the sale went through. But none seemed quite real to her yet. She walked back towards her chambers feeling strange, light-headed, slightly scared. How easy it was to change your life! You just walked into a room, took a decision, and bang, everything was different.

  She stopped on Ouse Bridge, and leaned on the parapet, gazing down river. It was a crisp sunny day, a few degrees above freezing. An icy breeze froze her face, blowing dark strands of hair across her eyes. She looked at the old warehouses beside the river, converted into modern luxury apartments, and imagined herself living in one. It seemed an attractive idea. It would be simple, modern, convenient, close to the court and her chambers.

  I could walk everywhere, she thought - to the court, the station, the shops. I’d have no need for the bike. I could drink and walk home. I could lie in bed late in the morning. I’d be young again without responsibilities. I’d be a totally different person.

  But then I’m a different person already. Aren’t I?

  A boat came upstream, and passed under the bridge. Two tourists, wrapped up against the cold, waved to her from the upper deck. Sarah waved back. She felt the smile on her face broaden, and let it. Why not? She felt happy - she’d felt happy all morning. Or at least I think that’s what it is, she thought, still smiling as she walked on, hands thrust deep into her coat, collar turned up against the cold.

  If I’m not happy, what am I? Scared? Losing control, behaving like a piece of flotsam on the water? A prey to unstable emotions, acting like a crazy teenager? In love?

  No, Sarah told herself firmly, not that. Saturday night was an experiment, that’s all. A liberating one, certainly - it puts another barrier between me and Bob. I don’t need him any more, not for company, not for sex. I’ve found another man already - look, it’s easy! This must be how other people behave, all those young girls in magazines who hop from one bed to another, trying on a new man for size! She giggled to herself. Well, exactly, to see if they fit. It’s an important point, after all. Michael had fit nicely, as far as that went. And his body - the rest of it - had been satisfactory too, in fact she’d enjoyed looking at it and touching it as much as the actual sex. He was quite strong, fitter and more muscular than Bob, with less of a belly. Unlike Bob his chest and back were hairless, and most exciting of all his buttocks were smooth too - she had loved the bunched powerful feel of them in her hands and his sudden cry and jerk as she’d drawn her nails across them at his climax.

  He’d enjoyed that all right - she hunched her head inside her collar, letting her hair blow forward across her face to hide her smile from two businessmen walking towards her. She half-recognized one of them, and thought no please, not now, deliberately avoiding his eyes and hurrying past. She didn’t want to meet anyone with this silly smile on her face. She was convinced they’d see right through into her mind - a mind which was entirely, shamelessly occupied with replaying this bedroom movie.

  It hadn’t been all perfect. There’d been some clumsy, embarrassing moments as well. She’d been surprised when he’d insisted on showering first - it would prolong the excitement, he said, and make them smell beautiful for each other. Sarah had just wanted to get on with it. They’d almost done it in the shower itself, but somehow made it to the bed, where he’d delayed again, spreading a towel to avoid getting the sheets wet. Then he’d come too quickly and she’d begun to feel cold and damp before he’d worked himself up to doing it again.

  But she guessed that sort of surprise was to be expected with a stranger - she and Bob had been together so long they knew each movement by heart. This man hadn’t kissed her as much as she’d expected, or let her take charge as Bob often had. At times he’d been quite rough and forceful. But that, she found, she’d enjoyed - she’d felt nothing quite like it since Kevin. She remembered the moment when he’d lifted her onto the counter in the hotel bathroom, doing it with her back pressed against the mirror and her legs wrapped round his waist. Bob had never done anything like that. Afterwards they’d showered together, their skins smooth and slippery with the soap. The memories made her feel quite warm and damp between the legs, so that she had to take another turn around the park before she felt cool enough to enter her chambers.

  So is this love? She asked herself, settling at her desk and kicking off her shoes as she unwrapped the red ribbons round the papers of the case she was to present tomorrow. No, surely not, she told herself sternly - just a one-night stand, a brief liberating affair. The trouble was, unlike the young people and celebrities in magazines, Sarah had very little experience of such affairs. Her heart, she felt, with delightful, guilty panic, was for once in danger of ruling her head. And that wasn’t the way she ran her life, never had been. Not since she was a teenager, anyway, and the wonderful sexy catastrophe of Kevin had swept into her life and almost ruined it for ever. That couldn’t surely, be happening again.

  Could it?

  When she’d met Emily for lunch on Sunday she’d given her a brief, carefully edited version of her date. It was a curious role reversal; she felt like a teenager hiding the most important part under a mass of spurious detail. So she told Emily about Michael’s job, his divorce, his character - even a little about his appearance, but only when he was fully clothed. Nothing about how small and brown his nipples were and how she had bitten one and sucked it to make him cry out. None of that - but she felt herself blushing all the same so that Emily laughed and said: ‘Mum! You’ve fallen for this guy, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, he’s just a friend, darling,’ she’d protested earnestly. ‘It probably won’t come to anything but at least it’s a change.’

  ‘From Dad, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. No, just from being lonely and abandoned, out of date, on the shelf. It’s nice to feel ... someone thinks you’re attractive.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s good, Mum.’ Emily had studied her thoughtfully. ‘But you will be careful, won’t you? I mean ...’

  ‘Careful how, Emily?’ Sarah laughed. ‘I do know about contraception, if that’s what you mean, darling, I ...’

  ‘Mother!’ Emily’s eyes widened. ‘You haven’t, have you?’ Their eyes met. When Sarah didn’t answer, her daughter’s eyes widened still further. ‘My God, you have!’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘You haven’t stopped smiling and blushing since you came in here. Oh my God, Mum - what’s going on?’

  ‘Do you mind, Emily? I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want.’

  The warm pleasurable memories in Sarah’s mind shrank beneath an icy douche of fear. If I lose Emily because of this I’ll never forgive myself - never!

  ‘No, Mum, why should I be hurt? It’s your life, not mine.’

  ‘Yes, but I want you in it, darling. More than anything - much more than any man.’

  ‘Yes, well - I’m not going away. After all you’re a free woman - it’s not as if you’re betraying Dad or anything.’ A slow smile spread across Emily’s face. ‘My God, Mum, you did it! You really went to bed with this guy!’

  ‘Yes.’ Sarah smiled shyly, like a child forgiven. ‘I didn’t mean to, it just happened.’

  ‘Was it good? What was it like?’

  ‘Oh Emily, I’m not going to tell you that. I can’t.’

  ‘No.’ Emily
nodded sagely, as though on reflection she didn’t want to know either. ‘But it was good, anyway, was it?’

  ‘On the whole it was a good experience, yes.’

  ‘Well, good for you, Mum. This deserves a toast.’ Emily pulled a bottle of port out of a cupboard, with two glasses.

  ‘I didn’t know you drank port, Emily.’

  ‘Adrian gave it to me.’ They clinked their glasses together. ‘There is one thing, though, Mum, and I know it’s a cheek of me to say it. I mean, you’re a lot older than me and all that but ... you are in the middle of a divorce, and this guy ... it would be easy to fall for him on the rebound and ... I mean he may seem fine today ...’

  ‘But not tomorrow, you mean, when I’ve had time to think? Yes, darling, I do realise that, of course. Just because I went to bed with him once, it doesn’t make him the love of my life or anything like that. Who knows, it may all fizzle out. It’s just that, right now - it may seem callous to say it, but he’s just what I need.’

  ‘After what Dad did, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. To make me feel like a woman again, and not some shrivelled old husk. A kind of therapy, I suppose.’

  Emily laughed. ‘You didn’t tell him that, did you? That you were using him as a sort of health cure?’

  ‘No.’ But Sarah wondered, later, whether Michael had realised all along. She turned down his offer of a lift, and travelled home on the train - ostensibly so that she could spend more time with Emily, but the real reason was to give herself time to think. Had she been wise, or incredibly foolish? She didn’t know. She might be a mother and a successful barrister, but she had little experience of love affairs. The clear mental focus that brought her such success in the law normally kept her clear of such messy entanglements. She worked with logic, not emotion.

  The nearest she had come to anything like this was with that detective, Terry Bateson, and that had ended awkwardly. Nonetheless she caught herself wondering, in the train, what Terry might have been like in bed. Would he have been brusque and masterful, like Michael? Was that what she wanted in a man? At the moment, she decided, she did. She must do - she couldn’t get him out of her mind.