A Death in the Parish, page 24
Was Theo aware of what had happened? How awkward it would be for him, as Daniel’s brother but also Alex’s and Honoria’s friend – a friendship that had a life of its own in London, separate from their Champton friendship. And, Daniel thought with faint alarm, how much Theo would enjoy the drama.
At least Alex was now at liberty, obliged to endure only a single night in the cells. He had been released without charge the next morning when Bernard’s solicitor from Braunstonbury had come to collect him. At first, he had refused to go without Nathan, but Nathan was not so fortunate, and for him the wheels of justice had further to grind. Bernard had shouted at Alex when he’d arrived back at Champton and been taken not to his lodge at the gates but to the offices at the back of the main house, where his father was waiting to see him. ‘Are you going to actually horse-whip me, Daddy?’ he had said, according to Mrs Shorely, who had told Mrs Braines, who had told Audrey. Daniel had called round to the lodge later, but there had been no reply to the knock on the door, and no reply to the note he left either. When he’d got home there had been a note for him too, from Neil – ‘SORRY, CALL ME’ – but he had not called him; and that night in Champton Rectory and Champton Lodge and Braunstonbury Police Station and its Custody Suite the protagonists in that drama had sat solitary vigils.
After an hour of raptures, and refreshments, and reflections, Daniel said it was time to take Lydia home. Cosmo came along for the ride, sitting on her lap and letting her stroke his ears as Daniel drove even more slowly than usual along the darkening lanes.
‘You can come whenever you want, Lydia,’ he said. ‘When they’re older you can take them out for walks if you like.’
‘I’d love to.’ She was suddenly silent. Then she said, ‘If I can. I don’t know what we’re going to do, Daniel.’
‘What you are going to do?’
‘If we’ll stay. I don’t think Mum could stand it.’
‘And your father?’
She was silent again. ‘I don’t know what Dad wants. He’s very … He doesn’t talk about how he feels. Mum says he can’t.’
‘Not everyone can.’
‘But he shouldn’t bottle things up. It’ll do his head in.’
‘Some people cope better by not talking about things.’
‘And I think he feels guilty.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he and Josh used to argue so much. And now he can’t do anything about it.’
‘Parents and children always argue, Lydia.’
‘But this wasn’t like normal arguments. This was … biblical.’
‘Like David and Absalom?’
‘No, it was about the Bible. When Dad quoted a Scripture at Josh when he was angry with him – usually that bit in Ephesians that goes on about honouring your father and mother and servants and masters …’
‘Ephesians six.’
‘… yes, that, and Josh would quote one back, one of the crazy verses from Deuteronomy about castration and mixed fibres. It drove Dad mad.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Mum would calm him down.’
‘When your father’s angry … does he talk to your mother?’
‘I don’t know. He’s very’ – she looked for an expression – ‘buttoned up. But that’s his background.’
‘He seems so open.’
‘No, he’s not. But he was sent away to boarding school when he was seven. And I think they all buried their emotions, and then when he was older he was beaten at Eton. It was vicious then.’
‘Eton?’ said Daniel, surprised.
‘I know. His mother’s family is posh and they paid for it. He hates the public school system now.’
‘I was at boarding school too,’ said Daniel. ‘Not one as grand as Eton, but even I got beaten.’
‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘What for?’
‘Nothing. I took the blame for something I did not do to protect someone else.’
Daniel remembered then the violence of that beating. And how he had tried not to cry but the tears still came to his eyes, and the glass of sherry the master who had beaten him insisted he have with him after the punishment, and how he had sat on smarting buttocks drinking this horrible drink and wondering if he was bleeding and if it would stain the cushions.
‘It wasn’t the same for Dad. He was part of a Christian organisation at school and they went away to summer camp, and there was someone there who ran the camp … I don’t know the whole story, but I think he really hurt Dad. Not just Dad – there were other boys.’
‘How awful.’
‘No one did anything about it. I don’t know if he even told his parents.’
Daniel thought of his own school, and the odd sadist who liked to hurt little boys, and those who liked little boys too much, and unexplained absences from the Senior Common Room at the beginning of term, and the omertà of masters.
They drove in silence for a while. Then suddenly there was a whizz and a bang and a burst of light. Daniel glanced at Lydia and saw there were tears on her cheeks. ‘Early Bonfire Night for somebody,’ he said.
Cosmo shifted on her lap and let out a sound between a gurgle and a sigh.
When Daniel dropped Lydia off at the vicarage he did not expect to call in. He normally would, to see how the bereaved were doing, but he hesitated with Chris because the conversation so easily turned to theological disagreement, which was notoriously potent between religious professionals. It even had a name – odium theologicum – and Daniel felt it rise behind the faint but unworthy triumph of discovering that Chris, so earnest, so virtuous, was a beneficiary of the very privilege he deplored. How he would enjoy telling Bernard that the man ‘in overalls of Lincoln green’ was also an Old Etonian.
He was thinking about this when Sal tapped on his window. ‘Hello, Daniel,’ she said as he wound the window down. ‘What are you smiling about?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, ‘nothing in particular.’
‘I like to see people smiling,’ she said, ‘but perhaps it doesn’t become a grieving mother. Would you like to come in?’
‘No, thank you,’ he said, ‘unless you want me?’
Sal didn’t move. ‘You’ve been good to Lydia, thank you. I just wonder … if she has said anything I might … need to know?’
‘No, I don’t think so. She may be a bit anxious about the future. Where you’re going to go. What you’re going to do.’
‘I don’t suppose we will stay here. You see that?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not just about what’s happened, Dan. It’s about who we are. And how that fits here. I don’t think it does fit here.’
‘You would know better than me, and forgive me for talking shop, but you have barely arrived and your life has been brutally wrenched out of shape. People always say not to take big decisions when you are in the pit of bereavement.’
‘The pit. That’s good. We are deep in the pit.’
‘But not lost to it.’ He thought of the little card showing the anastasis in his wallet, and Jesus yanking out of the pit the souls thought lost. ‘Sal, we talk a lot about Chris’s ministry, but not about yours. I wanted you to know how much I value it, and how much I am looking forward to your priestly ministry, too, when the old order finally gives way to the new.’
‘Priestly?’
‘Yes, when you’re priested. It’s coming.’
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘I think it will come. Five years maybe?’
‘Not for me. I don’t want to be a priest. I can’t be a priest.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Because it is not biblical.’
‘Oh, I see. I assumed you were … on the way.’
‘No. Headship is for men, not women. One Timothy – I’m sure you know the text: “I do not permit a woman to teach or to have authority over a man.” And I can make myself useful doing what I do.’
‘You look like you’re in authority when you do it.’
She gave a little grimace. Then she said, ‘Have you ever noticed how things fall apart when we go against God?’
‘I have. But I don’t think women in authority go against God.’
Sal said nothing for a moment. Then she said, ‘How is your mother?’
Daniel did not know what to say for a moment. ‘She’s fine. She’s busy – puppies, Mrs Hawkins’s estate.’
‘Tell her … God is our judge.’
‘I don’t think I understand.’
But Sal was walking away.
When Daniel arrived home he found, parked in its usual spot in the rectory drive, his brother’s gunmetal-grey Golf GTI. The sound of the front door opening brought Theo from the drawing room with Cosmo scampering after him. As Daniel squatted to greet the dog Theo said, ‘Oh, hello, Dan. Isn’t he a good boy, and a clever boy, becoming a father …?’
‘Not Cosmo’s work, Theo,’ said Daniel.
‘Really? Then whose?’
‘Your friend’s. His dog’s, I mean – Siegfried, that black-and-tan you brought to stay when I took Mum to Scotland.’
‘Don’t think so, Dan. In fact, it would be impossible. Siegfried had the snip.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so. Why are you so sure it’s not Cosmo?’
‘Same reason. He could not, although the procedure has done nothing to cool his ardour.’
‘So I see,’ said Theo as Cosmo rolled onto his back, presenting unmistakable signs of arousal. ‘I hope you won’t be asking for child support?’
Audrey appeared from the kitchen. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘As long as it takes, Mum, or maybe just tonight.’
‘As long as what takes?’ asked Daniel.
‘I am here on a mission of reconciliation!’
Daniel’s eyes narrowed.
‘I have come to make peace between you and Alex and Honoria and Neil and Nathan and anyone else who needs it.’ He put on a Mrs Thatcher voice: ‘Where there is discord, let me bring harmony, where there is error let me bring truth …’
Daniel said with obvious sharpness, ‘I would rather you didn’t.’
Theo looked surprised. ‘Why? What’s the problem?’
‘Please don’t interfere, Theo. It’s delicate and it’s complicated and sometimes people need to let things settle before they try to put right what’s gone wrong.’ His voice faltered – not much, but enough for Theo to notice.
He was silent for a moment and then he said, ‘Dan, are you OK?’
‘I’m absolutely fine. I just don’t want anyone meddling in this.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Theo.
‘What do you mean, “oh dear”?’
‘I’ve sort of already meddled in it.’
‘How?’
‘Honoria called me. Told me the whole story. I’m going round to the lodge later for supper with her and Alex.’
‘Why? How?’
‘I am allowed to have my own relationship with Honoria and Alex and—’
‘But that doesn’t give you the right to get involved!’
‘It’s not about rights, Dan. I’m your brother. I’m their friend. I stand with a foot in Champton and the other in Soho. They’re London friends as well as friends from here. Who better to talk to them? The sooner we get this going the better.’
‘He thinks I betrayed his lover to the police when I promised I wouldn’t. You think you can fix that over a fish pie and a Chenin Blanc?’
‘Let your brother do something for you. For once,’ said Audrey.
‘I’m not completely stupid, Dan. I’m just going to find out … very gently, very carefully … what they’re thinking. You don’t think it would be good to try to re-establish normal relations? And remember, Bonfire Night is coming up and you’re going to have to make nice for that.’
‘I don’t think you understand how tricky this is. There may be more to come. I don’t know. And I don’t want to begin to make things better only for them to fall apart again. It’s a murder inquiry, Theo, anything can happen. Don’t you remember from last time?’
‘But we all know Alex didn’t do it. Nor Nathan!’
‘I’m not saying they did. I am saying there’s an investigation and that has to be conducted without fear or favour, and that can conflict with … personal matters.’
Audrey said, ‘Is this because of your policeman?’
‘He’s not my policeman, and … yes, it is awkward because Neil and I have become friends.’
‘Friends?’ said Audrey. ‘You’re practically Morecambe and Wise.’
‘I got Nathan to come to the rectory to talk to Neil, who turned up with two uniformed officers and arrested both of them.’
‘Yes, I heard,’ said Theo. ‘How mean of Neil.’
‘Between arranging it with me and arresting them, Neil discovered some evidence, which changed things. He didn’t tell me because, I suppose, he knew I would not go along with it, and he couldn’t risk losing his chance to question them.’
‘What was the evidence?’
‘I can’t say, but it wasn’t enough to detain Alex. I don’t see how it can be enough to detain Nathan. But it looks like I deceived them.’
‘It was your policeman who deceived them. And deceived you.’
‘Yes, in a way.’
‘What does he have to say about it?’
‘We haven’t spoken. He left me a note. Apologising. But I haven’t replied.’
‘It’s not like you, Daniel, to be slow to forgive.’
‘Forgiveness isn’t the problem. It’s how to discharge our responsibilities properly that is the problem.’
‘Oh, that’s one of our storylines in Clerical and Medical. Turf wars between the vicar and the doctor.’
‘That’s a television drama, Theo, it’s not real. And if it were, they are both pastoral roles. Neil’s role is not pastoral.’
‘I see. What are you going to do?’
Daniel said nothing.
Then another pair of headlights appeared in the drive and a car came to a halt on the other side of the steps from Daniel’s Land Rover and Theo’s Golf.
‘Blimey, is this the copper, right on cue?’ said Theo, but Audrey said, ‘No, it’s Miss March in her Van der Valk.’
Daniel opened the door as she approached. ‘Miss March, we saw you arrive.’
She looked slightly ambushed, but she often did. ‘Rector. I see I am interrupting something. Mrs Clement.’ She nodded.
‘Good evening, Miss March. This is Daniel’s brother, Theo.’
‘Good evening, but I think we have met?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Theo, shaking her hand. ‘Are you new in the parish?’
‘Fairly new,’ she said. ‘But I recognise you, I think, from the television. Aren’t you PC Heseltine from Appletree End?’
‘Indeed, I am,’ said Theo, in the courtly way he used when accepting a compliment, but it was followed by silence from Miss March.
‘What an extraordinarily talented family you are,’ she said eventually. ‘I wonder if someone might distract the dog?’
Cosmo was sniffing her shoes with the scent hound’s intense concentration, so Theo picked him up and tucked him under his arm in the hold miniature dachshunds seem designed for especially.
Daniel said, ‘What can I do for you, Miss March?’
‘I am sorry’, she said, ‘to call without an appointment, but I really need to see your mother.’
‘Me?’ said Audrey.
‘If you could spare me a few minutes?’
‘Of course. Why don’t you come into the drawing room?’
‘Thank you,’ she said. Daniel took her hat and coat – ‘Thank you, Rector. Mr Clement,’ she nodded again at Theo, and Audrey ushered her behind the door, which she closed. Cosmo wriggled in Theo’s arm.
‘Blimey,’ said Theo, ‘who is Miss March?’
‘She keeps the dress shop in the village.’
‘Stella’s High Class Ladies’ Fashion?’
‘It’s now called Elite Fashions. She’s from Stow. Her father kept the shoe shop near the cathedral. I took you there once.’
‘Oh, yes, wonderful shop, like going back in time but in a good way. I bought a gorgeous pair of Derby boots. Didn’t you say they used to take ours?’
‘They did. Her father knew our father. She told me he had a pair of brown Oxfords of ours made in the Fifties, which he was still wearing when he died.’
‘She looks like she’s just stepped out of the 1950s too.’
‘Yes, she must have settled on a way of presenting herself to the world and never felt the need to revise it.’
‘That’s very C of E.’
‘We are the natural habitat of the nostalgist. Or at least that’s what nostalgists think. Only we’re not, and when they discover that they get disappointed and spend the rest of their lives complaining about everything.’
Theo thought about this for a moment. ‘That’s interesting … I felt like that sometimes when I was at the RSC. That audiences came because they thought we were the custodians of an ancient tradition, a priesthood almost, but that’s not what we thought we were doing.’
‘What did you think you were doing?’
‘Exploring the possibilities of now.’
‘Now?’
‘You know, Coriolanus in Brutus jeans and Ariel on a hang-glider, but … if it doesn’t connect with something real, what’s the point?’
Daniel wondered what it would be like for once to see a production of The Tempest or The Rhinegold that didn’t attempt to connect with something real.
Daniel’s mental excursion was interrupted by the sound of disagreement coming, rather surprisingly, from behind the drawing-room door.
Audrey and Miss March were having an argument – not the passive-aggressive exchange of ambiguous pleasantries that Audrey normally enjoyed, but direct, and explicit, and loud. Daniel and Theo were so surprised they did not know what to do, but then the door swung open and Miss March appeared with two patches of rose blooming on her grey face, as if someone had slapped Whistler’s mother.
