Читать книгу Absolute Truths - Susan Howatch - Страница 43

When I had the chance to observe him at close quarters I saw that he was merely a plain man in his early forties with a thickset figure which would have profited from regular exercise on a golf course. His nose was too large, his jaw too square and his mouth too thin for his features to be judged other than irregular. At a loss to understand why he should be planted in my hall when he had no appointment to see me, I gave him my chilliest stare and waited for Miss Peabody to rush from the office to my rescue.

But the priest was clearly not a man who let the grass grow under his feet. Moving forward he held out his hand and said warmly in a courteous voice: ‘Good morning, Bishop! My name’s Lewis Hall.’

Finally detaching my feet from the threshold I closed the front door and allowed my hand to be gripped. But before I could utter a word Miss Peabody erupted from the office. ‘Oh Bishop –’ I had seldom seen her so flustered ‘– this is the gentleman from Radbury whom we were discussing earlier. I did explain that it was quite impossible for you to see him, but when I mentioned that you’d gone to the hospital to visit Father Wilton he asked if he could wait for your return so that he could hear the latest news.’

This was a move which contrived to be both thoroughly Christian and immensely cunning. As Miss Peabody quivered vanquished before me and I found myself registering a reluctant admiration for the man who had outwitted her, the stranger saw the chance to build on his success by cornering me for conversation.

I clearly remember thinking to myself: this man shall not pass the threshold of my study.

Meanwhile the man was saying soberly: ‘I do hope Father Wilton’s progress is satisfactory. I was very struck by the way you spoke of him at matins.’

I could not recall saying anything in particular about Desmond himself; I had merely announced that he had been the victim of an attack. Confused by the discrepancy I became fatally hesitant. ‘Well,’ I began, but that was all I was allowed to say.

‘Since you referred to him as Father Wilton, I assume he’s an Anglo-Catholic,’ said my visitor, ‘and if you’re now looking for a locum, may I volunteer for the job? I’m an Anglo-Catholic myself, and Miss Peabody confirms that you have my reference from the Abbot-General of the Fordite monks.’ He gave Miss Peabody a radiant smile.

Miss Peabody turned pink, in the manner of a wallflower suddenly asked to dance by the beau of the ball, and babbled: ‘I did mention the reference to you, Bishop, and if you want me to fetch it –’

I held up my hand. She stopped. I opened my mouth to take control of the conversation. ‘I thank you for your kind offer, Mr Hall,’ I said. ‘I shall forward it to the Archdeacon. And now I have a train to catch shortly. If you’ll excuse me –’

‘Yes, of course, Bishop. I’ll be only too happy to come back at a more convenient time.’

This assurance was not what I wished to hear at all. In a moment of fury I repeated to myself: this man will never cross the threshold of my study.

‘Mr Hall,’ I said, ‘I’m aware that you feel called to establish a healing centre and certainly I wish you every success. However, I feel bound to say that in this diocese I have a policy of never licensing –’

‘I want to specialise in priests who have suffered a spiritual breakdown.’

Silence fell upon us all, but now I no longer saw the stranger, still as a statue, or Miss Peabody, fluttering in the background. As the memories of 1937 cascaded through my mind I saw only Loretta on that Surrey hillside and Alex Jardine removing the decanter from me when I had been so very drunk at his episcopal palace – although I never thought of those incidents nowadays, never, they were all buried so deep in my mind that I never had to think about them – indeed I never had to think about any incident from that spiritual breakdown, my first catastrophe, but now I was thinking, now I was remembering, and I could hear my younger self reciting the words of the General Confession to Jon, who had helped me survive.

‘… spare thou them that confess their faults … restore thou them that are penitent …’ I remembered how I had been spared and restored. I remembered how conscious I had been of the healing power of the Holy Spirit as it moved ceaselessly through the world to raise up and renew all that was broken and cast down. I remembered that I had not always been a strong, successful bishop, battling contra mundum to preach the absolute truths.

My worldliness and my sophistication, those two hallmarks of a civilised man at the top of his profession, abruptly dissolved; it was as if a curtain had been rent from top to bottom by an unseen hand so that light could pour into the darkened room beyond. Acting instinctively – because for one mysterious moment my entire intellect had been bypassed – I turned, gestured to the door of my study and said to the stranger: ‘Come in.’

Then I myself led the way over the threshold which seconds ago I had sworn he would never cross.