Absolute Truths (68 page)

‘
I don’t know how you endure that man on a regular basis,’ muttered Aysgarth. ‘I can only tolerate him when I’m desperate.’

‘He seems to understand you very well.’

‘That’s why I find him intolerable.’

‘But surely —’

‘
Oh, don’t listen to me, he’s got me in such a state that I hardly
know what I’m saying! Yes, of course I’m fond of the old boy and
of course I’m grateful to him for propping me up occasionally,
but I don’t like all this spiritual direction stuff, the only person I
want understanding me is God and I don’t approve of this Catholic
fixation with mediators — and yes, I know that’s an appallingly bigoted thing to say, but I’m a Protestant by temperament and upbringing, and I get very nervous indeed when some smug,
know-it-all of a priest prances around putting me through a series
of vile hoops and carrying on as if he were —’

‘SILENCE!’ shouted Jon from the kitchen.

I laughed. Aysgarth whispered: ‘I didn’t think the old boy’s hearing was so keen!’ and looked sheepish. An unpleasant smell began to envelop us
as
Jon boiled a piece of fish for the cat.

‘
Revoking!’ said Aysgarth, driven at last to speak again. ‘I don’t
know what he sees in that animal.’

‘I’ve often wondered.’

‘In fact there’s something very sinister about Jon’s passion for cats. In the old days —’

‘Oh, the stake, of course.’

Jon reappeared in the doorway. ‘Getting on nicely?’

‘Uniting against you, you old villain!’

Jon looked pleased.

Closing the kitchen door to block our the smell of fish he
sat
down
with us again at the table. ‘After you’d given your anti-
Catholic polemic, Neville,’ he remarked, ‘it occurred to me that
the three of us form a model — a paradigm, one might say — of
the Church. Here
we
are, all sitting around a table: the Protestant
from the Low Church wing, the priest from the Middle Way, the
Anglo-Catholic. Or, on another level: the Liberal Modernist,
the conservative and the mystic. We clash, interlock, interweave,
move apart — and then clash all over again in an unceasing engage
ment which produces the Church.’

‘
Obviously the only way one can excuse all the fights,’ said Ays
garth, ‘is to say Ihat if there were no friction there’d be no change,
and if there were no change the Church would be dead.’

‘
Change is all part of the creative process,’ I said, thinking of
Harriet.

‘
Certainly we’re not just required to be,’ Jon agreed. ‘We’re
required to become — and in the process of becoming we’re all
necessary to each other; we’re all interlinked because we all have
our part to play in our creator’s grand design. So when the two of you dash you should say to yourselves not: "How can I get the better of this man?" But: ‘What can I learn from him so that I
can further my becoming?" For the more we become our true
selves, the selves God designed, the better we shall be able to serve
God and assist him in —’

‘
Making everything come right,’ I said, thinking of Harriet
again.

‘
— in the economy of redemption and salvation,’ said Jon
as
if
so taken aback by my descent into the simple language of laymen
that he felt obliged to produce the appropriate theological phrase himself. ‘But wait a minute, Neville’s looking cross again. What have I said now?’

‘
I don’t like it when you talk like a mystical seer,’ said Aysgarth
baldly, ‘and I particularly don’t like it when you pontificate
as
if you’re infinitely wiser and better than we are.’

‘But he is!’ I said loyally.

Jon laughed. ‘Ah, how you like to idealise me, Charles!’ he said
with affection. ‘But fortunately for my spiritual health, Neville
takes a much more robust approach — indeed sometimes I think
he’s periodically sent to me by God to cut me down to size. No,
certainly I mustn’t play the mystical seer and pontificate as if I
knew all the answers! When I think back over my past – and abour
all the mistakes and messes
I’ve
made, most of which you know absolutely nothing about – I can see very clearly that I’m even
more in need of forgiveness and redemption than you are.’

The trouble with redemption,’ said Aysgarth, so pacified by this
somewhat excessive exercise in humility that he was tempted to
become confidential, ‘is that it’s such a tough road to travel. As far as my own redemptive mission’s concerned – my attempt to
redeem my extreme past – I keep veering off the road and winding
up in a ditch.’

‘
But you always haul yourself out of the ditch, don’t you, and
stagger on?’

‘
Well, I’d hardly help Dido, would I, if I just lay down in the
ditch and gave up! And if I’m to redeem my past, Dido’s always
got to come first.’

‘
Put God first and I think you’ll find you’re better equipped to look after Dido – and better equipped too to haul yourself out of
the current ditch.’

‘
Who said there was a current ditch?’ said Aysgarth at once.
‘Not me! And of course I put God first! It’s God who requires me
to look after Dido.’ -

‘
I take your point,’ said Jon in his mildest voice, ‘but I do wonder
if Dido’s requirements and God’s requirements are always going
to be identical.’ And as Aysgarth gave him a look in which extreme
wariness was mingled with a reluctant interest, he turned to me
and said: ‘As you see, Neville’s devoted to his wife’s welfare,
Charles. I’m sure that’s something you can understand and admire.’

At once Aysgarth said: ‘You can’t equate Dido with Lyle. Dido’s
not emotionally strong.’

‘
Neither was Lyle when I married her,’ I said before I could
stop myself.

Aysgarth was amazed. ‘But she was always so tough and
capable!’

I could only reply: ‘You never knew her.’

‘
Evidently not! Even so, I’m sure you didn’t feel called by God
to put everything right, did you?’

‘
Well, as a matter of fact,’ I said, ‘I rather think I did.’We gazed at each other in fascinarion.

Finally, still mesmerised by this impression of identical past suf
fering, I said: ‘I wish you didn’t feel that I was against you. I
wish ...’ I hesitated, not wanting to alienate him by referring to
a current ditch which he had insisted did not exist, but driven on
by my desire to
demonstrate
that I could be sympathetic. ‘I do
wish you’d let me know,’ I said, ‘if you ever have some particularly
difficult problem. I’d so like to give whatever help I could.’ Acutely
conscious that he had been infuriated by my offer of help earlier
that afternoon I tried hard to speak in a way which he would not interpret as dishonest or patronising. ‘I expect you’re still
thinking
there’s no help I could possibly give you,’ I added, ‘but
I
could at
least listen and pray and ...’ My voice trailed away as I succumbed
to the fear that I was failing to convey my sincerity. At last,
resorting in desperation to an unadorned bluntness, I blurted out: ‘I accept that you think I’m just a persecuting nuisance, but if we
really do have more in common than we ever imagined, perhaps
I’m capable of being rather more than just a dead loss to you in
the future.’

I saw Aysgarth hesitate; I krew he had finally recognised that I
was speaking from the heart, but unfortunately Jon then chose to
make one of his rare wrong moves. It was as if he was prematurely
congratulating himself on bringing off a mediating tour de force.

With a satisfaction guaranteed to set our prickly companion’s
teeth on edge, he said: ‘Well, here’s your chance, Neville – why
wait for some future crisis? This is a golden opportunity to have
a frank talk with Charles about anything – anything at all, no
matter how trivial – which may be troubling you at the present
moment.’

‘
Some other time, perhaps,’ said Aysgarth acidly, and hauled
himself to his feet. But all was not quite lost. To me he added
pleasantly enough: ‘Don’t take offence, Charles, I’m not doubting your sincerity, but if this bossy old buccaneer thinks he can mes
merise me into some garrulous confession, he’d better think again.
I’m glad you and I have made our peace after that quarrel, and
I’m glad we’ve reached agreement on the Cathedral, and I’m glad
we seem to have acquired some hope of a more passable relationship, but I see no reason to prolong this discussion further. Jon –’

He turned back to our mediator ‘– forgive me, but"I honestly feel I can’t stand being spiritually directed a second longer. Can I ask
you to pray for me instead?’

Jon, who was by this time trying and failing not to look annoyed,
produced a thin smile and said dryly: ‘I think I may be trusted to
pray for you without being asked.’ With an effort he added: ‘I can
see I’ve rubbed you up the wrong way, and I apologise.’

‘
No need ... meant well ... not ungrateful –’ Aysgarth was
by this time hurtling towards the door ‘ –in fact I’m very grateful
indeed – I’ll be in touch.’ And grabbing his coat he made a rapid
exit into the dusk.

As soon as the front door had banged shut Jon exclaimed: ‘How
could I have made such an error? I’m ashamed of myself !’ And in exasperation he banged his clenched fist upon the table.

To console him I said: ‘Even if you hadn’t started to glow with triumph a shade too soon, Aysgarth might still have engineered
an excuse to walk out.’

‘
But he’d already given in to the temptation to confide! He’d
revealed to you his call to look after Dido, and if I hadn’t said the
wrong thing he might well have gone on to reveal something
about his current ditch!’

‘
We agree, I take it, that in spite of his denial a current ditch
does exist.’

‘
Of course. The denial was much too emphatic to ring true, but
what the ditch is I have no idea.’

This surprised me. ‘But from the way you handled the conver
sation I assumed you knew much more than I did about what
was
going on!’

‘
I knew more but not much more – I knew about the call to
look after Dido and no doubt that made me quicker off the mark
in responding to his remarks about ditches, but I confess I still
found the conversation very enigmatic.’

‘
If there’s always a connection between Dido and his ditches –
and he certainly implied there was –’

– then the current ditch will also involve Dido, but how? What
on earth can it be?’

I said promptly: ‘The West Front Appeal. If there’s a scandal,
Dido would suffer.’

But Jon looked doubtful. ‘That’s certainly one possible reading
of the situation,’ he agreed, ‘but is it the correct one? Personally I have trouble seeing Aysgarth getting into a big financial mess.
On the other hand, I can all too easily imagine him getting into
difficulties with a woman. Isn’t it in fact far more likely that the
current ditch is a consequence of his friendship with Harriet
March?’

‘No, I’m sure that’s innocent.’

‘
I wonder. It strikes me as such an odd association that only a
sexual attraction could explain it Just consider, Charles: why
should a good-looking successful woman such as Mrs March, still
moderately young, bother to spend her valuable time dancing
attendance on an elderly clergyman? I gather she has no interest
in either the Church or Christianity, and she must surely have
more entertaining gentlemen friends in London.’

‘
She was sculpting his hands. That’s why she’s had to sec him
regularly.’

‘
But how did she come to sculpt them? You’d think that after
the disaster of 1963, when her sculpture for the churchyard was
rejected, she’d have washed her hands of everyone in the Cathedral
Close – and in fact I can remember Neville telling me at the end
of that year that he hadn’t seen her for some time. So what brought
them back together again?’

‘
Apparently the hands had a mesmerising effect on her and she
couldn’t rest until she’d sculpted them.’

‘
It’s a romantic story, certainly. It’s probably even partly true. But do we really believe that Mrs March turned up uninvited at
the Deanery one day many months after the disaster of 1963 and
announced: "I’m compelled to sculpt your hands"?’

‘
She probably met him again by chance through mutual friends
and decided to let bygones be bygones for the sake of her art.
Believe me, Jon, the association with Harriet March can all be
explained away – it’s the behaviour over the Appeal which defies
an innocent explanation.’

‘
You really think so?’

‘
I do now. Nigel and Malcolm were both convinced that if
Aysgarth were to prevaricate about the accounts, even when threat
ened with a visitation,
we
could be justified in thinking the worst, and I have to confess I’ve come to agree with them. He’s behaved
like a guilty man in a big mess – and talking of big messes –’ I
stopped.

Without a word Jon pulled out the drawer of the table and
produced Lyle’s journal.

For a long moment I was unable to speak but at last I managed
to say: ‘And your verdict?’

‘
I think this
is
a very great gift to you,’ said Jon without hesita
tion, ‘and no matter how despairing you may feel at the moment,
I believe it offers a profound hope for the future.’

Another long moment passed. Then I said painfully: ‘Before we
talk of the future I’m afraid we must talk of the past.’ And dredging
up all my strength I prepared at last to confide in him.