Absolute Truths (90 page)

‘Having told you all this, I’m sure you quite understand, Charles,
why I was reluctant to show you the accounts. It wasn’t merely
that the Brooking looked like being a big disaster. I just thought
it kinder not to inform you of my innovative investment policy
until we were all set to live happily ever after. After all, why should
you too have to suffer from extreme nervous tension as you waited
for everything to come right?

‘
Now, I do realise that a clergyman who takes such scandalous
risks is a very depressing problem for a bishop, but let me cheer you up by saying that every cloud has a silver lining and I’m doing
great things for that Cathedral! In fact I give you my word that
provided you give me time to put everything straight I’ll go out
in a blaze of fund-raising glory which will enable us to gloss over
how innovative I was. My chum the accountant certainly won’t
be talking, the Chapter will keep mum out of sheer fright and all
the people I’ve dealt with in London will keep mum out of sheer
ignorance because they think I’ve been buying and selling on my
own behalf. There’ll be no scandal.’

I managed to utter three words. They were: ‘What about
Harriet?’

‘
Oh, we can trust her. I’m sure she’s guessed by now that I’m
using money from the fund instead of from my private bank
account, but she’ll want to avoid any scandal which might affect
her standing in the art world.’

‘
Such as being charged as an accessory after the fact.’

‘What fact? I’m innocent!’

‘
Stephen, my father was a lawyer, my brother is a lawyer, I
myself studied law for a short time, and I just can’t believe —’

‘
Well, I’m no lawyer at all,’ said Jon, ‘and I wouldn’t presume to make any legal judgement on Neville’s activities, but nevertheless I can’t help wondering who really owns that cream.’

‘I do,’ said Aysgarth. ‘It’s my commission.’

‘Your
what?’
I shouted.

‘Commission, Charles. C-O-double M —’

‘I was wondering how you were going to square the accounts,’ murmured Jon, ‘not to mention the tax authorities.’

‘
But this is the shadiest manoeuvre I’ve come across in a month
of Sundays!’ I exclaimed, outraged. ‘Are you seriously trying to
tell me —’

‘
What’s so shady about it? Naturally if one invests in the art
market, one pays commission to the expert who gives advice on
what to buy! And since Harriet’s working for no reward other
than my devoted affection, all the commission comes to me for
advising myself so well. The cream will appear in the accounts as
"commission to art
expert
" and I fear I shall have to pay tax on
it, but the co
mmission won’t be illegal, just
rather large.’

There was another ear-splitting silence. Then suddenly
Aysgarth’s defences crumbled. Making a gesture of resignation with his hands he said exhausted: ‘All right, I’ll admit it. I still
don’t think I’ve done anything illegal, particularly as I have com
plete power to invest the money in any way I like, but I’ll admit
the scheme was shady, shifty, reckless and scandalous and I’ll admit you have every reason to judge me a rogue, a spiv, a wheeler-dealer
and a sharp-shooter who’s utterly unfit to be a clergyman. Now
pass judgement on me — voice any criticism you choose. I’m sure there’s no contemptuous phrase I don’t deserve.’

But all I said was: "Judge not, that ye be not judged."‘ And
as I spoke that sentence which had been framed so long ago in
another language, I felt all my hostility dissolve and knew that the atmosphere in the room had entirely changed.

I said: ‘We’re all capable under pressure of acting foolishly and
taking scandalous risks. How can I be sure that if I’d been in your
position I wouldn’t have done as much for Lyle as you’ve done
for Dido?’

‘I somehow can’t imagine you ever acting foolishly and taking scandalous risks —’

‘
Maybe imagination’s not your strong point. Or maybe my
imagination’s just better than yours is. Certainly if I attempt now
to put myself in your shoes I can see exactly what a nightmare the
past few months must have been.’

Aysgarth said to Jon: ‘Tell him I’m not asking for sympathy.’

‘
This is empathy, not sympathy. Go on, Charles.’

‘
You’ve made a good story out of this nightmare,’ I said to
Aysgarth. ‘You’ve made it sound exciting and amusing, but the
truth is that for months you’ve had to live with the knowledge
that you were within an ace of ruining yourself, wrecking your
wife and plunging the Church into scandal — and as if all that
weren’t enough to beat a man to his knees, you’ve finally had to
endure this humiliating confession to me. No wonder you’re trying
to resign! You’ve reached the point where you’re willing to do
anything to end such an ordeal, but don’t think I don’t understand
what you’ve been through and don’t think I feel no responsibility for what you’ve suffered. I should never have washed my hands
of you so completely after the disasters of 1963. I should never have treated you with such anger and contempt and turned my
back. That wasn’t following in the footsteps of Jesus Christ. That
was following in the footsteps of Pontius Pilate.’

Aysgarth’s expression changed. Indeed his whole face seemed
to change until I could look at him and see again the strait-laced,
devout young archdeacon, reserved and solemn, whom I had first
met long ago at Jon’s wedding. All the trappings of sophistication which he had acquired during his journey up the ladder of worldly
success — the easy charm, the racy manner, the air of impregnable
self-confidence — all disappeared. I was reminded of the moment
at the end of a Greek tragedy where the hero lays aside his golden
mask and reveals himself in all his vulnerability as an ordinary, fragile, suffering human being.

‘I know you’re sorry for it all,’ I said. ‘I know you’d far rather
lead a life which is more in tune with the man you truly are. Finish the last appalling manoeuvre, present the accounts, consider the
matter closed, go your way and don’t punish yourself like this
any more.’

A stillness descended upon the room, and in the heart of that stillness was something beyond the power of mere language to describe. I felt we were being given a glimpse of the underlying
unity of all things, and that this harmony — though no metaphor
was adequate to describe that singing silence — was enfolding us
all so that we were wholly in tune not only with one another but
with a healing presence at the very centre of our being. My tension was smoothed away and my aching muscles relaxed. Jon crossed
himself. Aysgarth, slumping back in his chair, closed his eyes as if
suddenly released from pain.

The moment passed, but I thought of the disciples on the road
to Emmaus and how they had recognised the stranger in the break
ing of the bread.

Finally Aysgarth levered himself to his feet, muttered an excuse
and withdrew to the bathroom. Neither Jon nor I made any
attempt to break the silence which followed. When Aysgarth
returned he was chalk-white but his mask of insouciance was firmly
in place again.

‘
So!’ he said dryly, resuming his seat at the table. ‘Despite the
Bishop’s admirable display of Christian charity the Dean has pre
sented the unanswerable case for his resignation! Your move now,
my lord.’

I prayed for the courage to speak nothing but the truth.

‘
How strange that you weren’t happy in your job,’ I said to Aysgarth. ‘I wasn’t happy in mine. You said your biggest success
was as Archdeacon of Starbridge, and mine, I now think, was as
Lyttelton Professor of Divinity. I still feel I was right to believe
God was calling me to Starbridge, but I just wasn’t up to the task
of responding to the call in the right way.

‘
I’m sure I was given this rich, powerful bishopric so that I could
stand up for conservative values with the maximum effect; Jon talked the other day about how both the conservatives and the liberals need to be strong if the Church is to progress properly
and not become seriously unbalanced, and since this is obviously
the decade of the liberals it was all the more important that some
one influential should be around to push the conservative line,
but what’s happened here in Starbridge? I’ve been debilitated by
unresolved conflicts with the result that I’ve lost my way. I’ve
become not a conservative bishop, concerned with truth and tra
dition, but a parody of a conservative bishop, concerned with making an idol of the past and tailoring the truth to fit it.

‘
What a disaster! I knew from the beginning that something was
wrong — it was like pedalling a bicycle uphill with the brakes on — but I blamed the job and not the unresolved conflicts which
were sapping my spiritual energy. I missed Cambridge. I felt lost,
disorientated, lonely — yet there was hardly ever the chance to be
alone, life was so busy, there was so much work to be done, so
many problems to solve ... It was a nightmare, and at first I didn’t
see how I was ever going to adjust.

‘
Lyle was very concerned. I suppose that was when she made
her heroic decision to sacrifice her own welfare to the task of
keeping me going. If I hadn’t had Lyle, I couldn’t have gone on.
That’s the big difference between us, Stephen. The difference isn’t
that you’re capable of hard drinking and behaving foolishly with
women. I’m just as capable of making those sort of mistakes as
you are. The real difference is that I couldn’t have survived if I’d
had a wife who was a burden instead of a source of strength.

‘
How have you done it? How could you ever have survived?
That demanding job, those unrelenting pressures, the terrible iso
lation one has to endure as the man at the top of a large organisational pyramid — so little time to
think,
to be alone with God, to
be oneself ... You must have tremendous reserves of spiritual
strength — and how can I avoid the conclusion that God’s con
stantly replenishing them, recognising your courage and pouring
out his grace so that you can sustain this tour de force? No, don’t
attempt a denial, spare me the false modesty —’

‘
You’re not so short on false modesty yourself — a lesser man
would have given up and run back to Cambridge!’

‘
I nearly did. I would have done if Lyle hadn’t assumed the roles
of nanny, nurse and private secretary in order to keep me going.’

‘
Let’s not forget the distinction,’ murmured Jon, ‘between false
modesty, which implies neither a truthful approach nor repentance,
and humility, which implies both. Very well, Charles, go on.
Under pressure you regressed in your domestic life to the helpless
ness of childhood —’

— and allowed Lyle to sacrifice herself until her whole life
was spent propping me up. I suspect a lot of men condone this
sort of response when they have demanding jobs, but how sad it
is for the marriages and what an unfair burden it places on their
wives.’

‘
You’re exaggerating all this,’ objected Aysgarth. ‘I’d say Lyle
still got plenty of enjoyment out of being Mrs Bishop.’

‘
Being Mrs Bishop was fine. It was being Mrs Ashworth which was obviously the problem — not that I realised at the time. I was
too self-centred. I was too self-centred in my job too. I never really
had much time for the flock — as I said to Malcolm recently, my pastoral ministry was eclipsed by my prophetic ministry; I was too ready to pass judgement, too reluctant to exercise compassion, too
blind to be imaginative and understanding ... as you know, all
too well.

‘And I can’t close this analysis of my failures without telling you,
Stephen, that since Lyle’s death it’s been painfully obvious to me
that I’m not only unable but unfit to be a bishop. I’ve been drinking
too much. I’ve got involved with a woman to a degree which can
only be described as insane. I can’t think, I can’t work, I can’t
cope, I’m useless. I’ve failed God here. All I can do now, it seems
to me, to help him redeem this disaster, is to leave as soon as
possible, retire to Cambridge and devote myself to scholarship —
provided, of course, that by this time I’m not intellectually over
the hill and capable only of embarrassing my publishers.’

I stopped. I looked at Jon but his expression was inscrutable. I
turned to Aysgarth. ‘Well, there you have it,’ I said flatly. ‘An
admission of failure and inadequacy which leaves me no alternative but to resign. I rest my case.’

Aysgarth said brutally: ‘I’ve never heard such a load of balls
from a bishop in all my life. Jon, give us some more brandy.’