Mrs, Presumed Dead (10 page)

BROTHER MICHAEL

Spiritual enquiries

between 2.00 and 4.00 p.m. only.

Mrs Pargeter supposed she was privileged, as an outsider, to be making her enquiry in the morning. If – and heaven forbid – she ever joined the Church of Utter Simplicity, then she would have to restrict her spiritual anxieties to two hours in the afternoon like everyone else.

She knocked, heard the fruity voice bellow 'Come!', and walked in.

CHAPTER 19

Mrs Pargeter had dressed carefully for the encounter. She wore a silk dress of a rather vibrant purple, which emphasised the voluptuousness of her figure. Over her shoulders was slung one of her better minks, and she wore the diamond-and-garnet necklace, bracelet and earring set which the late Mr Pargeter had given her as a reward for her patience during a long absence when his work had taken him to Monte Carlo. She knew that the ensemble was over-the-top everyday wear for anyone other than a very successful romantic novelist, but it had been chosen quite deliberately, as had her arrival by limousine, to see whether it would have any effect.

She was instantly rewarded. As he rose to greet her, Father Michael's eyes moved straight to the necklace, then took in the bracelet and the rest of the ensemble.

'Sit you down,' he said in the same charmless, hectoring manner he had used on the phone.

He wore the uniform navy blue cassock, and there was about him an overpowering masculinity. Not the masculinity that stirs sexual attraction, but the masculinity which manifests itself in large features, huge splayed hands, bushy eyebrows and thick hair in nostrils and ears. He was about sixty, a little portly and balding. The hair that remained on his head was still black, though the odd hairs missed by careless shaving were white.

(How was it, Mrs Pargeter often wondered, that some men could manage always to miss the same bit when shaving? She could understand doing it once, even doing it a couple of days in a row, but the little tufts of quite long hairs which she often saw on otherwise smooth chins suggested a carefully planned campaign of avoidance. Most bizarre. Still, she concluded philosophically, it was probably one of those questions to which women were destined never to find the answer.)

He waited till she was seated before sitting down himself, but this seemed merely an act of conformity, not of genuine chivalry. He clasped his hands together on his desk and looked at her with the indulgence of a doctor treating a patient for recurrent hypochondria.

'Now, Mrs Pargeter, you said on the phone that you found yourself obsessed with material things . . .'

'Yes.' She launched into fabrication. 'I suppose the problem is one of values, really. You know, not values in the sense of what people pay for things, or what things are worth . . . not
The Price Is Right
sort of values . . . but what things are
really
worth. Or if anything's really worth anything, come to that.'

Brother Michael gave a smile of predatory sympathy. 'I understand. Those who live solely by the values of this world all eventually find them to be inadequate. What is the value of money in the face of the ultimate reality, which is death? Oh, a rich man may pay for medical care that can extend his life long beyond that of a poor man, but no man yet has been rich enough to postpone death for ever.'

'No. I know that. And I suppose, as my own death gets nearer . . .'

Brother Michael did not offer the token contesting of this statement which most people would have provided.

'. . . as my own death gets nearer, I think more about that kind of thing. You know, where are my real values . . . ? What is life really about . . . ?'

'And why are you here . . . ?' Brother Michael supplied.

Mrs Pargeter thought it would be just as well if she didn't give a truthful answer to that one. 'Exactly. And sometimes, you know, I wish I could just shed all the trappings of wealth and concentrate on things that really matter.'

Brother Michael made an awkwardly expansive gesture. 'That is what we are here for. The Church of Utter Simplicity was formed for those who feel the needs you describe.'

'Yes, how was the Church actually formed?' asked Mrs Pargeter, thus condemning herself to a full twenty minutes of the history of the movement.

It had been, as she had suspected, founded in the Sixties, and in Brother Michael's exposition, along with the biblical overtones, were references to 'doing one's own thing with God', 'letting God into one's own space' and 'joining hands in the peace and love of God.'

It was another example of how the carefree, non-materialism of the Sixties has been channelled into the hard-nosed businesses of the Eighties. The unfettered world of rock music developed, through price-cutting record outlets, into a multi-million-pound leisure industry. The woolly principles of the ecology movement were groomed into companies making 'natural' cosmetic products. And the Church of Utter Simplicity channelled the drifting spirit of Woodstock into the discipline of organised religion.

All these organisations were doing the same thing, playing on the guilt of those people who had grown up through the values of the Sixties and now felt embarrassed by their middle-class materialism. And all of them demonstrated the eternal history of business – that the urge to make money is a permanent force, which will adapt itself to whatever happens to be current at any given moment.

When Brother Michael reached the end of – or at least a paragraph-break in – his peroration, Mrs Pargeter asked innocently, 'And how is it all funded?'

He was not embarrassed by the question. Clearly it was one he had been faced with and dealt with on numerous occasions. However, the vehemence with which he answered suggested that he might be anticipating disagreement.

'Well, of course, we do sell some produce from the estate, but the majority of our income comes from voluntary contributions.'

'Oh? And how are those voluntary contributions made?'

'Novices who join the Church make over much of their wealth to us.'

He responded immediately to her raised eyebrow. This, too, was an objection he had encountered before. 'When I say "make over to us", of course I do not mean that it's made over to any individual. The money goes into the charitable trust set up to run the Church.'

'Oh, I see.'

'It would hardly be appropriate,' he joked heavily, 'for the novices to give up all their worldly goods simply so that the leaders of the Church could live the life of Reilly.'

'No. No, it wouldn't.' Mrs Pargeter paused. She wondered whether it was the moment to change tack. After all, the last thing she wanted was to become a novice of the Church of Utter Simplicity. She was only there in an investigative capacity. 'As it happens,' she continued casually, 'I heard about the Church through a friend.'

'Oh?' The priest – or whatever he called himself . . . probably just 'Brother', Mrs Pargeter reflected – was instantly alert, anticipating trouble.

'Yes, a friend called Theresa Cotton.'

At the name the black eyebrows drew together into one bristling line, like a particularly noxious caterpillar.

Mrs Pargeter wondered for a moment whether she had overstepped the mark, but it soon became clear that Brother Michael's anger was directed not at her but at her supposed friend.

'Theresa Cotton is not, I am afraid, a name that is heard with great enthusiasm within these walls. She misled us into believing that she would be joining us as a novice

'Sister Camilla.'

'That is correct. She was – ' The eyebrows grew even bushier as a new thought struck him. 'Was it you? Were you the one who rang up asking for her?'

No point in denial. 'Yes, it was me.'

But this did not divert his anger from Theresa either. 'She left us in the lurch. We had made plans for her joining the Church. We had set up her Becoming Ceremony . . .'

'Yes, she mentioned that. I didn't quite understand what she meant.'

'Before you can be a part of the Church,' he explained with limited patience, 'you have to
become
a member of the Church.'

'And once you are a member of the Church, what do you do then?'

'I'm sorry?'

'Well, having
become
, what do you do after that? Do you just
be
?'

'Yes. From then on you
are
.'

'Oh.' Mrs Pargeter nodded wisely, as if that explained everything. 'Erm, one thing that did interest me,' she continued, 'was something Theresa said about how one prepared oneself for entry to the Church.'

'Yes?' The question was guarded. He became very self-protective each time Theresa Cotton's name was mentioned.

'She said something about having to clear one's mind of resentments and grudges . . .'

'That is certainly what we recommend. It is ideal that one should come to one's Becoming Ceremony with a mind receptive to God, a mind uncluttered by worldly thoughts and aggravations.'

'Yes, of course. And what,' she asked cautiously, 'would be the best way of getting oneself into that state of mind?'

'We always recommend direct confrontation.'

'With whom? I mean who do you confront?'

'Anyone towards whom you feel guilt or resentment.'

'Oh, I see. You sort of talk to them and get it off your chest . . .'

'That is correct. Since you are leaving that part of the world behind, it is important to clear any bad feeling that there may be between you and any of your fellow creatures.'

'Oh, yes, right. I'm all in favour of that. And when would you recommend doing this . . . you know, the clearing the air business . . . ?'

'It is best that it should be done as near to the time of joining the Church as possible. Otherwise old wounds could be reopened and the resentments could grow rather than diminish.'

'Yes, yes, I suppose they could,' Mrs Pargeter agreed thoughtfully.

What Brother Michael had said confirmed the information in Theresa Cotton's letter. Immediately before her disappearance she had engineered a series of 'confrontations' with people against whom she harboured resentments.

Or who harboured resentments against her, perhaps . . . ?

Mrs Pargeter suddenly recalled Fiona Burchfield-Brown saying that Theresa had come to see her at about six o'clock on the Monday evening before she vanished. How many other people in Smithy's Loam had received similar visits? And what had been the subjects of the conversations during those visits?

Mrs Pargeter would make it her business to get answers to those questions.

It was clear that Brother Michael himself had not been thoroughly successful in ridding his own mind of resentments and grudges. 'I'm afraid your friend Theresa Cotton,' he snapped suddenly, 'let us down pretty badly. Particularly financially. There was some maintenance work on the roof here which we've recently had started on the promise of certain moneys from her.'

'I'm so sorry. Well, I wouldn't like to think that my being a friend of hers might inhibit my chances of— '

'My dear Mrs Pargeter, of course not.' Brother Michael was suddenly as near as he ever got to charm. The effect of the limousine and the jewellery had not diminished. 'No, no. We would be delighted if you wish to consider giving up your life for God.'

'Yes.' And not just my life, thought Mrs Pargeter – that'd be the smallest part of it. 'Well, look, obviously I'll want to think about all this . . .'

'Naturally. Would you like me to show you round the premises, give you an idea of the sort of works we do here?'

Why was it people of that sort always talked about 'works' rather than 'work', she reflected, before replying, 'That's very kind, but I really must say no. Keep that pleasure for another visit. You've already given me so much food for thought this morning.'

'Good. I am glad to hear it. And may I express the hope that God will make your thoughts grow and come nearer to His Almighty Simplicity.'

Mrs Pargeter was not quite sure of the proper response to a remark like that. She made do with, 'Oh, thank you.'

'Let me give you some literature about our beliefs and the works that we do here.' He thrust a couple of colour-printed booklets into her hands. On the front of each were the words 'Church of Utter Simplicity' and a logo which featured a cross, a fish, a tree and a couple of rabbits.

Then Brother Michael led her to the door and opened it. 'God bless you,' he said, as if he were the only person on earth with franchising rights in divine benison. 'You will be in my prayers.'

Yuk, thought Mrs Pargeter. Being in Brother Michael's prayers was the last place on earth she wanted to be.

In fact, she decided firmly, she didn't want to have anything to do with the Church of Utter Simplicity ever again. She had never encountered a supposedly spiritual institudon that she found so supremely dispiriting.

In the back of the limousine, as it returned her to Smithy's Loam, Mrs Pargeter thought about the visit. The Church of Utter Simplicity was a deeply unappealing place, peopled by deeply unappealing people, but she did not think anyone there could have had anything to do with the disappearance of Theresa Cotton.