Mystical Paths (23 page)

VI

What an extraordinary question to ask out of the blue!’ exclaimed Charley astonished. What prompted it?’

‘I had lunch with the Aysgarths today at their opulent fake-farmhouse near Dorking. They all seemed to be either drunk or nuts.’

Well, that’s nothing new. Have another biscuit.’

‘Thanks.’ I took a second Lincoln Cream. The subject of Christian kept coming up,’ I said, ‘and since I’m old enough now to realise how complex he was, I got intrigued.’

‘I don’t see anything particularly complex about him. He was just a smart-aleck Wykehamist who failed to fulfil his potential and drowned his sorrows in a rather juvenile social life – oh sorry! I’m being tactless, aren’t I? You yourself mingle on and off with Marina’s gang.’

‘Mostly off. And anyway I
was
juvenile back in 1963 when I first met Christian at one of Marina’s parties.’

Well, Christian certainly wasn’t. In 1963 he would have been ... let me see. I was born in 1938 and he was eleven years my senior –’

‘He was thirty-six when I met him. Charley, why do you say he didn’t fulfil his potential? It’s well known he had a brilliant academic career.’

‘Oh, that was just Aysgarth propaganda churned out from the Deanery.’

‘You mean –’

‘I strongly suspect his career had ground to a halt. Did you read his last book? It was terrible – just a rehash of other people’s opinions. Dad read it and said: "If that’s the best he can do he’ll never get the Chair."‘

What had gone wrong?’

‘No idea.’

‘Charley, this may sound ludicrous to you, but do you think there’s any possibility that he committed suicide?’

‘That’s exactly the question Dad and I always asked ourselves,’ said Charley.

VII

At the time Michael said suicide was inconceivable,’ said Charley, pouring us both some more tea, ‘and since he was one of Marina’s gang he knew Christian better than I did, but Michael was still very immature in those days and his judgements weren’t too reliable. Dad and I were always much more sceptical about Christian. "I wonder what goes on behind
that
glittering image!" Dad used to say with gloomy relish.’

Why should anything have been going on at all? Some people just naturally glitter.’

‘But a glamorous public façade so often masks a catastrophic private mess. Dad said Christian could have been trapped – even tormented – behind that glittering image of his.’

‘Uncle Charles saw Christian as tormented?’

‘Potentially tormented. We’ve no proof he actually was.’

‘You didn’t hear any inside gossip from the Deanery?’ ^

‘You’re joking! Informal communications between the Deanery and the South Canonry were non-existent that summer.’

‘I knew, of course, that Uncle Charles and Dr Aysgarth always had trouble getting on –’

Trouble! They had the biggest ecclesiastical feud since Liddon rowed with Gore over
Lux Mundi –
which explains why Christian and I were almost strangers to each other and why Michael only came to know Christian as the result of his friendship with Marina ... Incidentally, talking of Charles Gore and
Lux Mundi,
I came across a most interesting volume of sermons by Henry Scott Holland the other day –’

‘Forget the
Lux Mundi
crowd for a moment. Charley, if you were so distanced from the Aysgarths, how did you and Uncle Charles collect enough facts to form a suicide theory? Surely you’re not basing your case solely on the fact that Christian wrote a bad book!’

‘Dad’s theory ran like this: the bad book’s critical reception made Christian realise he might not get the Chair, and the whole episode brought him face to face with failure for the first time in his life. The shock of this was so great that when he relapsed into the inevitable depression, his career crisis combined with the stress generated by his eternal triangle and fatally destabilised him.’

‘Trust Uncle Charles not to miss out on the sex-angle!’

‘But don’t you think Christian’s relationship with Marina was extraordinarily odd? Of course Michael swears there was nothing sexual going on, and since he’s now her fiancé one would certainly hope he knew what he was talking about, but –’

‘I’m quite sure Marina and Christian didn’t go to bed together. But maybe there was a third woman in Christian’s life, a woman nobody knew about –’

‘According to Michael there were hordes of women in Christian’s life but he never had sex with any of them – and if Michael’s right, that suggests a very obvious explanation of what was going on behind Christian’s glittering image.’

‘And that is –’

‘I’m convinced he was homosexual,’ said Charley.

VIII

‘And once you accept the theory of homosexuality,’ Charley added, ‘an even more plausible motive for suicide takes shape.’ ‘Being blackmailed?’

‘Not necessarily. My own theory is that Christian committed suicide as the result of the grinding strain of leading a double life. The career crisis created a strain, the emotional pressures of the two women created a strain, but it was the double-life that finally finished him off.’ Charley paused to drink some tea before adding: ‘That curious social life he adopted suggests he’d formed the habit of dividing his personality in two: on the one hand he was moving among the stuffy, conventional society of an Oxford College, yet on the other hand he was rocketing around with Marina’s groovy, much younger Coterie. It was as if Marina’s parties gave him the chance to let off steam ... Do you know if he took drugs?’

Automatically I answered: ‘I’m sure he didn’t.’

‘A lot of that gang did – and do.’

‘Yes, but Christian –’

‘I admit it
is
difficult to picture him as a drug-user,’ Charley conceded willingly enough,
‘
Pas si bête,
as the French say; not such a fool. Even Michael in his immature days used to do no more than smoke pot occasionally – or so he says, but I’m sure he’s telling the truth because he was shocked when his ex-girlfriend Dinkie took to heroin.’

There was a silence while I remembered Marina’s shining Starbridge party in 1963. I could see Norman and Cynthia embracing, Michael squeezing Dinkie, Venetia gaily waving a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, Holly Carr full of life, Marina and Katie radiant, Christian raising his glass as if to drink to the brilliant future which seemed to stretch so inevitably before him I covered my face with my hands.

‘Nick! Are you all right?’

‘Yep.’ I shut out 1963, uncovered my face and grabbed another biscuit.

‘I mean, are you really all right, turning up out of the blue like this? Did you perhaps come because there was something you wanted to talk over with an old friend who could be trusted to keep his mouth shut – something about Rosalind, for instance?’

That certainly made me snap out of my maudlin dive into the past. ‘No, I’m fine. Charley, are you casting Perry Palmer for the role of homosexual lover?’

‘No,’ said Charley, instantly diverted. ‘If Perry’s work at the Foreign Office involves handling classified information, he wouldn’t be an active homosexual.’

‘Then who was the man?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

My psyche twitched. I suddenly realised he would hardly have expounded his theory so confidently if he hadn’t had specific evidence to support it. Before I could stop myself I said: ‘You’re lying.’

Charley was so taken aback that he made no further effort to dissimulate. ‘My dear Nick, you really are quite uncanny sometimes —’

‘But
why
are you lying? That’s the interesting question! Does it involve confidential information, something that was told to you in the confessional?’

‘I don’t hear confessions. No, it’s not confidential. It’s just —’ He stopped as if he were embarrassed, and as soon as I identified his emotion as embarrassment I knew what he was so reluctant to tell me.

‘My God!’ I exclaimed. ‘It’s Martin, isn’t it? It’s my brother Martin ...’

IX The incident happened in 1964,’ said Charley. ‘Late November it was, several months before Christian died. I was still a curate at St Mary’s Mayfair, and I remember the Advent sermons were about to start. You were away in Africa, which is why you weren’t at this party. I’m sure you’d have been invited otherwise.

‘The party was given by Venetia, but it was completely conventional because her husband was the joint-host. It was he who invited me; when he’d worked in Starbridge he’d got on well with Dad, and he’d kept in touch with me after we both wound up in London.

‘I was in two minds about whether to accept the invitation because I knew Marina and her gang would be there and I’d always taken care to look down my nose at them. (Those were my priggish days when I was a lot less secure in my faith than I am now.) However in the end I just couldn’t resist the chance to see Venetia again. I’d always secretly fancied her, but the trouble was I’d lacked the sophistication to do anything about it. Then she got married. What a lost opportunity! How I gnashed my teeth! I don’t suppose she ever whipped up a Grand Marnier soufflé with one hand tied behind her back, but I bet she could recite Blake’s "Tyger, Tyger" backwards while opening a bottle of champagne with a flick of her wrist. Well, there I was, crammed into this smoke-filled room while everyone screamed at everyone else, and suddenly I recognised your brother. Apparently he’d met Venetia the year before when
Present Laughter
had arrived at the Starbridge Playhouse in a pre-West-End run, and he’d met Christian then too. When I eventually spoke to Christian he said he was trying to persuade Martin to give up that ghastly TV comedy series, and I got the impression he knew Martin well — in fact I said to him: "Is Martin a good friend of yours?" but Christian just answered casually: "I see him now and then at Perry Palmer’s." Of course Martin was years older than Christian — how old is Martin exactly? He never looks more than fifty, but I suppose —’

‘At the end of 1964- he would still have been in his fifties. Just.’ Well, he certainly looked younger that night. He was in great form, oozing charm — you know what actors are like —’ ‘Only too well.’

‘— lots of genuine feeling but all highly stylised. Well, I was just thinking it was time I left when I caught sight of Martin and Christian talking in a corner. Martin was lighting Christian’s cigarette, and suddenly ... well, it’s hard to describe, but in that one small gesture an entire hidden world seemed to be revealed. My instant reaction was: so that’s the way the land lies. And for the first time I found I could believe Christian’s relationship with Marina was platonic. I don’t actually believe that a platonic friendship can exist between a man and a woman unless one of them’s homosexual.’

I refrained from arguing that a sexual hang-up could also ensure a friendship remained platonic. Deciding to focus on the scene which I was convinced Charley had misinterpreted I said: ‘Are you sure you didn’t just see Martin making a pass? I mean, did you actually see Christian responding in any off-key way?’

Well, no, but —’

‘I’ve heard evidence that he was attractive to both sexes, but if one excludes the possibility of an affair with Perry, there’s nothing to suggest he ever responded to homosexuals.’

‘Evidence? Hang on, Nick! What’s this – a criminal investigation?’

Damn. I tried to cover my tracks. ‘Well, to be honest – and this is confidential.– I’m making a few enquiries for Marina. She’s got obsessed by the past and she wants to find out the truth so that she can set Christian’s memory completely aside before she marries Michael.’

‘Good heavens, does Michael know?’

‘No idea, not my business to ask. Charley, can I use your phone again? I’ll pay for these calls, of course ...’

Having retrieved my address book from my leather jacket which was hanging in the hall, I checked my memory of Marina’s new number and retired once more to Charley’s study.

‘It’s Nick,’ I said to Marina when she answered the call. ‘How are you?’ ·

‘Radiant! I’ve been to a simply heavenly film called –’ ‘Is Michael there? Is that why you can’t talk?’

‘Darling, I’m absolutely alone and utterly yours!’

‘I’ve been feeling very anxious about you –’

‘How wonderfully chivalrous but
don
’
t worry.
We’ll just blot out yesterday, so you needn’t give it a second thought.’ ‘I’m doing nothing but give it second thoughts.’

‘Well, if I don’t, you certainly shouldn’t.’

‘If you don’t now, you will later.’

‘Oh darling,
do
give your little crystal ball a rest, there’s a pet!’ ‘Okay, how’s Katie?’

‘I’ve no news, but I’m going back to Banbury tomorrow to see her.’

‘Cynthia’s there too.’

‘
God.
I’d heard she’d flipped out but I didn’t know where she was ... How’s the Christian investigation?’

‘Psychedelic. A jumble of weird patterns, all conflicting with one another. Marina, was Christian bisexual?’

Was Christian
what?
’

‘
I was wondering if he’d ever had a homosexual affair.’’Darling, you’ve blown your mind!
Christian?
’

‘
Okay, forget it. Look, I want to see Venetia. Do you know if she’s in town this weekend?’

‘Yes, I’ve just been to the cinema with her. We saw this stunning film called –’

‘Did she mention if she had any plans for tomorrow morning?’

‘As far as I know her only date’s with the Sunday papers. Oh, by the way, she gave me a message for you. "Undying love to my Talisman!" she said. "And ask him when our orbits are due to intersect again!" She made it sound madly suggestive.’

‘Great. Okay, Marina, glad you’re all right. I’ll be in touch,’ I said, and hung up. I was just about to leave the study when I remembered my earlier promise to Rowena that I would write to my father. Sitting down at Charley’s desk I found some headed paper, borrowed a pen and scribbled: ‘Dear Father: I’m okay. DON’T WORRY. I’m staying with Charley (and here’s the writing-paper to prove it). He’s fantastic, a super-priest. I like him better now he’s older. Tonight I joined his prayer-group and Bible-class. The class even clapped. Amazing. Accidentally met a drunken atheist (Norman Aysgarth) yesterday and played the Good Samaritan. What a bad trip! It was a relief to get to Charley, so well, so integrated, so happy. Now that you know I’m all right, please make a big effort and put your body back in order. I’ll be home soon and if I find your hands are still bandaged I shall be
very cross.
Love, NICHOLAS.’

I reread the letter. Had to mention Norman because the Community would have told my father that I had spent the previous night in Norman’s house. But there was no need to mention my exploits in fake-farmhouse country as I pursued my investigation of Christian. Better to keep quiet about those particular manoeuvres.

With the sealed letter in my hand I returned to the kitchen where Charley was rapidly composing his evensong sermon. On the table I saw
Peake
’
s Commentary on the Bible,
books by Alan Richardson and John Stott, and an article from the
Church Gaz
ette
on Donald Coggan, the Evangelical Archbishop of York. No Radicals for Charley; no John Robinson, no Maurice Wiles, no Dennis Nineham, not even that great 1960s Liberal Ian Ramsey, who was the spiritual heir of Archbishop William Temple.

‘What do you think of Ramsey, Charley?’

‘Dunelm or Cantuar?’ said Charley in ecclesiastical code-language, asking me whether I meant the Bishop of Durham or the Archbishop of Canterbury, both of whom, by a tiresome coincidence, had the same surname.

‘Ramsey of Durham.’

‘I like his Lancashire accent. Good to see a great prince of the Church with Kipling’s "common touch".’

‘Is that all you can say about him?’ I admired not only Ramsey’s unflagging efforts to bring the Church into the heart of secular society but his deep interest in medicine and healing.

‘Oh, of course he’s a good man, but whenever I hear people say he’s a churchman for our times, my blood runs cold. This mindless passion to reflect the spirit of the age is a disaster.’

‘You’re bucking the trend, Charley!’

‘So did Christ. He didn’t embrace the spirit of his age; he consistently questioned it, and when you live in an age like this one, where all the old certainties are pouring down the drain, it’s Christ you need to follow, not the latest Liberal who does nothing but swim with the tide.’

‘Aren’t you being rather unfair to Ramsey? Don’t you admire him for engaging with the world in the way he does? Think what guts it must take to have philosophical dialogues with logical positivists!’

‘Oh yes, yes, yes, very brave, very commendable, but what use are his philosophical dialogues to me as a parish priest? He’s almost as bad as the Radicals – they’re no use to me either.’

This bothered me. I felt Charley was wrong to hook up only to the conservative line but I felt the Radicals were equally wrong to promulgate a theology which had no numinous value at the grass-roots level.

‘Better Ramsey than the Radicals,’ I said, but in fact my admiration for Ramsey was limited. He was no mystic. He was a brilliant philosopher, but for me it was psychology, notphilosophy, which opened up Christianity. ‘To be honest I can’t really connect with him,’ I confessed to Charley. ‘Sometimes I feel I can’t connect with anyone.’

‘What about the other Ramsey – Michael of Canterbury?’ ‘Oh, he’s head and shoulders above the lot of them and he understands mysticism, but he’s so old, isn’t he, and that Father-Christmas look makes him seem unreal to the under-thirties. He needs to be trendier.’

‘Rubbish! He’s wonderful just as he is – holy and timeless! Beware of the quest for trendiness, Nick – it only leads to a Liberalism gone berserk!’

‘But Liberalism has things to say about updating the Christian message, Charley – it’s trying to talk to conservatives like you, the well-educated, dynamic priests who could transform the whole Evangelical wing of the Church. If the Evangelicals can get their act together as the result of the Keele conference –’

The Evangelicals already have their act together! They’re determined to stand by the absolute truths, and if you ask me, the Liberals’ ceaseless quest for relative truth at the expense of absolute truth does nothing but open up cracks for the Devil to infiltrate – and I don’t apologise for using the word Devil. It’s a pity more people don’t use it – why can’t they call a spade a spade? This is the Devil’s decade and most people can’t even see him, let alone recognise him! It’s pathetic. Imagine going down the drain and having no idea who’s flushing you into the sewer!’

‘I feel I’m going down the drain sometimes.’

‘My dear Nick!’ Charley was horrified.