Absolute Truths (72 page)

Returning to my study I telephoned my brother.

Peter was two years my junior, a solicitor who worked in
London and lived in Surrey. Priding himself on being a phlegmatic
philistine, he never became passionate unless cricket was discussed,
but this at least made him a restful companion and we had a not
unaffectionate relationship which flourished best when we were at
least fifty miles apart. He thought that the Church of England,
like the Royal Family and the Conservative party, needed to be
supported for the good of the nation, and he loyally went to church
once a year to hear the Christmas carols. His wife Annabel, whom
I could only endure in very small doses, told him what to think
on all important issues and I had no doubt that this was a great
relief to Peter, who was happiest when he did not have to think
at all. His three children, all older than mine, were thoroughly
conventional and well-behaved. (‘Very boring,’ Lyle had com
mented acidly when our own children had been torturing us dur
ing their adolescence.)

‘
Poor old Charley,’ said Peter, who was the only person who
still called me by the name now reserved for my son. ‘I’ve been
meaning to phone you. Hope you’re keeping your chin up.’

‘
Oh yes, soldiering on ...’ For some reason Peter and I regularly
communicated in this obsolescent patois of the British Empire.
Perhaps we were reflecting the fact that one of the few things we
had in common was our childhood memory of England in its
imperial prime.

‘
By the way,’ I said after we had exchanged the usual banalities
about our offspring, ‘there’s something I want to ask you.’ And having outlined Harriet’s theory about the Appeal Fund I asked: ‘If this
m
an did succeed in putting all the money back, is he still liable to
prosecution for embezzlement or could the whole manoeuvre be
classed as a repaid loan which can be conveniently forgotten?’

‘
Well, for a start he’s not guilty of embezzlement.’

This seemed almost too good to be true. ‘Are you sure?’

‘
Positive. It’s forty years since I opened a criminal law textbook,
but I’m certain embezzlement only applies to servants who cheat their masters. There’s a difference, you know, between embezzle
ment, larceny and fraudulent conversion.’

‘
Then what’s this?’

‘
If a fiduciary relationship’s involved, I think it must be fraudu
lent conversion, but I’d have to look it up to be sure. Do you
know for a fact that this man’s appropriated the money for his
own use?’

No. But he’s very reluctant for anyone to inspect the accounts
at the moment, and the circumstances do seem to suggest —’

‘
Oh, that sort of reluctance is very common! It usually means
the chap’s made a stupid investment and he’s waiting for the market
to perk up, but don’t forget it’s not a crime to be stupid. What
arc his powers of investment under the deed of trust?’
Unwilling to disclose Aysgarth’s identity I could not tell him
that the Dean and Chapter were governed by medieval statutes
which had not envisaged the complexity of twentieth-century
society. I merely said: ‘He has the power to invest money entirely
as
he likes while acting on behalf of the other trustees, but there’s
not much written down on paper. The trustees have verbally given
him carte blanche.’

‘
My God, trust the Church to set up something really amateurish
and then send the chaps on their way with a prayer instead of a water-tight legal arrangement! But never mind, with a bit of luck you should be able to survive this particular danger if the chap’s
merely made a dud investment and is now too embarrassed to
come clean – and even if the worst
is
true and he’s had his hand
in the till, you’ll still be all right so long as he puts everything
back. In theory he’d be liable for abusing the fiduciary relationship,
but in practice you’d have the option of forcing him to resign from
the trust without pressing charges. I’d have to double-check all
this, of course – I’m speaking purely off the cuff without knowing
the exact details of the case, but –’

‘
Supposing he doesn’t put the money back. Could he go to
prison if he was convicted?’

‘
Oh yes, but if he’s a decent chap with a good reputation they’d pop him into one of those open prisons which are like hotels and
let him out on probation after six months. Unless the crime was
really rather frightful.’

‘When does fraudulent conversion become really rather frightful?’

‘
When a clergyman has his hand in the till. Judges don’t like
that sort of thing at all.’

‘
Bishops aren’t too keen on it either.’

‘
Glad to hear it. Bishops are keen on some very odd things these
days. Annabel heard the Bishop of Radbury on the wireless the
other day and he said –’

‘I know.’

The whole country’s going to the dogs, if you ask me – and
talking of going to the dogs, be very careful with this
rogue
of
yours, Charley. You’re all right so long as he talks to you in your
role of clergyman, but don’t try and do more than listen or you
could wind up as an accessory after the fact.’

‘
You mean that if he puts the money back and confesses to
me
afterwards I’m allowed to keep quiet, but if he doesn’t put the
money back and turns to me to bail him out –’

‘
Don’t touch him with a barge-pole. Would you like a discreet
chat with an expert on criminal law?’

‘
Not while the theory of misconduct is still non-proven,’ I said,
but after we had finished our conversation I wondered if this was
the most sensible of replies.

I slumped back in my chair. Obviously I had to stop Aysgarth’s
criminal career, save the Church of England from scandal and
avoid winding up in the dock as an accessory, but how this trio
of miracles was to be accomplished I had no idea I also found
myself wondering how much I should tell Nigel and Malcolm; I
did not want them to wind up
as
accessories alongside me in the
dock, and I could see this was the kind of catastrophe which tainted
all those who came into contact with it. I remembered Boling
broke’s famous words about the sooty fate of those who wrestled
with chimney-sweeps.

Having indulged myself in this manner by imagining the worst,
I then cheered myself by reflecting not only that Harriet’s theory
was non-proven but that I myself had found it unconvincing.
Something unsavoury was going on, I was sure of that, but what
exactly was it and did it constitute a crime? Peter had reminded
me that it was not a crime to be stupid. I now reminded myself
that a business manoeuvre could be thoroughly shifty yet still fall
within the law.

The telephone began to ring, but again I made no attempt to
answer it and by the time the noise stopped I found I was staring
once more at Miss Peabody’s note which was still lying on my
desk. ‘Mrs Preston ... in Starbridge for a little holiday ... would
like to see you if convenient ...’ The sinister words, rendered all
the more sinister by the genteel phrases which they formed, began
to batter my brain like a battalion of miniature hammers, and
suddenly I realised that my professional and private lives were now
so fraught that I could only deal with them by being ruthlessly
pragmatic. The Aysgarth mystery could wait. Sheila could not. It
was Sheila who was the real emergency and Sheila who had to be
tackled without delay.

That was the moment when I finally allowed myself to remember
her firm refusal of my invitation to Starbridge and to ask myself
why she had changed her mind. From my point of view was this
revised decision a mere embarrassing inconvenience or a career-threatening emergency? The more I struggled to convince myself
that it was an inconvenience, the more I thought of Lyle saying
in her dryest voice: ‘I always believe the worst because the worst
is usually true.’

A feeling of dread settled with lea
^d
en precision in the pit of my
stomach. I glanced at my watch. The time was half past eight.
Telling myself that the truth, no matter how hideous, would be
better than such
agonising
uncertainty, I began to dial the number
of the Staro
Arms.

THREE

‘
Happy is the man who learns from his own failures. He
certainly won’t learn from anyone else’s.’

AUSTIN FARRER

Warden of Keble College, Oxford,

1960-1968

Love
Almi
ghty and Ills Unlimited

‘
Sheila!’ I said, gripping the telephone receiver with one hand and the arm of my chair with the other. ‘What an unexpected surprise
– welcome to Starbridge!’ As I succeeded in sounding delighted
I remembered with nausea my remark to Martin and Harriet that
priests too could display a talent for acting.

‘
Oh Charles, you must think I’m being very erratic, first refusing
your invitation and then dashing down here on an impulse –’

‘I always admire spontaneity!’ By this time my true self was watching the slick performance of my glittering image with an
appalled fascination. ‘Have you dined yet?’

‘Well, no, but –’

‘
Neither have I. Why don’t I join you at the Staro Arms in
twenty minutes?’

That would be lovely, but are you quite sure it’s convenient?’

‘
Can’t wait to get out of the house and relax!’ I declared. ‘See
you soon!’ And then I let the receiver slide stickily from my sweat
ing hand.

Upstairs I shed my shabby clothes and put on a black suit, purple
stock and pectoral cross. For
a
moment I thought of a knight, donning the suit of armour which would keep him safe, but I
knew that this was far too
romantic
an image and that the truth
was far shoddier: the actor was merely making the required quick
change before playing the next nerve-wracking scene. Retiring to
the kitchen I began to polish my shoes in order to delay the
moment of departure.

The minutes crawled by. My shoes were now glistening glassily,
but I was still trying to dredge up the strength to leave the house
when once more the telephone started to ring.

Desperate for any excuse to delay my ordeal I hastened back to
my study to take the call. ‘South Canonry,’ I said, sinking thank
fully into my chair.

‘Dr Ashworth?’

‘
Loretta!’ I shouted. ‘How wonderful!’ Dimly I was aware that
this was my real self talking. ‘Where arc you? Have you slipped in
an extra visit to Starbridge?’

‘
After a greeting like that I’m tempted to rewrite my schedule!
No, Charles, I’m still in London — I just thought Pd give you
a
quick call before I fly home tomorrow.’

‘
Maybe I’ll join you at the airport. I feel in the mood to emigrate.’
Things are really bad, are they?’

‘
Not while you’re around. What have you been doing?’

‘
Thinking of you, of course! What else?’

‘
Continuously?’

‘
Well, I did take some
time
out to talk to Dido Aysgarth who
invited me to shop at Harrods with her tomorrow — she’d forgot
ten when I
was
leaving. My, how that gal makes me laugh!’

‘
I doubt if Stephen will laugh when he gets the bills,’ -I said
without stopping to think.

‘
Oh, there’s no financial problem at the Deanery! Enid Mark
hampton tells me Dido has a private income and Stephen inherited
money from a rich uncle.’

I stopped lolling in my chair and sat up straight. ‘When did that
happen?’

‘
Some time back in the
‘fifties,
Enid said — when he was a Canon
of Westminster.’

‘
Ah, that would explain my ignorance. Stephen and I saw little
of each other before we wound up in Starbridge ... How did
Lady Markhampton know?’

‘
The Flaxtons told her — and of course they’ve known Stephen
well for years. But forget Stephen for the moment because there’s
something important I want to say and that’s this: get back to
your writing, and
get back soon.
If you do something you really
enjoy, something you find particularly fulfilling, you’ll start feeling
more integrated and that’ll make it easier for you to cope with the
bereavement.’

‘
I’d start feeling more integrated if only we could have dinner
tonight. How I wish I could cancel my dinner-engagement, charter
a helicopter and bear you off to the Savoy Grill!’

‘
Is your dinner companion young and female? I feel I need
someone to hate.’

‘
What makes you think I’m not on my way to another of Dido’s
little
dinner-parties for sixteen?’

‘
If you were, you truly would cancel the engagement, charter a
helicopter and bear me off to the Savoy! So long, Charles. Stay
gorgeous, avoid being kidnapped by anything under forty and
get
back to that book.
Okay?’

‘
Okay.’ Heaving a sigh I wished her a safe journey home and
said goodbye with extreme reluctance.

The telephone rang again as I was dragging on my glassy shoes
in the kitchen, but I knew I could delay my departure no longer.
Opening the front door at last I hurried outside to my car and left
the phone still ringing in the dark deserted house.