Glamorous Powers (46 page)

‘You’re being thoroughly pig-headed and proud again!’ exclaimed Anne exasperated. ‘You know perfectly well you need some extra cash at the moment – take the money, pay off the loan from the Order and for goodness’ sake buy some more clothes before the government starts to ration them! Daddy ordered all his clothes from a Starbridge tailor who used to work in Savile Row.’

The word DADDY was like a red rag to a bull. Knowing I was being difficult but finding I was quite unable to stop myself I said obstinately: ‘Savile Row’s not my sort of place. Unnecessary extravagance. I’ll find a cheap tailor elsewhere.’

‘I don’t want my husband dressed in cheap clothes!’ exploded Anne, and at once the chasm of class yawned between us again but this time it was she who made the effort to bridge it. Controlling her temper she said with a sympathy I hardly deserved: ‘Darling, don’t think I don’t understand what you’re going through – I know how hard it must be for you to adjust to your new life and believe me, I spend a lot of time worrying in case you’re secretly miserable.’

That made me pull myself together with unprecedented speed. The last thing I wanted was to be such a tiresome burden to her that she spent her time worrying about me. ‘I’m fine!’ I said firmly. ‘In fact I’m even beginning to feel comfortable with the servants.’ But I knew this statement still bore more resemblance to wishful thinking than to reality.

My extreme sensitivity on the subject of servants arose not merely because of my mother’s background, although of course the fact that she had been a servant inevitably precluded me from adopting the comfortable upper-class assumption that servants were a race apart who welcomed being treated with an authority devoid of inhibitions. My own inhibitions, which I knew I now had to overcome, also arose from the fact that I had not been brought up in a house well-populated with servants. Priding herself on her housekeeping skills, my mother had preferred to do her own cooking, shopping, dusting, polishing and sweeping; a succession of raw young girls had been employed to shift coal, help with the laundry and toil over the heavy
cleaning, but since these creatures had been mainly confined to the scullery I had seldom encountered them. Certainly I had never had to give them orders.

When I had married, Betty had dealt with the inevitable female who had to be employed as the maid-of-all-work, and again my contact with the servant had been minimal. It was true that years later as an abbot I had been waited on hand and foot by numerous monks performing the work of servants, but since we had all been brothers, all doing our different work for God and for the community, my inhibitions had not been aroused. However my position at Starrington Manor was very different from my position at Grantchester, and I found it hard not to feel that a walk through the house was a walk through enemy territory where a housemaid lay waiting to ambush me around every corner. Ridiculous though I knew my inhibitions were, they still contrived to make me feel debilitatingly ill at ease in the early weeks of my marriage, but in fact the servants were very kind, possibly because they had soon realized I had no intention of meddling in their routine, possibly because I treated them with consideration and never rang bells unnecessarily. When I sensed I had won their approval I did venture to hope that I would adjust to them in the end, just as I would eventually adjust to the fact that I should from time to time accept money gracefully from my rich wife, but the next obstacle in my path certainly seemed as if it might defy all my attempts to adjust to it. I found myself becoming increasingly troubled by Anne’s social life.

I had already realized that Anne had a wide circle of acquaintances in the county but I had not imagined that she would have to see them so often. Doubtless I had been misled by my memories of the unsociable ‘Miss Fielding’ at Allington, and I was surprised when she showed a pronounced inclination to be gregarious.

I am a sociable person in the sense that I find people interesting and am more than willing to devote myself to their spiritual needs, but I have a horror of vacuous conversation conducted amidst a surfeit of food and drink. Moreover after I had embarked
on my curacy I found I was too tired in the evenings to regard dinner-parties as other than a senseless ordeal. I had been willing to be paraded at the estate office; indeed I had enjoyed my tour of the Home Farm. I had also been willing to be paraded before Anne’s acquaintances; it seemed only polite that we should offer them hospitality to make amends for their exclusion from the wedding. But a life-time of regular parading would have been unendurably tedious. ‘I’m not suggesting we should give up our social activities entirely,’ I said, trying hard to be tactful, ‘but in future I must restrict myself to the engagements which are essential to my position as curate. And talking of my curacy –’ I hesitated but felt impelled by the seriousness of the matter to continue ‘– have you thought yet about how you might best help me in the parish? I know I said I was willing to let your role evolve, but perhaps the time’s come for you to give the evolution a helping hand. If you spent a little less time being a social butterfly and a little more time considering matters which are truly important –’

‘How dare you call me a social butterfly!’ cried Anne. ‘You know perfectly well I prefer to be curled up with a good book instead of talking to some old bore about hunting, shooting and fishing, but these are people I’ve known all my life and I can’t cut them altogether just because I’ve married a clergyman! Some social obligations simply have to be honoured; it’s a question of being polite and kind and decent – and if you can’t see that, I think you’re being thoroughly unChristian!’

Eventually we sorted ourselves out. I said that of course she must honour her social obligations and of course it was wrong of me to make additional demands on her time when she was already burdened with her vital war-work on the estate and of course it would be sufficient if she did no parish work at all but merely came to church on Sundays. Anne said that of course she would do parish work and of course she would cut down ruthlessly on our social engagements and of course she understood my point of view. ‘I’m sorry I lost my temper,’ she added, ‘but I couldn’t bear it when you started behaving like a Victorian autocrat bringing up a child bride.’

I apologized again before saying tentatively: ‘I’m afraid I do tend to be very single-minded about my work, but I feel so deeply that when one’s working for God every other activity is potentially a pointless distraction.’

In the silence that followed I realized that at last Anne was seeing me not through a romantic haze but in the cold clear light of reality, not as an alluring ex-monk but as a fanatical priest who thought nothing of carving up his wife’s social life and dictating to her about how she should organize her spare time.

I panicked. ‘My darling Anne, you mustn’t think I don’t fight hard against fanaticism – of course balance and moderation are always essential in a religious life –’

‘It’s all right,’ said Anne abruptly. ‘I love you as you are, fanaticism and all, but I can see now that I’ve underestimated the importance of this curacy. I’ve been thinking of it as a hobby for you while you waited for your call to unfold. I didn’t realize you’d take it so seriously.’

‘All work for God should be taken seriously.’

‘Of course. I’ve been stupid.’ Impulsively she gave me a kiss. ‘I’m sure you’ll make a huge success of the parish!’ she exclaimed with her warmest smile. ‘I shall feel so proud of you!’

And that was the moment when I knew I could never burden her with my rapidly expanding problems as the curate of Starrington Magna.

However before my problems as a parish priest could unfold in their full magnitude I was busy repairing the rift with my children. On my return from the honeymoon I wrote again to Martin and this time, to my profound relief, my communication bore fruit. I received a letter which read:

‘Dear Dad: Just collected your last two screeds – my old cow of a landlady hadn’t forwarded them. Congratulations on the bride. That’s fast work for an ex-monk. In fact that’s
fast work for anyone. But presumably at sixty one feels there’s no time to lose, and why the hell shouldn’t you have some fun while you still can? If that bitch Ruth is behaving as if you ought to be censored by the Lord Chamberlain, take no bloody notice. MARTIN. P.S. Despite my advancing years I got into the Army, first by persecuting the military father of an old schoolfriend (long live the old school tie) and second by persuading the army medical men in a triumph of acting that I’d never had a homosexual thought or too much to drink in my life. So now I’m busy learning how to kill people and I hope you’re pleased. P.P.S. New address enclosed but please don’t write unless you can produce a letter which doesn’t read as if it’s come hot from the pen of a religious maniac’

I wrote the required careful reply, urging him to visit me as soon as he had leave, but no further word came. However at least I was able to assure Anne that I had been correct in assuming Martin’s failure to attend the wedding was the result of ignorance, not ill-will. I could also tell her with pride that he was anxious to fight Hitler, but my pride was shadowed by the dread that in his desire to convince me of his masculinity he had picked a role he would never be able to sustain.

To distract myself from worrying about him I turned my attention to Ruth and wrote:

‘I have been thinking so much of the difficulties which are keeping us apart, and I wonder if it would ease matters if you made your first visit to Starrington without the family? Much as I would like to see Roger and the children I feel the need to give you my undivided attention.’

At this point I paused, remembering how DADDY, that repulsive specimen of masculine arrogance, had caused Anne so much unhappiness by treating her as if she were second-rate, and the next moment my guilt was driving me to add:

‘Please think of this invitation from my point of view as well as your own. I’m so anxious to show you off to Anne! You’re my only daughter and
most important to me.
It’s not enough for
me to tell Anne how proud I am of you. I want her to see for herself how smart and attractive you are.’

A week later Ruth and I were travelling from the station to the Manor in Anne’s Rolls-Royce.

Ruth was looking exceedingly fetching in her over-dressed way but I knew she was nervous. Her nervousness unfortunately took the form of a manner refined to the point of caricature, but I told myself to suppress all critical thoughts and be grateful that she was on her best behaviour.

Anne was nervous too, and her nervousness took the form of abrupt remarks; I was reminded of ‘Miss Fielding’ at Allington. However she tried hard to make Ruth feel welcome and when she asked to see photographs of the children I could sense her guest becoming more relaxed.

Ruth appeared to admire the house, but to my annoyance I saw her testing the drawing-room mantelshelf for dust while Anne was looking the other way. Mindful of Ruth’s interest in domestic matters I suggested that Anne might show her the kitchens, but Ruth at once became absurdly grand and declined. However after luncheon I made the right move and bore her off to the chapel, not merely because I wanted her to see it but because I knew she would welcome the chance to have me to herself. As she was wearing high-heeled shoes a walk through the woods posed difficulties, but fortunately Anne was able to lend her a pair of Wellington boots.

‘Well, it’s a lovely place, I must say,’ said Ruth, glancing back at the house as we crossed the lawn, ‘but isn’t it funny that someone of her class could be content for her home to be so shabby and old-fashioned? I’d get a new three-piece suite for that sitting-room
and
I’d do something about the plumbing! That Victorian lavatory in the downstairs cloakroom is really very peculiar.’

‘Stop worrying about the lavatory and enjoy these beautiful woods.’

‘Yes, it’s a nice garden, isn’t it, and of course she’s nice too, I can see that, although since she’s got money I’m surprised she’s not smarter. What a pity she doesn’t do something about her hair! Still never mind, the only important thing is that she’s nice, although I must say you seem rather like a fish out of water in these “county” surroundings. I shouldn’t have thought it suited you in the least – a little flat over our garage would have been much more to your taste, but I do see that it’ll be nice for you to have a young companion in your old age.’

‘Look to your left,’ I said, ‘and you’ll see the chapel.’

‘Oh yes, how sweet. Of course the age difference doesn’t matter now when you’re an active sixty and she hasn’t the dress-sense to look as young as she should, but in ten years’ time –’

My patience snapped. I rounded on her. ‘Ruth –’ I began, but I won the battle for self-control. All I said in the end was: ‘My dear, I do beg you not to be jealous.’

‘Jealous! What an obscene thing to say!’

I suddenly felt I could not bear her to enter the chapel. The thought of her polluting its serenity with her troubled psyche was repugnant to me. Still struggling not to lose my temper I said: ‘I’m sorry. Obviously I should make allowances for your profound unhappiness.’

‘I’m not unhappy!’

‘I think you are – indeed how can you not be unhappy when you’re cut off from God and adrift in such an unreal world?’ I knew this was quite the wrong thing to say but as my patience finally expired I could conceal my true feelings no longer. ‘I can’t tell you what a grief it is to me that you’ve stopped going to church and that your children are being brought up in an utterly secular environment –’