Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (14 page)

And indeed it was, with Victoria sponges, poppy seed, lemon drizzle, chocolate, carrot, fruit and the famous walnut special all laid out on trestle tables in the village hall for the eighty mourners. The bake yielded a grand profit of £7 5s 3d which was efficiently collected in special donation boxes that Malcolm made ready for dispatch.

Sidney told Mrs Maguire that she had admirably fulfilled the commandments in the Book of Isaiah, honouring the dead, respecting the living and treating the unknown stranger as her own flesh and blood. He was proud of her and said that he was sure that her sister would have been too.

‘It’s what she would have wanted, Mr Chambers. She saw those news reports just as she was in her final decline. She cried about it. We both did. And Ronnie and I never did have children. It’s all I can do for those poor little mites.’

‘And you’ve done them proud, Mrs M.’

‘I feel heart sorry. It’s been a sad time.’

‘It has indeed.’

‘I think I need a bit of a lie-down after all that worry.’

‘You mustn’t overdo it.’

Mrs Maguire gave her former boss a shove in the arm. ‘You’re a fine one to talk, Mr Chambers. I bet you’ve got something up that sleeve of yours.’

‘You’re wrong there, Mrs Maguire. For once in my life my pastoral duties are my only concern.’

‘Then I hope you enjoy them. You never stay out of trouble for long.’

‘I don’t seek it out.’

‘I know what you say. “Sometimes trouble comes to me.” You attract it, that’s your problem, Mr Chambers, and you don’t know how to resist it. You need a repellent like they have for insects. Something that keeps danger away.’

‘If I had that then I might be out of a job.’

‘Not at all. You could just enjoy the services and be paid like any other clergyman.’

‘Ah yes, the quiet life.’

‘Except you don’t really want one of those, do you?’

Sidney knew that this was true and felt a little guilty stopping off and spending money on a pint with Geordie after the funeral, but he felt that he could do with a bit of cheering up. It was a Thursday. He missed his friend and felt in need of a chat about recent events.

The inspector was in a genial mood and looking forward to his summer holiday in Dorset. Sidney suggested that one year perhaps they should join forces and spend some time together. Hildegard had even suggested that they all go to Germany, but Geordie wasn’t too sure about that idea. He liked his routine. Besides, he told his friend, he had too many children and now that the eldest had started producing her own, his home
was overrun. Three of his grandchildren were currently staying while their parents both worked.

‘Although Cathy and I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘They are God’s reward for having children.’

‘You seem a bit young to be a grandfather.’

‘No. I’m the one that’s normal. You started late, remember? I can enjoy them and throw them up in the air while I’ve still got the energy. You’ll be an old man when the time comes. People have kids later and later these days; Helena and Malcolm need to get on with it. You’ve had yours but it’s probably too late for Amanda, don’t you think?’

‘She has raised the subject of adoption.’

‘Any child would be lucky to have her as a mother . . .’

‘She is upset about Biafra. She even mentioned . . .’

‘Blimey. That would be brave. I wonder what her parents would say to a black baby?’

‘Amanda’s beyond caring what other people think.’

‘I don’t know how you’d go about adopting one of them, though. You’d have to go there and find an orphanage while there’s a war on.’

‘Her husband isn’t keen. I would even say that he was quietly hostile. I imagine he hopes it will all blow over. He probably feels he’s had enough drama after his first wife and would prefer a quiet life. I saw her only the other day.’

‘Connie Richmond? They let her out?’

‘I don’t think she goes far. It’s only for walks on the meadows near Chettisham. She hardly strays further than a mile or two.’

‘Still, she should have someone with her from the home, Sidney.’

‘Perhaps they’re short-staffed?’

‘Quite easy to get lost on the fens.’

‘As you know, I don’t think she is as helpless as everyone supposes. She’s more calculating.’

‘You still think she killed that friend of hers, Virginia Newburn, don’t you?’

‘Accidents happen; but I am a bit worried, Geordie, if truth be known. Virginia Newburn’s may not be the only death she knows about. Connie Richmond hints at something more.’

‘There have been no reports of anything untoward recently. Perhaps she enjoys making threats?’

‘Put it this way, I don’t think Amanda will ever feel quite secure as long as that woman’s alive.’

‘I can’t see her being much trouble as long as everyone stays well away.’

‘It may not be that simple. Something’s wrong, Geordie. I don’t quite know what’s the matter with Amanda either.’

‘You’re always worried about
her
.’

‘It’s not just her marriage or the Biafra situation. I think she’s having some kind of crisis. She seems a bit lost. She feels her life is petty, pointless and banal.’

‘She’s not the only one.’

‘Now then, Geordie . . .’

‘Don’t you “now then” me, man. What’s Amanda’s beef? She’s got a decent enough husband, a nice house in London, and all the clothes she could possibly want. She lacks for nothing. If she’s that concerned about whatever she’s worried about, she can always give money to charity. Or go shopping again. The main problem with Amanda is that she’s got no problems.’

‘There’s something she’s not telling me.’

‘Perhaps it’s that she knows she should have married you all along. She’s made an almighty mistake.’

‘It’s not that, Geordie.’

‘It bloody well is.’

‘No. It’s something else; another layer of truth.’

‘And are you going to uncover it or wait until you’re told what it is?’

‘I don’t know, Geordie. I think I’d like to find out before anything dramatic happens.’

‘Well that would make a nice change for once,’ his friend replied. ‘Stopping something before it starts. It’d be a bit of a first for us.’

‘You’d think we’d be getting better at this kind of thing, wouldn’t you?’ asked Sidney, finding no answer at the bottom of his empty pint glass.

It was Day Two of the last test match of the summer: England versus Australia at the Oval. The weather was set fair, England were batting with D’Oliveira and Edrich at the crease, and Alec Chambers was in an expansive mood, chuffed to have been introduced to Wilfred Rhodes shortly after he had arrived.

‘You know, Sidney, his first game for England was W.G. Grace’s last? Meeting him is like shaking hands with history.’

Rhodes was the first Englishman to have scored 1,000 runs and taken 100 wickets in test matches. ‘He did it sixteen times,’ Sidney’s father continued. ‘No one’s bettered that, you know.’

‘I thought he was blind?’

‘He can still follow a game. Someone told me that his hearing is so good he can tell when the new ball’s been taken because
it makes a different sound on the bat. We mustn’t judge by appearances. You, of all people, should know that.’

Sidney was not quite in the mood to be lectured at by his father so cheerily, but they soon settled down to enjoy the game. The sun was out and D’Oliveira was in an imperious mood, batting in a sleeveless sweater. It was the perfect time for idle conversation. In the breaks for drinks, lunch and tea, father and son could discuss anything from family news to the ebb and flow of the game.

Sidney saw a young couple eating ice creams with their son. It was his first cricket match and he filled in a scorecard after every ball. ‘Training him up,’ said Alec Chambers admiringly. ‘Do you ever wish you’d had a son, Sidney?’

‘No, I’m happy with Anna.’

‘She’s a bright little button. Jen’s got the boys. I’ve given up hope with your brother. He tells me he isn’t ready for commitment. That’s one excuse for being a layabout.’

‘He’s a musician.’

‘You know what I mean . . .’

‘I hope I haven’t been a disappointment to you, Dad.’

‘Not at all. I was only wondering. It was the sight of that young man with the scorecard. He reminds me of you.’

‘I don’t remember being that diligent.’

‘No, but you were a very serious little boy. You had such concentration.’

‘I think I’ve lost all that now. Hildegard is always complaining about how distracted I am.’

‘We both think she’s been the making of you, Sidney. You’ve done well there, my boy. You took a risk and it paid off.’

‘I hope I’m enough for her.’

‘You can’t always make up for the past.’

‘She would have liked more children. But we met too late for that.’

‘I always think it sad that those who want children so badly often have such difficulties, while other people can’t stop having them or even try to get rid of them. And this Biafra business is dreadful. I’ve sent some money but there seems no end to it. Such a waste. So many children. It’s heartbreaking.’

‘Hildegard’s organising a concert. Amanda’s made a hefty donation.’

‘Good for her. It’s a pity
she
doesn’t have any kids. Bit of a mess there, I must say.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Henry Richmond, of course.’

‘I didn’t know you knew him?’

‘I don’t, really.’

‘Then why are you mentioning him now?’

‘I don’t know, Sidney. Perhaps it’s because I once had to look after his wife.’

‘Connie?’

The two men stopped to applaud a D’Oliveira cover drive to the boundary, silently acknowledging that this was a breach of confidence. Then Alec Chambers resumed.

‘I knew Henry’s father. It was a rum do. I don’t think I’ve ever told you. Bill Richmond telephoned on a Sunday evening of all things, telling me that the case required my utmost discretion. The woman was in pieces. It was a sad state of affairs, I must say.’

‘Can you tell me what it was?’

‘A mental breakdown . . .’

‘Do you know what caused it?’

‘It was a long time ago: 1957 or 1958, I think. I’d better not go into details. Patient confidentiality, you understand.’

‘I was just wondering, Dad. Might Connie Richmond have had an illegal abortion? One that went wrong and you had to sort it out?’

‘Sidney, that is alarmingly astute of you but you must know not to ask a doctor such questions.’

‘It’s true, though, isn’t it?’

‘The law is different now, thank God. At least the politicians have done something about it.’

‘So you did?’

‘Sidney . . .’

‘It’s just the two of us, Dad . . .’

‘And several thousand spectators.’

‘They’re watching the cricket.’

‘All I will say is that I helped patch her up and things have improved a great deal since then. It doesn’t make the business any less grim but there’s less chance of a death now that proper doctors can get on with it when it’s necessary and the mother’s life is in danger.’

‘Were they married at the time?’

‘I’m pretty sure they were not. The girl was lucky to survive the trauma of it all. She was only seventeen. Irish, I remember, from County Clare. Such a pretty little thing. Very frail.’

‘She doesn’t seem so fragile now.’

‘You know her?’

‘She lives just outside Ely.’

‘Well, well . . .’

‘I think Henry still sees her. She’s in some kind of institution. He must assume that he is responsible.’

‘He was. I’m sorry if she’s no better.’

‘She has other issues. There was a bit of shoplifting and feelings of panic and abandonment. I know Henry married her eventually but unfortunately that didn’t work out or make anything better.’

‘He probably proposed out of guilt. That’s never a good start to a marriage.’

‘Do you think he’s a good man?’ Sidney asked.

‘I don’t know, Sidney. I deal with health rather than morality. How people behave is more your department.. I’m only left to deal with the consequences.’

There was a change in the Australian bowling and Alec Chambers was clearly growing tired of the conversation. ‘It’s easier in cricket, isn’t it? You’re judged by how you play when you’re out in the middle. You play each ball on its merits. There’s nothing you can do if you fail. In football and rugby you’ve got the rest of the game to try and redeem yourself. In cricket, if you make a mistake and you’re out then it’s all over.’

‘It can be a very unforgiving game.’

The crowd applauded a lovely leg glance. ‘I tell you one thing. I don’t know whether Basil D’Oliveira’s a good man or not but he’s a great cricketer. He bats without a hair or a nerve out of place. It’ll be impossible not to select him for South Africa.’

‘Do you think so?’

Sidney knew that this was a political hot potato. A naturalised Englishman, D’Oliveira had originally come from South Africa, where he was classed as a ‘Cape coloured’ and would not be welcomed back by a regime that practised apartheid.

His father did not think this was a problem. ‘On this showing? That’s how you judge a man, Sidney, form. You look at what he’s like out in the middle, playing under pressure. Can he respond to changing conditions? Has he got the stomach for the fight? The odd thing about D’Oliveira is that he’s not so good when it’s easy. He’s a pressure player. Remember the way he stood up to Sobers and Hall in his first test against the West Indies; the eighty-seven not out he got at Old Trafford, the eighty-one against Pakistan last year . . .’

Alec Chambers stopped to admire a fine sweep to the boundary. ‘He times the ball so sweetly; it’s not always about strength but judgement.’

‘Wasn’t he dropped when he was on thirty-one?’ Sidney asked.

‘Doesn’t matter. You ride your luck. The cricketing gods gave him a second chance. I suppose Henry Richmond’s had one of those too. Dolly wasn’t picked for the third and fourth tests and is only playing because Knight’s injured. It’s how you take your chances, and how you respond to adversity that matters. Now look at him. That’s a beautiful late cut. He’s got a hundred. Well played, sir.’

When Sidney returned, after one too many beers with his father and a long hot train journey from London, his hope of a quiet evening in front of the television watching Spike Milligan’s
World of Beachcomber
was soon dashed.