Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (19 page)

‘“I don’t know why you’re doing all this,” he said, “you’ve got no defence at all.” As soon as I had some leave Alice took me to one of the last of the races at Fakenham. It was just before they had to stop because of the war. She knew her horses, I’ll tell you that. I remember we made nearly three guineas. Well, you can imagine what happened.’

‘You didn’t say you were already married?’

‘I don’t think she knows to this day.’

‘How on earth did you keep it a secret? You must be a lot older than her. Didn’t she ask?’

‘I don’t know, Sidney. I must have given her some of the old flannel. I didn’t intend to do so but the war changed everything. It was a bit of company while there wasn’t much going on. I thought the Cambridgeshire Regiment was more like the Home Guard. First we were in Norfolk, then Scotland and then Cheshire. But after Japan came in it all went black. We were sent out to Singapore and then up-country to reinforce the 15th Indian Brigade at Batu Pahat. It was a rum time. We lost so many men. In the end we had to surrender and we became Japanese prisoners of war. The one person who helped me survive was Alice’s brother, John. I don’t know how we got through
it all but somehow we did, and when we got back to England I knew I wasn’t ready to go home. I didn’t even know what home was any more. I couldn’t imagine it. I just stayed with John in Holt, near Stiffkey, where it all began. Then I saw Alice again and couldn’t leave her. She had a child by then, my child, a little boy. He was called Frank after my brother. Then we had two more very quickly and I could hardly go back to Sylvia after that. I didn’t want a confrontation. It was best to say I was missing, presumed dead.’

‘And you were happy?’

‘For a long time.’

‘Does Alice know you’re in Grantchester now?’

‘I don’t think she cares too much about my whereabouts at the moment.’

‘You left under a cloud?’

‘I made a mess of things, Sidney. Money, really. It wasn’t another woman or anything like that. I suppose I couldn’t settle. But let’s not spoil the day. There’s another race and our luck’s turned. We have to take advantage of fortune when it comes. I can’t tell you everything at once. It’s been too long a life.’

Emboldened by his victory in the previous race, and having just witnessed horse and rider in perfect rhythm, Sidney backed Lester Piggott with an each-way bet on Grey Portal at 100–30. The horse came third with Ronnie triumphing once more with Zarco, at 13–8, winning by six lengths and a short head.

‘I don’t want to tell Sylvia too much about all this,’ said Ronnie. ‘I wouldn’t want her to think any the worse of me. You know how judgemental she can be.’

‘She has much to criticise.’

‘I am aware of that. But she wouldn’t like it. I think she’d rather not know. She likes to be in control of things.’

‘She’s always wanted the first and last word.’

‘And I’m minded to let her have them.’

Ronnie placed a pound on the favourite, Spring Glory, in the Highflyer Stakes at 7–4 (‘He beat Jacobus by five lengths at York. This is a dead cert, I’m telling you’) whereas a sentimental Sidney, mindful of the time of year, put half a crown on Advent at 100–6.

Neither horse was placed and both men ended up down on the day. Despite the revealing and informative nature of the conversation, Sidney could not help but feel that his first day betting at the races was probably going to be his last.

The next week was spent on routine tasks in Ely: the preparations for Christmas, visiting the sick and learning a modern musical accompaniment to the liturgy that was pitched at attracting young pilgrims.

The news from Grantchester was sparse. Dr Robinson had been called in to check on Ronnie Maguire’s wheezing chest, Barbara Wilkinson had written one of her desperate letters (in turquoise ink) to ask if Sidney had done anything about ‘the imposter’ and Malcolm Mitchell telephoned to say that he had been offered the incumbency of St Bride’s Church, Fleet Street. This was the journalists’ church and Malcolm was beside himself with happiness. It could not have been more perfect, he said. He would now be able to live properly with Helena, their weekly commuting could cease and they could begin to think about starting a family.
He was sure that this had been the result of Sidney ‘putting in a word’ and wanted to thank him for the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.

The gratitude was cheering and Sidney was in a particularly good mood as his wife prepared the first casserole of the autumn. He picked up a spoon, tasted the sauce, and added a little paprika. Hildegard asked him what on earth he was doing.

‘I am savouring the stew of destiny with the spice of fate.’

‘Leave it alone, Sidney. Nothing is safe when you are near. Not even an innocent
Eintopf
.’

‘Suspect everything! Leave nothing to chance!’ Sidney joked, wrapping his right arm round her waist.

‘But trust your wife,’ she replied, giving him a little kiss on the lips. ‘That’s the point of marriage. It should be the one part of your life where there is no doubt. You must know that by now.’

Sidney stepped back to open a bottle of wine. ‘But what if my beloved alters her personality before my very eyes?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘People are changed by marriage.’

Hildegard began to make the dumplings. ‘I think we’re supposed to improve each other. That’s what it says in the
Church Times
.’

‘I didn’t know you read it.’

‘I have a look and try to understand what you are thinking.’

‘I’m not sure you’ll find it helpful. But that doesn’t matter. We may well become different people through marriage but the question is – how much of our original selves remain? Do you still feel German, for example, or have you lived here long enough for that no longer to be an issue?’

‘My nationality will never leave me. It is who I am. That’s why I want to take Anna next summer; to show her that she can feel at home there too.’

‘Do you think you would feel more yourself if you went back?’

‘And we lived there? I don’t know, Sidney. I miss the language, the people and the food. I miss the white
Spargel
in the spring; the raisin bread and the Christmas markets. I miss the natural world, the forests and the feeling of being at home. But I’m also happy here with you. It is possible to belong to more than one country.’

Sidney laid the table as Byron nosed around him, hoping for random scraps of food.

‘My father keeps banging on about the D’Oliveira case; especially now the South African tour’s been cancelled. I wonder how much we are the products of our nation and whether we can escape the unpalatable past to become different people? Can one ever become something other than oneself? I know that this is the heart of the Christian message, that we shall all be changed, but isn’t there a part of us that remains immutable? I mean, take Ronnie. Even though he’s clearly married someone else, is he still Mrs Maguire’s husband? There’s been no divorce.’

‘And they were married in the sight of God?’

‘They were. But he has broken his vows.’

‘He’s the same man.’

‘But is he? That’s what I have to find out.’

‘And what of Mrs Maguire?’ Hildegard asked as she rolled her dough into balls for the dumplings. ‘What does she want? Why did she ask you to meet them both? You think it was to have a good look at him; but what if she also wanted you to look
at her, to check that she wasn’t giving away too much too soon? Do you not think you might have been concentrating too much on the man rather than the woman?’

‘I think I can look at things through her eyes.’

‘But what about seeing her through your own?’ Hildegard was about to rest her hand on Sidney’s shoulder but stopped when she realised it would leave a floury mark on his cassock. ‘Perhaps I should go and see her instead of you? This may need a woman’s point of view.’

‘That’s not a bad idea . . .’

‘I haven’t been back to Grantchester for over a year. I could look in on Malcolm and congratulate him on his new job.’

‘He’d like that.’

‘I might even take Anna and Byron.’

‘Provided you don’t lose him again.’

‘He is familiar with the Meadows. I think we’ll be all right. And, who knows, Mrs Maguire might even tell me a little more than she has told you? Woman to woman.’

‘If you could, I’d be grateful.’

‘I will listen to her very carefully.’ Hildegard smiled. ‘But I promise not to be a better detective than you.’

‘It’s not a competition, my darling.’

‘Sidney,
mein Lieber
, I never said that it was.’

The following Thursday, Sidney was emerging from Jesus Lane after a tedious meeting at Westcott House about the training of ordinands in ‘the modern world’ when he saw Ronnie Maguire going into the bookie’s. He appeared to have lost weight and his walk was more hesitant than it had been only a few weeks previously. Sidney even wondered if he
might have had a fall. There was certainly less confidence about him.

After an awkward greeting, Ronnie confessed that he wanted to put a large number of bets on at the same time: Sir Ivor in the Champions Stakes, The Elk in the Observer Gold Cup and Be Friendly in the Vernons Sprint at Haydock Park. He even suggested that Sidney do the same, as the prices were good and they could get longer odds by betting in advance.

There was another reason for his visit, he admitted. He hadn’t been well and he was finding it hard to leave the house. He got so breathless. Perhaps Sidney would like a drink after he had placed his bets. Ronnie wasn’t sure when he’d be out and about again.

It would have been churlish to refuse, given how slowly the man was moving, holding his right side and limping slightly, and so they soon made their way to the Baron of Beef. Sidney noticed that Ronnie was no longer wearing his gold watch. He wondered if he might have pawned it. He still had not penetrated the mystery of why the man had left Stiffkey after so many years. All he knew was that it had been about money.

‘You would think I’d have known better,’ Ronnie said at last. ‘I feel such a fool. But that’s where greed gets you.’

‘You don’t have to tell me about it.’

‘I don’t mind. You could take it as a warning, although I don’t think you’d ever be so foolish. I’ve seen how cautiously you bet.’

‘Perhaps I take enough risks on other things, Ronnie. Besides, I don’t have very much money.’

‘You don’t need much to get in a mess. All you need is a bit of fortune to begin with. You mistake it for talent and then you’re doomed.’

‘Sylvia told me that you had always been good with numbers.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘You’re an accountant, aren’t you?’

‘I was. I did the books on the farm. Then I started to help a few other people with their tax and finally, just over ten years ago, I got myself an office in Holt. Nice staff. We did well. I started recommending investments for clients and ways of saving tax. It was all perfectly legit, avoidance not evasion. Then I thought we could do with a stockbroker and I met this bloke at the races. He was a friend of Alice’s brother: Terry Grant. Some people called him Cary because he had the good looks and the charm and Terry sounds a bit like Cary if you’re not listening properly . . .’

‘He had the patter.’

‘Certainly did. We started off quite cautiously. Inflation was around 3.4 per cent, the rate for savers was 3 or 4 per cent and in the first few years our clients were averaging a 7–8 per cent annual return. That was good enough, but others were making a bit more and I asked if we could push it on a bit.’

‘You asked? Or he suggested that you did so?’

‘He was the kind of man who could make you think it was all your idea. He started talking about South African mining stocks; not just gold and diamonds but better value and faster profits in underpriced minerals: titanium in Kenya, copper in Uganda, platinum in South Africa and Rhodesia.’

‘I thought there were sanctions against Rhodesia?’

‘There are. Terry said that made the chance of profits greater. There were fewer deals and plenty of people who still wanted the products and who were prepared to pay more. I
don’t know how true that was. I never got the chance to find out. The idea was that they were all minerals with a future: titanium in the aerospace industry, copper wiring in electronics, platinum in shipping. Like Harold Wilson, he went on about the white heat of technology and the consumer revolution, the metals used in cars, fridges, music systems, all the growth industries for which there was public demand. We all want cars, we all want to travel, we all want the best of modern life, and here was a chance to invest in the raw materials. It couldn’t fail.’

‘Except that it did.’

‘Human error. Terry never invested at all. He took money from new investors, gave us back our half-yearly profits, which were always better than we had been expecting, 12–15 per cent, and persuaded us to put more and more back in. He even gave Alice a pair of diamond earrings to keep us sweet. Finally, the returns were so good I remortgaged the house. I thought we could pay it all off, go to the Caribbean, live the life of Riley. Then Terry disappeared off the face of the earth. God knows where he went. At first I thought he might have had an accident or that he was dead. I even worried about him. Then I realised. What a bastard. He just vanished. No one knew where he had gone, not even Alice’s brother, who was supposedly his best friend. He lost money too. The worst thing was . . .’

‘You hadn’t told Alice you’d remortgaged the house.’

‘How did you guess?’

‘It’s why you’re here.’

‘That’s about it. She went crackers when she found out. We were about to lose everything. She had to talk to the bank, sell the horses, get other friends to help. I was kicked out sharpish. I had a suitcase and a wad of cash and that was that.’

‘What about your friends?’

‘I didn’t want the shame. I just had to get out. And then I thought of Sylvia and what I’d done and I wondered what had happened to her. Perhaps I could do one thing in my life to make things right. It’s a stupid idea, I know, but I haven’t been thinking straight. You won’t tell her all this, will you?’