Sidney Chambers and The Dangers of Temptation (21 page)

‘Never mind about me. I need some distraction now that I am back in circulation. What’s been happening
to you
?’

The Chamberses were initially reluctant to go into detail about the Ronnie Maguire case, given Amanda’s recent history. However, they then realised that their guest’s experience would provide a unique approach to the situation. She was also in such a combative mood that her opinion would be given quickly and directly. It therefore wasn’t long before they furnished Amanda with a full account of what Sidney described as ‘complicated shenanigans’.

‘We didn’t want to tell you too much about it,’ Hildegard explained. ‘Other people’s lives . . .’

Amanda’s response was as forthright as they had hoped. ‘Oh, you’ve no need to show any sensitivity with me. Things are what they are. Have you asked about Mrs Maguire’s will?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Whyever not? She might have changed it; particularly after her sister died. Who knows, Sidney, she might even have left her house to you.’

‘I very much doubt it. Besides I think Ronnie Maguire’s due to die first. He’s not in the best of health.’

‘Then why do you think he’s come back?’

‘Atonement.’

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’

‘As a minister I must remind you of the Christian teaching that it is never too late.’

‘I hope that doesn’t apply to Henry.’

‘I’m afraid it does.’

‘Well, you’re not going to have any luck convincing me on that one. His opportunity for forgiveness lapsed a long time ago.’

‘Your mind is made up?’

‘I’ve seen a lawyer and please don’t either of you try to persuade me all over again. How can I keep living with him and how can I ever know that there aren’t more secrets? One can never get a straight answer from him about anything. I’ve decided to go ahead with the divorce and that’s an end to it. It sounds like Mrs Maguire should do the same.’

‘I don’t think she can.’

‘Nonsense. This is Mrs Maguire we are talking about. She can do anything she puts her mind to. Do you want me to go and tell her myself?’

‘That won’t be necessary, Amanda.’

‘Then you might as well hear my other news.’

‘Romantic?’ Hildegard asked.

‘Not at all. I’ve given up all hope of that. In any case, it’s far too soon. The situation is this. I’ve got a new job in the
Department of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum. I am going to be their deputy curator.’

‘That’s marvellous,’ said Sidney.

‘I know I told you that I was having thoughts about a completely different life but this was too good an opportunity to give up. The collection is little short of astonishing. There are over fifty thousand drawings and two million prints from the thirteenth century to the present day. It’s a complete treasure trove: Dürer, Raphael, Rembrandt and Goya.’

‘It will be a new life for you,’ said Hildegard.

‘I’m starting with some research on Michelangelo. They have a fascinating selection of his work from different stages of his career. I can give you both a private tour. Yesterday I looked at a preparatory drawing for Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. It is such a wonderful opportunity to examine an artist’s first thoughts. I can study all those sketches and the beginnings of ideas and understand the formation of style; how things eventually become what they are. It’s such an overlooked area. We spend all our time looking at the finished article, never at the early stages. So I’m going to throw myself into my work. I think it’ll be much safer than chucking myself at a man.’

A few days later Mrs Maguire telephoned to say that Ronnie’s condition had deteriorated. The doctor and the vicar had both come but neither was as comforting or consoling as Sidney. She wanted to hear his voice and have him beside her. It was the only thing that would feel right.

Sidney could hardly say no and it was one of those rare times in his life when he knew,
exactly
, that he was behaving as he should, as both priest and friend; not that this was about him at
all. He shouldn’t be vain, he corrected himself, his presence should be entirely at the service of others.

‘It’s been a bit difficult, I have to say,’ Mrs Maguire began. ‘I’ve done my fair share of nursing but that was a long time ago and I’m frightened of making a mistake. I’m so anxious about most things these days. It’s like going for a walk and being sure you’re going to fall over but you don’t know when. You can’t trust a single step you take.’

She showed Sidney into the living room, where a bed had been assembled. Ronnie was asleep.

‘He’s asked me to put some money on the horses, said it will help tide me over, but you know I’m not very good at that kind of thing. My father used to call gambling the devil’s work.’

‘I am sure that a bet at this stage in both your lives won’t do too much damage.’

‘I don’t like to think of my old dad looking down on me.’

‘Perhaps he’ll turn a blind eye.’

‘You’ve always been a wild one . . .’

‘I trust that the Lord is merciful, Mrs Maguire. It’s my only hope.’

‘“In very present danger”.’

‘You know your prayers . . .’

‘I know my Bible too. It keeps me right.’

‘You’re an example to us all, Mrs M.’

‘You should call me Sylvia.’

‘I think that’s Ronnie’s prerogative. Has he been sleeping long?’

‘He always naps after an early lunch. We eat at midday, you know. I think it gives him an excuse to have a drink. Then he sleeps. He’ll wake in time for the racing, don’t you worry.’

‘I’ll wait for him.’

Sidney looked at the supine figure lying in front of him in his navy-blue-and-burgundy-striped pyjamas, breathing erratically. He prayed as Ronnie slept:

‘Hear us, Almighty and most merciful God and Saviour; extend thy accustomed goodness to this thy servant, Ronald, who is grieved with sickness. Sanctify we beseech thee, this thy fatherly correction to him; that the sense of his weakness may add strength to his faith, and seriousness to his repentance. That if it shall be thy pleasure to restore him to his former health, he may lead the residue of his life in thy fear, and to thy glory; or else give him grace so to take thy visitation, that after this painful life has ended he may dwell with thee in life everlasting, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’

Mrs Maguire placed her hand on his and Ronnie woke up, uncertain where he was. He smiled on recognising Sidney.

‘Now I know it’s serious,’ he said and began to sit up.

‘Don’t stir yourself on my account.’

‘It’s good of you to come,’ Ronnie gasped, before lapsing into a fit of coughing. ‘I don’t suppose I’ve got much longer.’

‘We live in hope.’

‘I think I ran out of that a long time ago.’

Mrs Maguire turned the television volume back up so they could catch the racing. She said she would leave the men while she tidied up. Ronnie fancied a flutter on Beau Champ in the Palace Handicap Steeplechase at Sandown Park at 5–2 and then Privy Seal at 8–1 in the three forty-five. He still thought it was cowardly just to back the favourites and there wasn’t enough money in it, but he didn’t want to take any more risks. He wondered if Sidney could place the bet for him.

‘I’d like to win so I can manage a bit more than paying for my own funeral. That’s not a very good way to go, is it?’

‘You’d leave a clean balance sheet.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it. But I want Sylvia to know that at least I tried to look after her. I’d like to leave her with a decent amount of money. This is the only way I know how to earn it. She disapproves of the gambling but what can you do? It’s all I know. You will explain everything to her, Sidney, won’t you?’

Soon after placing the bets and leaving the bookmaker Sidney called in on Dr Michael Robinson at his surgery in Trumpington. He hoped that their long friendship might excuse a little indiscretion.

‘What are Ronnie’s chances?’ he asked. ‘I know he’s not well.’

‘I’m afraid it’s not looking good,’ his friend replied. ‘Mr Maguire is in the final stages of emphysema. I don’t think I am breaching any confidence in telling you this as it will be perfectly obvious to anyone with even a smattering of medical knowledge. The man should be in a hospital, but his wife wants to care for him at home and I think we can allow that. It’s probably because he wants to keep smoking and drinking and that’s not going to make much difference to the final outcome. The damage is done, his heart is weak, and so eventually he’ll either have a heart attack or be unable to keep breathing. I’ve organised some nursing visits and I’ll call in when I can, but at this stage the duty of care is as much your job as it is mine.’

‘Do you think he’s fully aware of how little time he has left?’

‘I know he is. And his wife knows too.’

‘Mrs M?’

‘Is there another?’

‘I’m afraid there might be.’

‘Then someone should tell her. Mr Maguire has made it very clear that he doesn’t want a lingering death.’

‘Will you help him when the time comes?’ Sidney asked.

‘I will do as much as I can to make him comfortable. But I will not be able to “help” in the way I think you mean. There’s only so much I can do within the laws of the land. But you know, Sidney, I must get on with my labours; people who require medical rather than moral assistance.’

‘I thought you provided both?’

‘I wouldn’t want to do you out of a job, Sidney, would I?’

What lay unspoken between the two men was the memory of a series of deaths in the February of 1954 when Dr Robinson had been suspected of helping patients on their way into the unknown with larger than average doses of morphine. It was only after a frank exchange on the potential difference between God’s will and the nature of a merciful death that the two had become friends, united by a common desire to alleviate suffering and comfort the afflicted.

‘You know,’ Dr Robinson continued, as he picked up his Gladstone bag and held open the door for Sidney’s departure, ‘I have often puzzled over the phrase “a lingering death”. Other people might refer to that simply as “life”.’

Before he settled back down at home, Sidney took Byron out for a walk on the edge of the fens. The stooped, bare trees looked like a parade of old soldiers from the First World War. There was a fine rain but it was nothing that would get either of them
wet. Sidney could almost hear Mrs Maguire’s words telling him it was ‘only a bit of bange’. She had so many of the ancient East Anglian words for the weather. He had once heard her describe the misty drizzle over a riverbank as ‘dinge on the draw-ground’ and an evening fog as a ‘roke over the holm’. He wondered how soon all those old expressions would be lost.

It was dark before four. When he got back to Cathedral Close he poured himself a whisky and took down a volume of John Donne. He wanted to reread ‘A Nocturnal Upon St Lucy’s Day’ and think about death, the afterlife and the hope of love renewed after resurrection:

Study me then, you who shall lovers be

At the next world, that is, at the next spring:

For I am every dead thing,

In whom love wrought new alchemy.

When he had finished, and after he had thought for a while, he knew that he could not afford to be melancholy any more. He should go back out into the kitchen, see his wife and daughter, be glad of their company, and enjoy the simpler truths life had to offer.

Ronnie died early on the morning of Sunday 15th December, and Sidney visited his widow that very day. Mrs Maguire told him of her husband’s sharp decline after the doctor had seen him and how he had kept throwing off the blankets in the final stages.

‘Either his feet were frozen or his shoulders were too cold. He didn’t want me to tuck him in; he wanted to be free. I was sad that I couldn’t help him enough.’

‘You did all that you could.’

‘I wanted him to go happily. He won the treble at Chepstow: The Sentry, Oberon and King Candy. That’s nine pounds and five shillings on a one-pound stake. He was proud that I’d swallowed my principles and put the money on for him, even if it did mean leaving him for longer than I wanted to. It was good to get out of the house, though. It gave me a bit of time to think. He handed me a fiver but I only risked a pound. Didn’t tell him. Still, it paid out and I told him that he had a winner at the last. He was still fighting it, you know. He didn’t like to be told. Even by death. He went the distance, every furlong, and I was with him when he crossed the line. He even thanked me. Said he was glad he’d made his decision. Seen me at the beginning and the end of his life. You can’t say more than that, can you?’

Sidney remembered his father’s words in the D’Oliveira case. Cricketers must surely be judged on merit alone. Perhaps Ronnie, despite his terrible history and his obvious flaws, had proved his form after all.

The next day was Anna’s fifth birthday and also the end of her first term at school in which she had played one of the sheep in the nativity play (hardly the starring role, but there was no favouritism for clergy daughters).

She was given her first Sindy doll, a Booma Boomerang, a
Jack and Jill
annual, some Lego, and animals for the farm. Hildegard’s mother had sent her a series of wooden buildings to make a little German town, and her sister a traditional
Hampelmann
, or jumping jack, in preparation for what they hoped would be a homecoming visit the following year. A trip to
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
was also promised.

Amanda and Leonard arrived as dutiful godparents. Leonard seemed to have an extra spring in his step, whereas Amanda was still watchful, as if fate had one more trick up its sleeve or she was frightened that people might accuse her of something other than divorce. She had brought some paints and reminded Anna that one day they would go back to Florence together, when her goddaughter was older, and she would show her the most beautiful drawings in the world.

Sidney was saddened by the idea that there would never be a time when all his friends were happy, and the contrast with the children’s exuberance as they played their games of Pass the Parcel, Musical Chairs and Blind Man’s Buff only increased his sense of melancholy. He would have to pull himself together for Christmas and find his hope again.