The Benefits of Passion (11 page)

‘Excuse us a moment,' he said grimly.

‘I may be gone some time,' called Isabella, as he led her firmly out of the marquee. They were out under the stars. She glanced at his face. Oh, God. He's really pissed off. ‘I'm sorry. I'll be good.'

‘Now where have I heard that before?'

‘I'm sorry! Please don't take me home, Barney.'

But he carried on walking. She'd lost her sense of direction. Where was he leading her? Up the garden path. She stumbled and giggled. It really was some kind of garden, tucked away behind a hedge. The party sounds continued behind them. ‘“Ain't misbehavin',”' sang the band. Suddenly it dawned on Isabella that they were about to. Her stomach plunged like a mad roller-coaster. Surely his cast-iron self-control wasn't going to give way?

He picked her up abruptly. She yelped and found herself standing on a garden bench facing him. His hands were on her thighs, sliding higher, gripping her bare rump. He was kissing her through the holes in her dress, lips climbing like a plant up a trellis, inching over hip, past waist to breast, then down the other side. She could hear herself moaning, ‘Oh, my God, Barney,' as she gripped his hair in her trembling fingers. He was shaking too, panting. Another five seconds he'd be hauling her down and backing her up against some convenient tree. In a sober instant she found that she couldn't bear to see him reduced to this. It felt like killing something. She cradled his head in her arms. What am I going to do? she wondered in panic. He'll go ape-shit if I change my mind now. Help! He was pulling her from the bench.

‘I need a pee, Barney!' she squeaked in desperation.

His lips were at her throat. ‘Can't it wait?'

‘No. I'll burst. Tell me where the loos are. I'll come straight back.' There was an awful pause. Then he released her. They walked in silence back to the college. Isabella dared not look at him.

She hid in the cubicle, unable to believe what he'd been about to do; even less able to believe she'd stopped him. After all the effort I've put into seducing him! What if he cut up rough and called her a prick-tease?

When she finally emerged he was looking stunned. They wandered back to the marquee and began dancing in a slightly restrained way, apologizing if they accidentally brushed against one another. A slow number struck up. They hesitated a moment then drew closer together. A chaste four inches of air separated them. Damn, realized Isabella. I forgot to have a pee, after all that. She stifled a giggle. The song ended. They stepped away from one another, stranded in the brief silence.

‘Last dance,' announced the loudspeaker.

The floor became crowded. Barney drew her closer this time. She experienced the warm glow of the virtuous. Her head rested on his chest. I'm in heaven. But all too quickly it was over and they were walking back to her college.

With every clip of her silly shoes on the pavement Isabella felt resentment mounting. Why didn't I just let him get on with it? Shit, shit, shit! He'd taken fright. All she'd get now was a chaste peck on the cheek. She fought her ignoble impulses. Just for once she wouldn't ruin everything. They entered her college. She'd been expecting him to say goodbye at the gate, but here he was seeing her to her room. An interesting idea struck her. Had her sudden about-turn whetted his appetite? Maybe he was a predator and spurned what was offered him on a plate. He wanted the thrill of the chase, did he? Hmm. They were outside her door.

‘Well, thanks again, Barney.'

‘You're welcome.' He seemed to be lingering. Isabella bit her tongue to prevent herself inviting him in for coffee. Playing hard to get was not in her usual repertoire. She stood on tiptoe and gave him that chaste little peck.

‘I won't ask you in . . .'

‘Mmm.'

‘I'll just say goodnight, then . . .'

‘Goodnight.'

All at once the tension was too much. Fuck hard-to-get! It wasn't working. Isabella pulled him to her, sank her teeth into his neck and clung on like a limpet.

‘Get off! Ow! Isabella, get off me!' He tried to wrench her away. In the end she let go. He stood rubbing his neck. ‘Have you left a mark?'

‘Yep. But don't worry. God will know you didn't score. That's what counts. Who cares what the rest of them think?'

His cheeks were flushed. ‘You just made a
big
mistake.' He turned on his heel and left.

In her room Isabella screeched with rage and hurled a mug against the wall. Why do I always, always have to do that? She cursed her stupidity and flung herself sobbing on to the bed.

Annie glared at the page. Do as I tell you! she commanded. But her characters were clearly not going to be ordered about. Her valiant attempt to get Barney's trousers off for Isabella had been thwarted – astonishingly by Isabella herself. Annie guessed it was her own disappointment at seeing Barney reduced to a lusting fool that had made her intervene. Besides, there were the practicalities to consider. No self-respecting evangelical ordinand would roger his ball partner in the Principal's garden to the strains of
Ain't Misbehavin
'. No matter how great the temptation. Even if they were married. ‘Ah, Principal,' pump pump, ‘I don't believe you've met my wife . . .'

Tim the chaplain was returning to his flat. He glanced across the dark quad and saw a big man in a dress suit stride angrily towards the main gate. Barney? He was about to call his name when the figure hesitated, wheeled round and began walking back the way he had come. The footsteps echoed. After a moment they stopped again. There was a brief silence, then the figure turned once more, muttering, ‘Bloody bloody bloody . . .' Tim stood listening as the footsteps walked out of the college and faded off along the street. It occurred to him that his fifty pounds had just had a very narrow escape. He smiled and went up to his flat.

CHAPTER 10

Atonement. From the Middle English
at one-
ment. Reconciled. In harmony. Annie scratched her head with her biro. Her desk was piled with books and notes for her essay on The Cross. It was Thursday afternoon again, an hour before her Coverdale group was to meet. That morning she had been for a chat with Tubby about Bishopside and had confessed her fear of parish life. Tubby had listened, affirmed and fed her chunks of Megs's flapjack. (‘She makes it with blackstrap molasses, you know.') Annie had left feeling absolved. She promised herself a fresh start, and this was why she was working on her doctrine essay, and not sending Isabella round to apologize to Barney yet again.

As always, it was a question of finding a structure for what she was trying to say. A framework. Frameworks were not her natural medium. They provoked the kind of sweaty panic she felt when trying to fold up a map or erect a deckchair. Edward had no difficulty in this department. His essays, though a little pedestrian, always had a clear logical argument to them. So did his sermons. In fine evangelical style they had three alliterating points. ‘There are three things I'd like to say about this passage,' he would boom from the pulpit, ‘Prayer, Praise and Perseverance.' It was what Ted and Annie called the Bible, Brogues and Barbour school of preaching. Edward's theology could be folded out briskly like a portable clothes-airer ready to support any biblical text or doctrinal theme. If only I could get a grip on Scripture like that, thought Annie. Nice neat rows of socks and pants. When she read the Bible or thought about atonement she felt as though she was wrestling with seventeen double bed sheets. Her framework creaked and collapsed under the weight.

Before she could pursue this image any further she heard the clump of brogues advancing down the corridor.

‘Come in,' she called.

‘Well? How did it go yesterday?' asked Edward, pushing a bunch of carnations into her hands. ‘Thought you needed cheering up.'

‘Oh, Edward, thanks.' He leant down to let her kiss his cheek. Mwah! She put the flowers in a vase. They were white, frilled with red at the edges. Chaste with a spice of passion?

‘Now what?' he demanded, seeing her smile as she went to fill the vase at the sink.

‘Nothing. They're beautiful.'

‘How was Bishopside?'

‘Well, it's given me plenty to think about.' She could feel herself blushing slightly. It would be natural to tell him about meeting William, but she found herself overcome by guilty furtiveness. There was no time to analyse this.

Edward was asking, ‘What? What do you mean? What did it give you to think about?'

She started to tell him about the possibility of remaining a deacon.

He gave a nod of approval. ‘Good girl.'

‘That's very patronizing, Edward.'

‘Well, you know what I think about women vicars.'

‘Yes, I do.'

‘I'm not bothered about women priests, but a woman shouldn't have charge of a parish. Not biblical.'

‘I said
yes.
I
know
what you think.'

‘There are lots of super girls who'd make excellent curates or parish assistants, but I can't think of a single one who'd make a good vicar.' They argued pointlessly for a while, stamping up and down the familiar battle lines, until Edward dropped the subject and asked whether she was going on holiday with Ted again that Easter. She nodded. ‘Thought I might gatecrash on my way down from Scotland. If Ted and Mrs Watts don't mind, of course.'

‘I'm sure their daughters will be delighted,' remarked Annie.

Edward groaned. ‘I'll count on you to protect me, Annie.'

‘Shall I pretend to be your girlfriend and beat them off with a rolled-up newspaper?'

‘Gosh, Annie. That would be wonderful. Do we have to pretend, though?'

She smiled, used to this kind of gallant banter. She wondered occasionally what he'd do if she took him up on it. Would etiquette demand that he went out and shot himself?

‘Maybe I should drag William along. They could pester him instead.'

Annie jumped, fearing that Edward knew about her lunch and was testing her reactions. His face seemed as guileless as ever.

‘Perhaps they wouldn't fancy him,' she ventured.

‘Oh, come off it, Annie. He's always got women chasing after him. I don't know why you've taken against him,' he added irritably.

‘He's a misogynist.' She was waiting for a suitable slot in the conversation to say, By the way, I had lunch with him yesterday.

‘Oh, rubbish. He is not a misogynist.'

‘That's how he comes across.' Each second that passed gave the lunch another layer of significance.

‘He's had his share of problems,' conceded Edward. ‘You know. Girl trouble. He's a bit uptight about relationships.'

‘Mm.' Somehow it was too late to come clean.

‘He's a good man. I know he can be a bit abrupt.'

She clasped her hands together, aware that she was making Edward into a complete fool. Here he was, defending the good character of the man who only yesterday had invited her to sit on his face. ‘It's just me, I expect,' she said.

‘You'd like him if you knew him better.'

‘Yes. I'm sure I would.' Help. Her reluctance was making him bloody-minded. He'd start throwing them together with evangelistic zeal, determined that she should value his foul-mouthed, bullying friend. The only way to stop him would be to tell him the truth, but she knew he'd be furious. She wouldn't be able to stop him going round to sort William out. And then William would be furious with her for telling tales. Annie had always been terrified of causing trouble.

After Edward had gone she began to wonder. Am I sure I'm not just trying to keep my options open? She tried examining her motives and decided that she honestly thought she was harbouring no intention of going to bed with William. Or, at any rate, she honestly thought that she honestly thought it. She didn't even like the man. But how could she say what treacherous motives lurked in her unconscious?

The rest of the Coverdale group would be arriving in a few minutes. Annie began to pray. Lord, you know I'm trying to please you, to do what's right. I'm trying not to be devious, as far as I can tell. But even as she prayed she could sense a defiant writhing in the depths. Help me. You've got to help me! But she could hear footsteps and voices approaching her room and she was forced to postpone her prayer.

Cambridge term ended. Tim waived his right to Isabella's fifty pounds. She stayed up a few more days to take in the last round of parties, but it all seemed trivial and empty. She resisted any urge to go crawling round to Latimer to apologize to Barney. Now where have I heard that before? he might quip. Besides, sod it all, he'd hardly been a gilded saint himself. It was down to
her
that he was still
celibato intacta
, or whatever the phrase was.
He
could bloody well do the grovelling for once.

Four miserable days passed. He was obviously not coming. She began to fear that she'd never see him again. She should at least call to say goodbye. The inconclusiveness of their non-affair was unbearable. A clean break was called for. She'd call round and say All the Best.

She stopped at the pigeon-holes for her post. There were a couple of snotty letters from the bank and the credit-card people.
KINDLY RECTIFY THIS SITUATION IMMEDIATELY
. Kindly bollocks, thought Isabella, shredding the letters and dropping them in the bin. There was another letter, which her mother had forwarded from home. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but it felt promisingly like a wedding invitation. She opened it as she walked to her bike.
Barnaby Hardstaff
leapt out. He's getting married! Wait –
Please pray for Barnaby Hardstaff who will be ordained deacon . . .
Thank
God
for that! There was a note with it:
Darling Isabella . . .
darling! –
Are you still talking to me? If so, would you like to come to my ordination?
Details followed.
Love Barney.
Kiss kiss. What! Not a word of apology. The bastard thinks he just has to click his fingers and I'll come running! she thought, as she pedalled furiously to Latimer Hall. Darling Isabella, love Barney! And he'd got hold of her home address from somewhere.

It was late afternoon. The shadows were lengthening and the air was full of the scent of mock orange and lilac. Her tyres skidded to a halt on Latimer drive. She hurried through the archway. People were milling about on the lawn. Jackets and ties, pretty dresses. Some event must be under way. There was Barney. She was about to dart across to him when she saw he was laughing with a tall attractive woman. The woman laid a hand on his arm, and he gave her the smile Isabella had thought he reserved especially for her. So that's it, she thought with a curious detachment. Ah, well. She turned to slip away, but someone recognized her.

‘He's over there.'

Barney turned and saw her. There was nothing to do but summon some hasty dignity and go to him.

‘Isabella! I thought you'd gone.'

‘No.' Brave smile. ‘I'm off tomorrow. Thought I'd pop in and say goodbye.'

‘This is Mary.'

Even braver smile. ‘Hi, Mary.'

‘Hello, Isabella. I've been longing to meet you,' said Mary, as though she and Barney had shared a lot of cosy chats about poor funny old Isabella. ‘I'm Tim's sister. Your chaplain, Tim.'

‘Oh!'

‘I've known Barney since he was a spotty adolescent.' The two exchanged a comfy going-back-years smile. ‘I hear you wore a terribly naughty dress to the ball and looked stunning.' Isabella laughed gaily, ha ha!, wondering how Mary could be so apparently generous.

‘Barney totally disapproved,' she said.

Barney waggled his eyebrows.

‘Barney, you're impossible!' chided Mary. ‘You mustn't let him get away with it, Isabella. He'll turn into one of those prim, pompous clerics.' Ha ha! they all laughed gaily. ‘Tim thinks you're
won
derful,' went on Mary.

‘Really?' Mary was smiling at her. This was something of a first for Isabella. Really nice women like Mary usually lost some of their niceness when they met her. She must be very secure about Barney indeed.

‘Well, anyway,' said Isabella, ‘I can see you're all busy. I'll say goodbye. All the best, Barney.' She set off with a trembling lip.

There was a murmur and Barney fell into step beside her. Perhaps Mary had said, ‘She's upset. Go with her, darling.'

‘I sent you an Ember card,' said Barney, as they reached Isabella's bike.

‘A what?'

‘A card saying I'm getting ordained.'

‘Oh, I got it. Thanks.' Mary would have known what an Ember card was.

‘So you'll come?'

‘Look, Barney, I'd really love to, and all that, but I'd better not.'

‘Why not?'

‘It's been great fun this term, but I can see that I've been kidding myself. I mean, shit, you're going to be a vicar, for God's sake. You won't want someone like me hanging around.' He was listening in a compassionate pastoral sort of way that made her want to burst into tears. ‘Mary's very nice.'

‘Yes.'

She couldn't gauge anything from this response. ‘She's the sort of woman you need,' she persisted, trying to smoke him out. ‘I mean, she's
good
.'

‘Mm. The thing is I prefer bad girls, Isabella.'

‘You do?'

‘And you,' he said, ‘are without a shadow of doubt the worst girl I've ever met.'

‘Oh, Barney!' She flung herself at him. He grunted like a rugby player hit by a flying tackle. ‘Nobody's ever said that to me before.'

He chuckled. ‘I can't think why not.'

She wrapped her arms tight round his neck. ‘I love you.'

‘Come to my ordination, then.'

‘OK.' There was still a mark on his neck. She touched it with a guilty finger. ‘Sorry about that.'

‘Mm. A little hint, Isabella.' She scowled. He was going to say something prim, pompous and clerical. ‘Keep the hickeys below the dog-collar line.' The chapel bell began to chime. ‘I'll have to go. It's the leavers' service.'

‘Is Mary staying with you?'

‘With Tim.'

‘She fancies the pants off you.'

‘Men and women do have
other
ways of relating, Isabella,' he said, in a slightly nettled way. Aha. He knows she's in love with him.

‘I hope you're kind to her, Barney.' He began unwinding her arms from his neck. ‘You'll have to be kind to all those pathetic women parishioners when they fall for you.' He pushed her away, muttering something which might conceivably have been oh, piss off. ‘I'll see you on your Big Day, then. Shall I meet you outside the cathedral, or something?'

‘I'm afraid not. You won't see me till we all process in down the aisle. I'll be the one in the long black dress.' The chapel bell stopped ringing. ‘Goodbye, Isabella.'

‘Don't I get a proper kiss?' He leant and kissed her cheek. ‘That wasn't a proper one!'

‘It was extremely proper.'

She stuck two fingers up at his retreating back then cycled off, giddy with excitement.

That seemed like a satisfactory breaking-off point. Annie put down her biro and looked at her watch. The rest of her Coverdale group would already be in the college bar. She checked how much money she had in her purse and set off to join them.

Bars and pubs always made her nervous in the way she imagined church intimidated non-churchgoers. Would everyone stare as she walked in? What if she sat in someone else's place? Supposing there were unwritten rules she was transgressing? Growing up in a strict teetotal household had left Annie incapable of walking confidently into a bar and ordering a drink. She didn't like beer. Spirits felt somehow too grown-up – she could imagine people thinking, She looks a bit young to be drinking whisky. She usually settled for fruit juice. And, to crown it all, there was the ordeal of buying a round. If you only ever drank orange juice, would people really expect you to take a turn? How would you remember seven different drinks, how could you carry them all, and had you got enough money to pay for them? Perhaps God, in his infinite mercy, would call her to work in a Muslim country.