A Glass of Blessings

  'Yes,' I agreed, imagining him rehearsing the interview, going over his opening sentence like an actor practising an entrance. 'What did he say?'

  'That is perhaps hardly for me to let out here and now, in such a place as this,' said Mr Bason, glancing around him at the absorbed groups of young people glimpsed dimly through the greenery.

  'I don't see why not,' said Rodney smoothly.

  'You could give us the general gist of the conversation,' said Piers, 'though such accounts are usually improved by an imaginative retelling.'

  'Oh, there will be no necessity for that, I can assure you!' said Mr Bason, his voice becoming shrill with indignation. 'I heard every word, as I could hardly have failed to. Father Thames likes his glass of Tio Pepe before dinner - as who does not? And I was about to take the decanter in to him, having cleaned it - not washed it, I hasten to add - during his holiday, when I became aware of voices coming through the open door of the study.'

  'Whereupon you became rooted to the spot, as one naturally would,' Rodney suggested.

  'Well, I could hardly move, could I, or my presence would have become known and general embarrassment would have ensued. I had to stand there outside the door with the decanter in my hand. Ransome must have slipped into the room without my realizing it, for the first thing I heard was his voice saying, "Father, I feel I ought to tell you that I have decided to get married." Father Thames is a little deaf in the right ear, you know, and Ransome's tone was of such a loudness that I judged him to be standing on Father Thames's right "Married, did you say?" Father Thames repeated. "Yes," said Ransome. Then there was silence for a minute, during which Father Thames must have made some gesture of surprise or disgust, for he then said, "Well, Ransome, this is a shock, I must say. No sooner is my back turned than this happens. It is really too bad. First it was the South India business and doubts about the validity of Anglican Orders, and now this. Oh, it is too bad, too bad."' Mr Bason paused and waited as if for applause.

  I felt he had been rather overacting the part of Father Thames, though I could believe that the conversation had in general been faithfully reported.

  'I could tell that Father Thames was upset,' Mr Bason went on, 'and when Ransome told him that it was Miss Beamish he was going to marry, he said, "I blame myself for this. Had I been able to have you to live here at the clergy house, this would never have happened." '

  'There's some truth in that,' I said. 'Poor Father Ransome was rather pushed about, wasn't he? First living at the Beamishes, then with his friend Father Sainsbury, and now in the guest room at the clergy house.'

  'But surely,' said Rodney, 'if people are going to marry, they will. He would have met Mary Beamish, anyway, in the course of his work.'

  'I suppose so,' said Mr Bason. 'But one does feel it is letting the side down, to use a slang expression.'

  'How did the interview end?' I asked.

  'Unfortunately just at that moment I heard Bode coming downstairs so I had to move, though it was extremely awkward. I shouldn't have liked Father Thames to feel that I'd been listening at the door. So I didn't hear the end. But the atmosphere at dinner was a little strained. Bode was gassing away about parish matters - oh, the most trivial things, hiring a coach for the social club outing to Runnymede, and getting the piano in the church hall tuned, or something - I don't believe any of them noticed what they were eating.'

  'What had you given them, Wilf?' asked a flat little voice, and I realized that Keith had come back to our table.

  'Eggs in aspic and a dish of lasagne verde - in compliment to Father Thames's Italian holiday, you know - but I might just as well not have bothered.'

  'What a shame,' I said.

  'I'm not staying there when Father Thames goes, I can tell you,' said Mr Bason indignantly. 'Bode can have Mrs G. back and welcome to her - tea after every meal with two spoons of sugar in it, except in Lent. It's a real penance for him to give up sugar, I can tell you.'

  'Then it seems a praiseworthy thing to do,' said Rodney evenly. 'I suppose you'll be looking for another job, then?'

  'Yes, and I think I've found it,' said Mr Bason. 'Antique shop in Devon that does teas as well in the season. I'm going down there at the end of the month.'

  'You'll find it ever so tiring being on your feet all day, won't you, Wilf?' asked Keith. 'I'm just about worn out now, I don't mind telling you, and I haven't got your corns.'

  'I'm not sure that I shall be doing that kind of work,' said Mr Bason grandly, ignoring the reference to corns. 'I see myself more on the antique side.'

  'You will be surrounded by beautiful things,' said Rodney, with a sideways glance at me, 'which is just what you like, isn't it?'

  'Let's hope they really will be beautiful,' said Piers. 'So many antique shops seem to have nothing but junk in them these days, especially in seaside towns:

  'Oh, this is a most reputable and old-established business,' said Mr Bason. 'They tell me that Queen Mary often used to pop in - in the old days, of course.'

  'That does sound reassuring,' I said. 'Any connection with royalty is that, don't you think?'

  'With our royal family certainly,' Mr Bason agreed, 'though some one could mention wouldn't inspire quite the same confidence.'

  'Will your mother be joining you?' I asked.

  'No, Mother prefers to stay in Harrogate, and of course it's useful for me to have a pied-à-terre up there.'

  'Well, Bason, you do seem to have fallen on your feet as far as jobs go,' said Rodney. 'How did you hear of this one?'

  'An advert in the Church Times. One does feel that if one sees something there it will be all right, and so it has proved to be. Very convenient all round - A.-C. Church two minutes,' he added chirpily. 'Reservation.'

  'Ooh, I am tired,' said Keith petulantly.

  'If you've finished we can go home,' said Piers, looking up at him.

  'Do we leave him a tip?' Rodney whispered to me.

  'I don't see why not,' I said. 'I suppose we should be going home now.' I turned to Piers. 'You must come and see us some time,' I said lamely.

  'He's generally here in the evenings nowadays,' said Keith rather bossily. 'So you must pop in and have a chat.'

  I could not quite see myself doing that, but perhaps at this time of night and after the exhausting day we had had I could not imagine myself doing anything.

  'And I'm going to help you choose curtain materials,' said Keith, 'don't forget?'

  'No, of course I won't,' I said.

  It seemed impossible to avoid giving Mr Bason a lift in our taxi, and he made us promise to call and see him should we be anywhere near his antique teashop on our holiday.

  'We can easily be not all that near,' said Rodney, after he had left us. 'I should think it will be impossible to turn off from the stream of holiday traffic - you know how it is.'

  I looked at the closed door of the clergy house and imagined Mr Bason creeping quietly up the stairs, perhaps pausing outside doors to listen for a moment I wondered if any of the clergy would still be up at this late hour, praying or meditating, or just lying awake reading a thriller. It was not the kind of thing one could expect to know.

  The next morning I met Father Ransome in the square. It was the first time I had seen him alone since Mary had told me the news of their engagement, so I hastened to offer him my congratulations and best wishes.

  He thanked me and sighed heavily.

  'But what a business it's been,' he said wearily. 'Father Thames took it badly, as I feared he might.'

  I said that I was sorry to hear it.

  'It was a difficult interview, and to make matters worse I knew that Bason was listening outside the door. I hadn't anticipated an audience so I didn't really do myself justice. Still, it's all settled now.'

  I began to wonder, as one so often does, whether in spite of his being a clergyman he was really good enough for Mary, but I could hardly ask that question in so many words.

  'You're very lucky,' I said. 'Mary is such a splendid perso
n.'

  'Yes, isn't she,' he agreed. 'She'll be able to do so much for me. And of course we have both been bruised by life, as it were.'

  'Have you?' I asked doubtfully, for I couldn't quite see that this applied to him, unless he had suffered more from his doubts and uncertainties than I had given him credit for.

  'We all have been, come to that, haven't we?' he said rather lamely.

  'That's what life does, of course - bruises one,' I said, thinking of Piers. 'One shouldn't assume that one has a monopoly of suffering.

  Rolled round in earth's diurnal course

  With rocks and stones and trees ....'

  'I shouldn't have thought that of you,' he began almost accusingly.

  'All right then,' I said, beginning to laugh.

  'Of course it's a bit embarrassing, Mary being rather well off,' he said.

  'But just think of all the good you'll be able to do with the money,' I said quickly.

  'Yes, we shall, shan't we?' he said thankfully. 'Money need not always be an embarrassment.'

  'When you have a parish of your own you'll need a car,' I said. 'A scooter is all very well for a curate to go visiting on, but a vicar should be more dignified.'

  'People have been so kind,' he said. 'Do you know, Coleman even offered to lend me his Husky for the honeymoon?'

  'Could you accept such an offer?' I asked.

  'I suppose not, in the end. It will be like Abraham and Isaac. I could not ask that sacrifice of our good friend Bill. I think we shall buy a car quite soon. Of course the wedding will be very quiet.'

  I reflected that the marriage of two people who had almost taken vows of celibacy, as it were, ought not to be a riotous affair, but I managed not to say so.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  'I suppose this must be it?' I said, leaning out of the car window. 'It's definitely an antique shop, and I can see people sitting at tables inside.'

  'I can't park here,' said Rodney, in the irritable, slightly agitated tone common to motorists in England in the holiday season. 'You'd better get out quickly and I'll join you when I've found somewhere to put the car.'

  I went in through the low door, and sat down at a small round table in a corner filled with lustre jugs and horse brasses. I noticed that the walls were hung with old prints and engravings, framed in a contemporary style with white frames and coloured mounts; warming-pans, fire-dogs, toby jugs, ships in bottles and other objects of antique and tourist interest were displayed on shelves. I wondered what it was that Queen Mary had often popped in for, or if she had perhaps bought all the better pieces - for such furniture as I saw was not noticeably good.

  The other tables were nearly all filled, but the occupants appeared to be talking in whispers as if ashamed of their conversation; and they may have had cause to be, for some were giggling in a rather unseemly way.

  'Should we leave him a tip, do you think?' I heard one woman ask another.

  'I suppose so,' tittered her companion, though they might have a box for staff gratuities somewhere - quite a lot of places do now.'

  I thought that they were probably talking about Mr Bason, though it was quite likely that all the staff had that rather superior manner which makes one hesitate to leave a little heap of pennies or a sixpence under the plate. I waited with some curiosity for him to appear, which he did very soon from behind a Jacobean chintz curtain, carrying a tray of tea. He did not see me immediately, so I was able to get over the first shock of his appearance and compose my features before greeting him. He had grown a beard - egg-shaped, I suppose one might have called it, to match his face - and was wearing a loose blue smock, corduroy trousers and sandals.

  When he saw me and Rodney, who had now joined me, he gave a cry of recognition and pleasure.

  'Wilmet and Rodney - but this is delightful!'

  Now we really have got down to Christian names, I thought, and wondered when I should dare to utter the first 'Wilfred' or even 'Wilf.

  'Now what can I get you?' he asked.

  'Oh, just tea, thank you,' I said.

  'Ah, but which tea? Shrimp, Lobster, Crab, Devonshire, Carlton or Plain, though I hope you won't want that.'

  'Carlton sounds interesting,' I said. 'What is it?'

  'Pot of tea, China or Indian, scones, jam and cream, lobster salad and fruit - but the fruit is tinned,' he added in a low voice.

  'I think that sounds rather too substantial for us,' said Rodney doubtfully. 'Could we have a plain lobster tea?'

  'You would be difficult! We don't really have a plain lobster tea, but seeing that it's you ...' he slithered off in his flapping sandals, but was soon back again with our tea.

  'They made me dress up like this,' he said, indicating his costume. 'It adds a novelty touch, doesn't it, and people do seem to be attracted by something unusual.'

  'Was the beard your own idea?' I asked.

  'Yes, it was, really. I thought my face just needed something, and a beard did seem to provide the finishing touch, as it were.'

  'Splendid!' said Rodney heartily, his hand going up to his own beardless chin. 'And you like the work here?'

  'Oh, immensely!'

  'You've got some nice things,' I said, picking up a pink and gold lustre jug from the shelf behind our table.

  'Would you like that?' asked Mr Bason enthusiastically.

  'Well, it's probably rather expensive, isn't it?'

  'But I should like you to have it as a present from me,' said Mr Bason, pressing the jug into my hands. 'It is so very much you, I feel.'

  I threw a doubtful and perhaps appealing glance towards Rodney, who tactfully drew out his notecase and said calmly, That's very kind of you, Bason, but you'll never make a living if you're going to be so generous. I should like to buy it for Wilmet - I insist.'

  'Well, perhaps that is a husband's privilege,' Mr Bason agreed. 'Now do tell me about those poor things at the clergy house. I suppose Mrs Greenhill's back there now?'

  'Yes, she agreed to go back - mainly because she's so devoted to Father Bode. And of course when Father Thames retires in October she'll have him all to herself, until another priest comes, I suppose.'

  'The poor things,' Mr Bason sighed. 'Cod on Fridays, and those endless cups of tea.'

  'I met Mrs Greenhill the Friday before we came away and couldn't resist asking her what she was giving them, and of course it was cod! I couldn't help feeling a little sad, remembering scampi and all the lovely things they had when you were there.'

  'Remembering Scampi' said Rodney thoughtfully. 'Surely that ought to be the title of a novel?'

  'Yes,' I agreed, 'though it might be a little too esoteric for a book about a clergy house. People would never guess, would they? Cod on Fridays would be too obvious, on the other hand.'

  'And you are to live even nearer to the clergy house now, I hear,' Mr Bason went on.

  'How did you know?' I asked.

  'Oh, I heard,' said Mr Bason airily, and went away to give the bill to a tableful of ladies who had been trying to attract his attention for some time.

  'I suppose he would always know things that one thought were known only to oneself,' said Rodney, 'but in this case it doesn't really matter.'

  Our search for somewhere to live seemed to have brought us closer together than we had been for years, though it had taken us a long time to decide whether it was to be a house or flat, and in town or suburban country. After visiting Mary at the retreat house I had had a hankering for the country, the dim compost heap under the apple trees and the drama of bees swarming at unexpected times. But Rodney could see only the winter mornings, struggling to the Ministry in gumboots over two ploughed fields, wearing a duffle coat with his bowler hat - an abomination, he thought. Then there had been the tempting advertisements - self-contained wings of Georgian rectories in Wiltshire or Hampshire, suburban residences in favoured positions, with tiled cloakrooms and double garages. I think I must have invented the one which advertised 'disused clergy house - would convert' - so unlikely doe
s it seem now.

  In the end we had done something safe and dull, and bought the lease of a flat a stone's throw from Sybil's house and a good hundred yards nearer the clergy house than we had been before. I had enjoyed choosing carpets and curtains, and had found Keith a tireless, and sometimes rather tiring, companion. 'Wilmet, I like the lime green. It goes well with antique furniture - sets it off, doesn't it? These chairs are old-fashioned in a way, but they're nice - would you say they were antique? ...' I smiled as I remembered him chattering away, at once comic, boring and cosy. I had really grown quite fond of him.

  'Why, if you had a telescope you could see into the clergy house windows,' said Mr Bason, as we parted at the door of the antique teashop.

  'One feels there will be less to see now,' I said a little sadly.

  'Don't you believe it,' said Mr Bason confidently. 'Dash it, there's another customer - bye-bye!'

  'He seems all right,' said Rodney with a sigh, as we walked through the narrow streets to the rather distant place where he had parked the car.

  We drove soberly to the Trust House where we had arranged to stay the night, for we were on our way home now. Dinner was a rather silent meal in the great dining-room with its tall windows looking out on to the rainswept main street.

  'Portugal might have been better than this,' said Rodney. 'Next year, perhaps ... Or even Italy - how would you like that?'

  'I think I should like it very much,' I said. 'It would be better to go to the parts we don't already know. After ten years they might be too sad.'

  'Like these little pictures,' said Rodney, for we had discovered a little lounge upstairs which nobody else seemed to know about, whose walls were hung with delicate nineteenth- century water-colours of Neapolitan scenes - Posillipo, Vesuvius, Pompeii and Pozzuoli.

  'How did these come to be here?' he asked.

  'Somebody's aunt did them, or perhaps they were bought in a lot at some country house sale and regarded as being suitable decorations for a hotel lounge,' I suggested.

  'In the damp gloom of the west country the traveller is reminded that there is sunshine somewhere,' said Rodney. 'And how very different this is from Posillipo!'