Glamorous Powers - Susan Howatch

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that as the result of the crisis I know facts about them which no one else knows, and in consequence I’m important as a confidant to them both. Indeed Mrs Ashworth has apparently come to see me as a comforting presence in her life. There’s no question of counselling – I’ve referred her to Dame Veronica at Dunton – but occasionally Mrs Ashworth finds it helpful to visit me for a short talk and I always try to be available to see her.’

      ‘But surely,’ said Francis, ‘if you “rather dislike” the woman – your own words – aren’t these visits a bore? Why do you continue to make yourself available?’

      I had anticipated this question too. ‘I feel it’s something I can do for Charles,’ I said. ‘It’s not an easy marriage for either of them and in my unusual position I have the opportunity to exert a stabilizing influence.’

      ‘Is Mrs Ashworth so unstable?’

      ‘I was referring to the marriage.’

      ‘And I’m referring to Mrs Ashworth. Any woman in an unstable marriage is liable to be emotionally volatile. Are you in fact telling me that you’ve been having regular private interviews with a disturbed woman while you yourself were suffering from sexual tension?’

      ‘That gives an entirely false impression –’

      ‘I think not. Could you explain, please, why you’ve been pursuing a course of conduct which must inevitably have been bad for your spiritual health?’

      I knew I had to proceed with great care. After a pause I said: ‘Perhaps I feel guilty that I dislike her and this guilt makes me feel obliged to bend over backwards to be charitable. To tell the truth, I never wanted her to marry Charles. But on the other hand I fully accepted that he felt called to make the marriage, and since this meant I had to master my dislike in order to accept God’s will, my continuing antipathy makes me feel guilty; I feel I’m failing to respond to God’s will as I should.’

      Francis merely said: ‘Why do you dislike her?’

      ‘I think she’s a tough ambitious little baggage who’s fundamentally only interested in herself.’

      ‘Tell me what happened at that last meeting.’

      Obediently I embarked on an account of my interview with Lyle. ‘… and then she left,’ I concluded in my most colourless voice.

      ‘Did she shake your hand?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘There was no physical contact of any kind between you?’

      This was the one question which I had prayed he would never ask. The ensuing silence seemed intolerably loud.

      ‘Dear me,’ said Francis, removing his spectacles, ‘how very difficult this is. Jonathan, I’m sorry but I’m afraid I shall really have to ask –’

      ‘It was a very trivial incident,’ I said rapidly. ‘As I opened the door of the visitors’ parlour she exclaimed: “Thank you for always being so kind to me!” and then she stood on tiptoe, kissed me on the cheek and swept out into the hall. Naturally I knew I couldn’t possibly see her alone again, so later I wrote to her and –’

      ‘Did you respond to the kiss in any way?’

      ‘No, of course not!’

      ‘I’m not just talking of a voluntary response. Was there any involuntary reaction?’

      ‘Don’t be absurd!’ I said before I could stop myself but added at once: ‘Forgive me, Father, that was the height of disrespect. I’m sorry.’

      Francis ignored the apology. ‘Why is my question absurd?’

      ‘Well …’ To my horror I found myself floundering.

      ‘You were in a state of sexual tension, some saucy little baggage comes along and pecks you on the cheek –’

      ‘My sexual tension had been dowsed by my anxiety. I was worried in case anyone had seen us, I was angry that she should have behaved like a trollop and I was repelled by my fundamental dislike of her.’

      ‘Jonathan,’ said Francis, ‘you may honestly believe in the truth of every word that you’re saying; I’m inclined to think that you do. But I want you to go away and reflect carefully about where the truth actually lies here. Are you sure you’ve really explained why you dislike this woman so much? Why does an affectionate peck on the cheek turn a clergyman’s respectable wife into a trollop? Why did you become so overheated just now when I suggested you might have responded involuntarily to this most fleeting and harmless of kisses? And last of all I’m going to ask you this: can you deny that only a few hours before your vision your sexual tension had been exacerbated and your emotional equilibrium undermined by your encounter with this woman?’ He paused but when I remained silent he waved his hand in dismissal and I retired, seething with angry humiliation, from the room.

      VI

      Once again I found myself unable to do anything except sit on the edge of my bed. I had long since drawn up a timetable of work in which simple reading and prayer were interspersed with ‘lectio divina’ and meditation, but now I found that my will to maintain this admirable discipline had begun to flag. Hoping for comfort I turned to Dame Julian again but this time her joyful optimism had no message for me and halfway through one of my favourite passages I realized I was thinking not of her ‘showing’ but of Francis’ appalling ‘fairy-story’. Earlier I had protected myself by refusing to dwell upon it, but now, shaken by Francis’ remorseless exposure of the Achilles’ heel represented by my sexuality, I found my defences had been impaired. In desperation I thrust aside The Revelations of Dame Julian and sought to distract myself with the unknown author of The Cloud of Unknowing.

      But no distraction was forthcoming. Almost immediately I read: ‘Oftimes the devil feigneth quaint sounds in their ears, quaint lights and shining in their eyes, and wonderful smells in their noses; and all is but falsehood.’

      Snapping the book shut I gave a convulsive shudder and dragged my way down to the chapel for Vespers.

      VII

      ‘I lied to you yesterday,’ I said to Francis when we met again. ‘I’m sorry. I know very well I’ve got to be entirely truthful in order to help you reach the right decision.’

      Francis never asked what the lie was. That impressed me. Nor did he make any attempt to humiliate me further by embarking on a justifiable reproof. That impressed me even more. Instead he motioned me to sit down and said abruptly: ‘It’s a question of trust, isn’t it, and you don’t trust me yet.’

      I forced myself to say: ‘I do want to trust you.’

      ‘Well, at least that’s a step in the right direction.’

      ‘And I do accept that you’re a first-class monk –’

      ‘No, you don’t. You accept that I’m a first-class administrator and you accept that the old man gave me a first-class training, but I’ve still to prove I’m a first-class monk, and that’s why it’s just as vital for me as it is for you that I should deal with your crisis correctly. I know perfectly well that you believe the only reason why I became Abbot-General was because I knew how to exploit the old man’s secret longing for a son. Well, now I have the chance to prove the old man wasn’t completely off his head and that I really am the right man for the job, so accept that I have a powerful motive to behave properly here, Jonathan, and do please discard your fear that I’ll be unable to wield the charism of discernment unless you regularly throw in a lie or two to help me along.’

      Yet again I was impressed. I heard myself say: ‘It takes courage to be as honest as that. Thank you. I can’t promise you I’ll succeed in matching your honesty, but I can promise I’ll do my best to try.’

      ‘Then put on your boxing-gloves,’ said

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