LITMIR.BIZ

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you think that would put me in?’

      ‘In that case we’ll have to take the children with us.’

      ‘Don’t be absurd! We can’t do that when the children haven’t been invited! We’ll have to leave them with Nora or one of your other friends.’

      ‘I don’t like to impose –’

      ‘No, but this is the one occasion where you must be ruthless – or if you really can’t face tackling Nora I’ll tackle Emily. I’ve no scruples at all about imposing on my sister in urgent circumstances.’

      ‘I always feel so awkward about asking Emily to have the children when she has no children of her own –’

      ‘Nonsense – they’ll provide a welcome diversion from that dreary husband of hers! Now listen to me, Grace. I quite understand why you should feel this weekend will be an ordeal, but it’s an ordeal you’re perfectly capable of surmounting – all you’re being required to do is to look pretty and be polite. I’m not trying to throw you to the lions. I’m just trying to ensure you don’t miss out on an exciting and worthwhile excursion. Make up your mind you’re going to enjoy yourself! Why not? Why shouldn’t it all be great fun?’

      But Grace only said in despair: ‘How I wish we’d never left Willowmead!’ and I heard her stifle a sob as she rushed from the room.

      II

      ‘I didn’t mean it, Neville – of course I didn’t mean it – I just feel nostalgic about Willowmead sometimes, that’s all …’

      I had followed her to our bedroom where she had retreated to calm down, and as we faced each other we could hear the charwoman talking good-naturedly to Sandy as she worked in the drawing-room below us. Primrose was at nursery school as usual. I was supposed to be on my way to a diocesan committee meeting, and I was acutely conscious of the clock ticking on the bedside table as I was obliged to delay my departure.

      ‘I know how much you loved Willowmead,’ I said, ‘but we’ve been happy in Starbridge too and we’re going to go on being happy here.’

      ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’

      ‘To be honest, I find the Starmouths intimidating as well. But one can’t spend one’s life cowering in corners just because one feels socially inferior!’

      ‘No, of course not. Will there be a maid, do you think, to unpack our suitcases? I don’t want anyone seeing my darned underwear.’

      ‘In that case I’ll tell the servant we don’t require help with the unpacking. Now Grace, stop worrying yourself into a frenzy, there’s a good girl, and make up your mind you’re going to be strong, brave and resourceful!’

      ‘Yes. All right. I’ll try,’ she said, but my heart sank as her shoulders drooped.

      Willing myself not to despair I hurried off to my meeting at the diocesan office on Eternity Street.

      III

      Starmouth Court stood not, as might be assumed, near the port of Starmouth in the south of the diocese, but eighteen miles from London in the county of Surrey; the Earl’s connection with Starmouth was lost in the mists of antiquity. When we eventually arrived at our destination on a sunlit Saturday morning in July, I was just as horrified as Grace to discover not a friendly country house but a tall stout elderly mansion of forbidding proportions. Accustomed though I was to calling at the various grand houses in my archdeaconry, I had never been invited to stay the night in these places and the thought of being a guest in the Starmouths’ overpoweringly dignified country seat made me feel for a moment like a fallen woman obliged to take refuge with a formidable maiden aunt.

      Built high on a hillside the house was surrounded by trees and approached by a long winding drive which strained both our nerves and the engine of the chauffeur-driven motor which our hostess had sent to meet us at the station. ‘“Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came,’” I muttered to Grace before the Dark Tower was revealed as the plump Queen Anne palace. I allowed myself one quick shudder before resolving fiercely to appear self-possessed. ‘Isn’t it exactly like the country house in a detective story?’ I murmured to Grace with a heroic attempt at nonchalance. ‘I foresee corpses in the library, a sinister butler lurking behind the green baize door and Hercule Poirot hovering in the shrubbery!’

      But Grace was too terrified to reply.

      We were admitted by a stately footman to a hall the size of a tennis court. Vast pictures of men in togas were suspended from points so remote as to be barely visible. An enormous arrangement of flowers stood in what appeared to be a pseudo-Greek vase. Then I realized there was nothing pseudo about the vase. It had that dim ancient look which is impossible to reproduce, and it reminded me of countless visits to the British Museum on wet Saturday afternoons in my childhood when Willy and I, boarded out with strict Methodists, had taken refuge once a week in the sights of London.

      ‘Nice flowers,’ I said casually to Grace in an automatic effort to signal to the footman that I found the hall itself too mundane to merit a comment. ‘Very well arranged.’

      I had barely finished speaking when a door banged, footsteps pattered swiftly in our direction down a distant corridor and the next moment someone was bursting joyously into the hall. A familiar peel of laughter rang out. A well-remembered voice cried: ‘Welcome to Starmouth Court!’ And with horrified delight I recognized my disciple.

      IV

      ‘Did you know she was going to be here?’ demanded Grace as soon as we were alone in the bedroom which had been assigned to us, but my stupefaction was so obviously genuine that she never doubted my denial. Moving to the window I saw that the room was placed at the back of the house and overlooked a formal garden which unfolded upwards in a series of terraces before rolling out of sight over the summit of the hill. On the lowest lawn twin rows of classical statues eyed each other across a sward dotted with croquet-hoops. The sun was still shining radiantly, reminding me that I felt much too hot.

      ‘She should have told me,’ I said as I automatically took advantage of the opportunity to remove my clerical collar. ‘Why on earth didn’t she mention it in her last letter?’

      ‘I suppose she thought it would be fun to surprise you.’ Grace was already unpacking her darned underwear before a servant could materialize, like the genie of the lamp, between her and the open suitcase.

      ‘I don’t like those sort of surprises.’ I began to roam around the room. The brass bedstead gleamed. Lifting the counterpane I absent-mindedly fingered the very white sheets.

      ‘I suppose they’re real linen,’ said Grace. ‘And look at those towels by the washstand! Can they possibly be linen too?’

      ‘Must be pre-war. But expensive things always look new for years.’ I stared around at the room’s luxury, so subtly sumptuous, so tastefully extravagant, and before I could stop myself I was saying: ‘I suppose you’re still wishing you hadn’t come.’

      ‘Oh no!’ said Grace at once. ‘Now that the adventure’s begun I’m enjoying myself – in fact I’m sure you were right and it’s all going to be great fun!’

      I did realize that Grace was belatedly exercising her intelligence, but I found I had no desire to consider the implications of this new canny behaviour. I merely smiled, gave her a grateful kiss and began to unpack my bag.

      V

      Everyone was very kind to Grace, who despite her tortuous self-doubts was as capable as I was of being socially adept in unfamiliar circumstances. Certainly no one was kinder than Dido who lavished attention on her to such an extent that I was almost ignored. More than once I told myself conscientiously how relieved I was that my disciple was on her best behaviour; it seemed all I now had to do, in order to survive the weekend with my clerical self-esteem

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