an improvement on that.
Friday afternoon: and glancing out of the window I saw a battered Riley parked at a rakish angle athwart my gateposts. Evidently the bishop had arrived under his own steam without the assistance of Barnes and the official car. I opened the front door and ushered him in. To my relief he was dressed in normal garb (difficult to have faced the golfing gear a second time!) and seemed in semi-cordial mood.
A few pleasantries were exchanged followed by a silence. Then clearing his throat he said, ‘Now, Francis, you’re a man of the world – well, in a manner of speaking – and there’s a matter on which I would value your opinion.’
Notwithstanding the qualification, I was surprised and flattered by his words, and flashed him what I felt was a worldly smile. It wasn’t reciprocated and there followed a further silence. Eventually he leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘I think you might know Mrs Carruthers, a lady of your parish but not, I think, an actual churchgoer.’
I didn’t know the lady but vaguely remembered her name being mentioned somewhere or other. However, feeling it might speed whatever revelation Clinker was about to make, I nodded confidently.
‘Well, you see,’ he continued, ‘Mrs Carruthers and I are on quite good terms – close really. We have, you might say, certain interests in common …’ He cleared his throat noisily. I didn’t like to ask if those interests included Gladys, feeling sure that they didn’t, but continued to smile blandly, wondering how on earth I was going to handle the next few moments.
He paused again, looking distinctly shifty, and then said, ‘It’s – ah – a slightly delicate situation …’ I had feared it might be and braced myself for embarrassment. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘once a week – Wednesdays mostly – we meet in the afternoon.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said casually, ‘that’s nice.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said, brightening, ‘very nice indeed. Mind you, there are not just the two of us, others are involved sometimes as well. Spices it up a bit, if you know what I mean!’
I wasn’t sure that I did know and felt myself starting to blush. However, this hardly suited my newly acquired role as ‘man of the world’ and I tried to think mournful thoughts hoping they might restore my customary pallor.
But as I entertained pictures of suicides and graves he went burbling on, his words making me increasingly uncomfortable.
‘Of course a foursome is the ideal, evenly balanced and everyone gets a go. Six can be fun but it gets a bit crowded, and at my time of life I tire too easily. Generally though, it’s just Mrs Carruthers and me which is all very cosy but – and don’t get me wrong here – it can be a little predictable!’ By this time he was emboldened enough to give a loud laugh, and tiring of my man of the world persona I fixed him with a stern eye. He seemed not to notice.
‘Of course I don’t suppose you’ve ever engaged in that sort of thing – not your line of country at all, I imagine, and I realize it’s not to everyone’s taste, a bit esoteric one might say, which is why the whole thing is a little tricky. Wouldn’t do for the press to get hold of it – not for a man in my position!’ And he giggled.
‘No,’ I said faintly, ‘it wouldn’t. And I don’t suppose Gladys, I mean your wife, would be too keen either!’
‘Exactly,’ he confided. ‘That’s part of the problem. It’s not at all the sort of thing she would understand. Still, a chap’s got to have his recreations and it takes all sorts.’ He was beginning to evince a certain nonchalance which, in the circumstances, I thought rather brazen. How could I tactfully point out the error of his ways while still appearing both deferential and unruffled?
‘Er, what does Mrs Carruthers think?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t care a hoot – no false pride there. Doesn’t mind who knows!’
‘Good gracious!’ I
Friday afternoon: and glancing out of the window I saw a battered Riley parked at a rakish angle athwart my gateposts. Evidently the bishop had arrived under his own steam without the assistance of Barnes and the official car. I opened the front door and ushered him in. To my relief he was dressed in normal garb (difficult to have faced the golfing gear a second time!) and seemed in semi-cordial mood.
A few pleasantries were exchanged followed by a silence. Then clearing his throat he said, ‘Now, Francis, you’re a man of the world – well, in a manner of speaking – and there’s a matter on which I would value your opinion.’
Notwithstanding the qualification, I was surprised and flattered by his words, and flashed him what I felt was a worldly smile. It wasn’t reciprocated and there followed a further silence. Eventually he leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial tone, ‘I think you might know Mrs Carruthers, a lady of your parish but not, I think, an actual churchgoer.’
I didn’t know the lady but vaguely remembered her name being mentioned somewhere or other. However, feeling it might speed whatever revelation Clinker was about to make, I nodded confidently.
‘Well, you see,’ he continued, ‘Mrs Carruthers and I are on quite good terms – close really. We have, you might say, certain interests in common …’ He cleared his throat noisily. I didn’t like to ask if those interests included Gladys, feeling sure that they didn’t, but continued to smile blandly, wondering how on earth I was going to handle the next few moments.
He paused again, looking distinctly shifty, and then said, ‘It’s – ah – a slightly delicate situation …’ I had feared it might be and braced myself for embarrassment. ‘You see,’ he continued, ‘once a week – Wednesdays mostly – we meet in the afternoon.’
‘Oh yes,’ I said casually, ‘that’s nice.’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said, brightening, ‘very nice indeed. Mind you, there are not just the two of us, others are involved sometimes as well. Spices it up a bit, if you know what I mean!’
I wasn’t sure that I did know and felt myself starting to blush. However, this hardly suited my newly acquired role as ‘man of the world’ and I tried to think mournful thoughts hoping they might restore my customary pallor.
But as I entertained pictures of suicides and graves he went burbling on, his words making me increasingly uncomfortable.
‘Of course a foursome is the ideal, evenly balanced and everyone gets a go. Six can be fun but it gets a bit crowded, and at my time of life I tire too easily. Generally though, it’s just Mrs Carruthers and me which is all very cosy but – and don’t get me wrong here – it can be a little predictable!’ By this time he was emboldened enough to give a loud laugh, and tiring of my man of the world persona I fixed him with a stern eye. He seemed not to notice.
‘Of course I don’t suppose you’ve ever engaged in that sort of thing – not your line of country at all, I imagine, and I realize it’s not to everyone’s taste, a bit esoteric one might say, which is why the whole thing is a little tricky. Wouldn’t do for the press to get hold of it – not for a man in my position!’ And he giggled.
‘No,’ I said faintly, ‘it wouldn’t. And I don’t suppose Gladys, I mean your wife, would be too keen either!’
‘Exactly,’ he confided. ‘That’s part of the problem. It’s not at all the sort of thing she would understand. Still, a chap’s got to have his recreations and it takes all sorts.’ He was beginning to evince a certain nonchalance which, in the circumstances, I thought rather brazen. How could I tactfully point out the error of his ways while still appearing both deferential and unruffled?
‘Er, what does Mrs Carruthers think?’
‘Oh, she doesn’t care a hoot – no false pride there. Doesn’t mind who knows!’
‘Good gracious!’ I
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