to reach a decision, had referred the matter to the Bishop in his capacity as Cathedral Visitor, and he in turn had referred it to his Chancellor sitting in the consistory court.
‘You have to admire the man’s tactics,’ the Dean conceded. ‘He knows better than to complain about the installation of the window, since the FAC’s approval means it falls outside the Chancellor’s jurisdiction. So instead he accuses me – along with the Chapter – of Conduct Unbecoming for accepting a design that contravenes Anglican doctrine.’
‘Might he have a case?’ Clement asked, feeling nauseous.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ the Dean said blithely. ‘It’s remarkably hard to prove that anything contravenes Anglican doctrine when Anglican doctrine is itself so nebulous.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence.’
‘My fear is more that he might try to mobilise public opinion. He’s very well-connected.’
‘Even so, it’ll be a nine days’ wonder. I’ve been there before with both my Two Marys and my Pier Palace Christ .’ Clement sought to reassure the Dean, whose desire to create a stir stopped short of causing a scandal.
‘There is another matter. I should stress that it’s of no concern to me personally , none whatsoever. But it’s incumbent on me to speak…’ Clement wondered what could be so disturbing that it was causing the Dean to twist both his syntax and his handkerchief. ‘He alleges you have AIDS .’ Clement was aghast. He felt as if a red light were flashing above his head. His immediate instinct was to deny it, as in all conscience he could, but, scorning to be saved by a technicality, he explained that what he had was HIV and asked how the Major had discovered something he had kept secret from his closest friends.
‘I’m not certain, but I understand it’s from a woman you met… in Wales, was it? Her mother’s some connection of the Major’s wife.’
‘Christine… it can’t be. It must be.’
‘Small world.’
‘No, just small-minded.’
‘We’ll fight and we’ll win. Of that I have no doubt. But I thought it only fair to warn you.’
The forewarned, forearmed axiom was disproved the following Sunday when Clement was woken by a reporter from the Daily Mail , asking him to comment on the revelations in the News of the World . While Mike, who picked up – and slammed down – the phone, ran out to buy the paper, Clement sat transfixed by the answer-machine which registered three more such calls. He remembered his father, faced with a media onslaught after Spirit of the Age , informing his besieged family that ‘in ancient Rome, editors were the men in charge of entertainments at the Colosseum. And they’re still throwing Christians to the lions!’ The memory steeled him to take a call from the Daily Express offering £10,000 for sole rights to his story.
‘There is no story,’ he yelled down the phone, only to find his words refuted when Mike rushed in and flung two copies of the paper on the kitchen table. Clement grabbed one and flicked through it, his confidence growing with every unsullied page, until a glance at the centrespread sent him reeling. Under the headline, Bishop’s Sick Son in Nude Christ Scandal , was a photograph of himself so grainy that he looked about to expire. Next to it was a report which, while stating the facts with tolerable accuracy, reeked of innuendo, suggesting that he was in league with his parents, aka the Atheist Bishop and Feminist Guru, to destroy everything the nation held dear.
The thought of that pair of unlikely anarchists roused him to action. His painstaking efforts to spare them had backfired. He longed to assure them of both his health and his good faith. Mike offered to drive him to Oxford, but a reluctance to brave the reporters at the gate left him reliant on the phone. As usual, it was his mother who answered. Any hope of breaking the news to her gently was dashed by her announcement that Mrs Shepherd had shown her the
‘You have to admire the man’s tactics,’ the Dean conceded. ‘He knows better than to complain about the installation of the window, since the FAC’s approval means it falls outside the Chancellor’s jurisdiction. So instead he accuses me – along with the Chapter – of Conduct Unbecoming for accepting a design that contravenes Anglican doctrine.’
‘Might he have a case?’ Clement asked, feeling nauseous.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ the Dean said blithely. ‘It’s remarkably hard to prove that anything contravenes Anglican doctrine when Anglican doctrine is itself so nebulous.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence.’
‘My fear is more that he might try to mobilise public opinion. He’s very well-connected.’
‘Even so, it’ll be a nine days’ wonder. I’ve been there before with both my Two Marys and my Pier Palace Christ .’ Clement sought to reassure the Dean, whose desire to create a stir stopped short of causing a scandal.
‘There is another matter. I should stress that it’s of no concern to me personally , none whatsoever. But it’s incumbent on me to speak…’ Clement wondered what could be so disturbing that it was causing the Dean to twist both his syntax and his handkerchief. ‘He alleges you have AIDS .’ Clement was aghast. He felt as if a red light were flashing above his head. His immediate instinct was to deny it, as in all conscience he could, but, scorning to be saved by a technicality, he explained that what he had was HIV and asked how the Major had discovered something he had kept secret from his closest friends.
‘I’m not certain, but I understand it’s from a woman you met… in Wales, was it? Her mother’s some connection of the Major’s wife.’
‘Christine… it can’t be. It must be.’
‘Small world.’
‘No, just small-minded.’
‘We’ll fight and we’ll win. Of that I have no doubt. But I thought it only fair to warn you.’
The forewarned, forearmed axiom was disproved the following Sunday when Clement was woken by a reporter from the Daily Mail , asking him to comment on the revelations in the News of the World . While Mike, who picked up – and slammed down – the phone, ran out to buy the paper, Clement sat transfixed by the answer-machine which registered three more such calls. He remembered his father, faced with a media onslaught after Spirit of the Age , informing his besieged family that ‘in ancient Rome, editors were the men in charge of entertainments at the Colosseum. And they’re still throwing Christians to the lions!’ The memory steeled him to take a call from the Daily Express offering £10,000 for sole rights to his story.
‘There is no story,’ he yelled down the phone, only to find his words refuted when Mike rushed in and flung two copies of the paper on the kitchen table. Clement grabbed one and flicked through it, his confidence growing with every unsullied page, until a glance at the centrespread sent him reeling. Under the headline, Bishop’s Sick Son in Nude Christ Scandal , was a photograph of himself so grainy that he looked about to expire. Next to it was a report which, while stating the facts with tolerable accuracy, reeked of innuendo, suggesting that he was in league with his parents, aka the Atheist Bishop and Feminist Guru, to destroy everything the nation held dear.
The thought of that pair of unlikely anarchists roused him to action. His painstaking efforts to spare them had backfired. He longed to assure them of both his health and his good faith. Mike offered to drive him to Oxford, but a reluctance to brave the reporters at the gate left him reliant on the phone. As usual, it was his mother who answered. Any hope of breaking the news to her gently was dashed by her announcement that Mrs Shepherd had shown her the
Similar Books
