After Matins, the monks made their way to Father Godfrey’s study for the customary pre-lunch sherry, a weekly event he had instigated but that for several years now he rather regretted. None of them was easy with informal chatter and Godfrey found himself left with the onerous responsibility of making it jolly. The whole thing was exceedingly tiresome. However he had been assured by Brother Bertram, when he had suggested abandoning the event, that the brothers would be very disappointed and looked forward to their chats very much. Godfrey thought it was more likely to be the sherry that they would miss and this he could well understand, as he suspected that he was not the only member of the community to keep a bottle on hand.
He had left his door ajar, as usual, and began pouring out the sherry into the small glasses he kept in the corner cupboard. Well, at least this morning he would have something definite to talk about, as there was so much to organise. He wondered how the attic sorting-out was coming along. He would have to go up there himself this afternoon. Which reminded him: he must ask Brother Bertram if he and Brother Oswald had sorted out the valuable books from the library. Bertram had been so preoccupied with the business of the rabbit, he might well have forgotten.
Brother Bertram really was a thorn in his side. The trouble was, it was hard to fault him; he was always so reasonable and he was, strictly speaking, quite right about the rabbit but Godfrey doubted whether any of the others would have bothered had not he stirred things up. He seemed to have it in for Brother Joseph. The phrase ‘sure, he is an honourable man’ came into his mind. In addition, Bertram had Oswald as his staunch ally and everyone liked Oswald for his quiet, kindly ways. Chameleon-like, he blended into any situation and, because he was so agreeable and so devoted to Bertram, everyone accepted that Bertram must be agreeable too. Sometimes Godfrey wondered about the nature of that friendship, but oh well, what the eye didn’t see, the heart couldn’t grieve over, and he didn’t believe in looking for trouble.
He didn’t want any trouble with Brother Joseph either. Pray Heaven he accepted the new arrangements. Anyway, Mrs Gregory would keep Joseph occupied for a day or two, hopefully. Godfrey sighed. He had had no time to see Mrs Gregory today, and this afternoon would be busy with the attic business, and yet he had promised to show her the rest of the garden. Perhaps Joseph could do that and he would try to think of something for tomorrow. But he knew it was uncharitable of him to foist Joseph on her.
Hearing the brothers’ footsteps coming up the corridor, Godrey gulped some sherry from the glass in his hand, quickly refilled it, and then placed himself by the window and arranged a ‘welcoming look’ on his face.
‘Come in, come in. Help yourselves to a sherry.’ He indicated the tray of glasses before flicking the lock of hair out of his eyes.
Bertram always came in first. Today he was followed by Brother Joseph, for whom this was a new experience. This, at any rate, was some consolation for not working in the kitchen. The kitchen staff were always too busy getting Sunday roast to enjoy the sherry party. Today Joseph would have been first had not Bertram manoeuvred himself into that position with a firm, ‘Excuse me, Brother!’ and, picking up a glass, advanced on Godfrey, leaving Joseph grinning at the sherry glasses uncertainly. Having examined the sherry carefully, he picked up one in his quivering hand and passed it to Oswald, who had followed them in.
‘Have one yourself, Brother,’ Oswald said, but Joseph shook his head and giggled, taking upon himself the task of handing a sherry to each brother as he came into the room, and so replicating the joy of serving, which the kitchen work had given him for so many years.
‘We’ve mended the run for you, Brother.’ Stephen’s rather high voice made Joseph jump. ‘You’ll be able to put your rabbit there tonight.’
Joseph put down the glass he was holding and looked up at the spotty, ginger-haired youth. His smiled disappeared momentarily, and then he turned away as if hadn’t heard.
Father Godfrey interrupted the low, hesitant mutterings by raising his voice slightly, ‘Just a word, please. Brother Bertram assures me that you all know what you are doing this afternoon. I shall come up to the attic myself at some stage. Could I ask you all to work as speedily as possible so that we are ready for the Philips man tomorrow. I need not remind you what little time we have left before the move. And, by the way, we shall need a large box or boxes to put the books in, so could someone please sort that after luncheon.’
He paused and looked down at his empty glass. ‘And apparently,’ – this was a little piece of information that Bertram had dropped on him – ‘Dr Guy, unusually, did not attend Matins this morning. Does anyone know where he is? He’s not unwell I hope, or locked in the attic!’ The small joke was greeted by silent faces and Godfrey mourned their lack of humour. He waited as a matter of courtesy but he didn’t expect any response. Only Bertram knew anything, but preferred to inform him at private meetings. Gives him a sense of power, Godfrey thought. He was surprised, therefore, when Joseph waved his hands and shuffled towards him.
‘He’s looking after the lady,’ he announced with some excitement.
‘She hurt herself.’
‘She’s what? What do you mean?’A wave of intense irritability engulfed him. ‘What do you mean, Brother?’
Joseph began a long ramble which Godfrey, wearied beyond words, interrupted with, ‘Yes, yes, thank you,’ and then muttered, ‘we could do without any more problems, I should think.’ He sighed with exasperation. ‘If you see Dr Guy before I do,’ Godfrey said weakly, ‘please ask him to come to me.’
After they had gone, Godfrey sat for a moment and gazed out of the window that overlooked the front of the house. He saw Rose’s car and groaned, running his hand across his forehead. She was just an added problem! It was a pity he had ever said yes to her. They really didn’t have time for anything extra – and now this. What on earth was she doing gardening, for goodness sake? Of course, the loss of her children was quite dreadful, but it was three years ago, she must be – well, not getting over it exactly, but adjusting, coming to terms, and so on.
So, what did she want from them now? People who came to stay were usually looking for something, hoping to find some instant nirvana. But they came in groups. He had never been that keen on having women, anyway; only financial needs demanded it, but one on her own was doubly awkward. Thankfully, though, she appeared self-assured and independent; too independent, it seemed. Yet, despite that, there was that look about her. Was it tiredness? Was it…?
The memory of his dream of Padma and India retuned and left him with a vague sense of anxiety. But he was too absorbed with his own mortality; making sense of his life and facing his own death was enough; there was no energy left to take on problems belonging to someone else, although he knew he should. Everyone had to cope for himself; it was between him and God.
And the brothers, too, were silent within themselves, preoccupied. With what? Trying to convince themselves that it was not all some enormous hoax? Deadening feelings against that awful possibility that life was futile, that everything came to nothing? But if visitors were to find anything here, it would have to be some kind of spiritual thing; there was nothing any of them could actually do. Oh Lord, he thought, it had all seemed so clear years ago, giving and loving and doing and being. With age, it became unclear and uncertain. So where was all the wisdom that was supposed to be the compensation for old age? The only compensation he could think of was a kind of acceptance, and that came from loss of energy. A pretty negative sort of compensation.
He heard the bell ring for lunch. Let’s hope it’s a good roast, he thought. At least there’s still food to enjoy.
Doctor Guy was waiting outside the dining room.
‘Is everything all right? You missed Matins.’
‘Yes. Sorry. Bit of an accident, I’m afraid.’
‘So, I hear. Apparently Mrs Gregory hurt her foot.’
‘’Fraid’ so. Put the prong of a garden fork through it. It’s quite nasty, actually. I’ve dressed it for her. She’s gone to lie down.’
Godfrey heaved a sigh. ‘What about her lunch, then?’
‘I’ll take her something later, if that’s all right.’
‘You can cope, then? Well done! Well done!’ Godfrey’s attempt to disguise his exasperation was unsuccessful.
He shook the hair out of his eyes and stared at Guy uncertainly. He turned to go into the dining room and then said, suddenly, ‘Better ask Brother Joseph to do it. He’s supposed to be looking after her at the moment.’ And, as an afterthought, ‘Come to my room after lunch, will you? I’d better fill you in about Mrs Gregory.’
The brothers watched the conversation going on outside from under their brows and then waited patiently while the father abbot took his place in the centre of the top table. Grace said, they all sat, and Brother David commenced the reading.
Father Godfrey looked at the space left for Rose Gregory and felt a tinge of regret. Now and again there did seem something reassuring about having a woman sit at table. It lent a sense of harmony, of balance, but he couldn’t think why this should be so. He had never consciously felt this before. Surely, after all these years, he could not be missing his mother. That was ridiculous! And yet in his old age he had to admit he sometimes yearned to have the comfort of a woman. Perhaps all old people felt like that. At any rate, it was not he that needed the comfort now but rather Mrs Gregory, so, if Dr Guy was seeing to her foot, he might as well also take the opportunity to – well – deal with the other matter, her problems whatever they were. He was a Doctor, after all. And he had the time.
He sighed. Yes, he certainly had more time.