Los Angeles, 1982
FATHER KENNEDY WAS having serious problems with his conscience. Mrs Kelly had made it perfectly plain to him that she didn’t want anyone knowing where she and Miles were going; indeed had entrusted him with the information under pain of great secrecy. It was essential for several reasons, she had said, that nobody knew; the police might come inquiring for Miles, those no-good friends of his from the beach might want to find him; and kind as Mr Dashwood was, she didn’t really want him knowing either. If she and Miles were to make a clean start, then she didn’t want him turning up, upsetting Miles, interfering. She felt bad about it in a way; on the other hand, she did feel, as she had confided to Father Kennedy more than once, that he could have done more to help, that he was just being plain stubborn now, digging his heels in as hard and as awkwardly as Miles, only Miles was little more than a child, and Mr Dashwood was old enough to know better. It could have made all the difference in the world to Miles, and his future, had he given him a job in his company, and it wouldn’t have hurt any. Sometimes, she had said, she wondered if Miles wasn’t right, and Mr Dashwood wasn’t a little ashamed of him – and of her, as well.
Father Kennedy, having the advantage – or maybe the disadvantage – of knowing rather more about Hugo Dashwood and his relationship to Miles than Mrs Kelly, or indeed anyone else in the world, he imagined, found it very hard to understand why the man wouldn’t help his own son; he had often thought about the puzzle over the years; ever since Miles had graduated so well and then wasted himself. Obviously it would be very damaging for the boy, even when he was grown up, to learn that his mother had had a sexual relationship with another man, and that the father he had been so fond of had not been his father at all. It would inevitably lead to the painful realization that the reason for his father’s suicide had been his mother’s adultery; the whole story was obviously much best kept untold. Especially as Miles disliked Hugo Dashwood so much. That was a sad thing, under the circumstances.
But on the other hand, that should not keep the man from giving Miles a job; he was clearly fond of him, proud of him, and besides, a man did not put a boy through college if he was ashamed of him, didn’t like him. He was as good as the boy’s guardian; why should he persist in this strange, stubborn attitude?
Father Kennedy could see all too clearly why the poor souls at his refuge should behave badly, refuse to help themselves, let alone others, but he could not see why a man who clearly had more than his fair share of the world’s bounty in the palm of his hand should not pass a little of it on to his own flesh and blood. It wasn’t as if Miles was an unattractive young man; quite the reverse, he would be a credit to anyone.
Well, as Father Kennedy had learnt as a very young priest, there was no accounting for human nature, and it was not for him to try; his duty as God’s extremely humble servant was merely to accept it, and do for it what he could, within his own earthly limitations.
And now, here he was, confronted by Hugo Dashwood, just flown in from New York, clearly agitated, and demanding to know where Miles and Mrs Kelly had gone. And he really did not know what to do. This was always the difficult one: when knowledge came into your possession not through the confessional – when it was sacred, and not, on pain of death, to be released – but from conversation, confidences, when it could be argued it was yours to make a judgement on, to do with what you thought best.
And what would be best now? Did he respect the confidence of an old friend and do what she had asked, or did he use his knowledge of her whereabouts to rescue her grandson from a life of shocking idleness at best, and at worst, from the very serious danger of mortal sin?
‘I need to find them,’ Hugo Dashwood had said, sitting down earnestly in front of him, and looking the very picture of remorse and anxiety. ‘I have decided I have been terribly wrong, and I want to make amends, I want to offer Miles a job after all, before it’s too late.’
‘Well, I’m sure that is very heartening news,’ said Father Kennedy, playing for time while his old mind roamed around his dilemma, ‘and Mrs Kelly would be wonderfully pleased to hear it. I am not altogether certain how Miles himself would take to the idea now, though. It’s a while now since he graduated, and I fear he has got rather seriously used to a life of idleness. If you will forgive me saying so, Mr Dashwood, I fear your change of heart may be a trifle late.’
‘Well, you may be right, Father, but we shall never know unless I can find Miles and put it to him. If I don’t then there is certainly no chance at all that my change of heart, as you put it, will benefit him.’
‘And would it be too terribly inquisitive of me to ask whereabouts you would be offering him this job? Would you be taking him back to England with you, or to New York? Or would it be somewhere here in California?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t take him to England. I think that would be too much of a culture shock for him. No, I have a small wholesale business in New York, supplying toiletries to the drugstores, soaps, toothpaste, that sort of thing, and I could fit him in there quite easily. I need some more younger salesmen, I think he would do well.’
‘And do you think he would settle there? Do you think he would be happy?’
Hugo sounded impatient.
‘It would be a marvellous opportunity. I think he would settle down quite quickly. It’s what he wanted, after all.’
‘It’s what he wanted once. He was hurt not to get it at the time.’
‘Father Kennedy, he is not a child. He has to learn the ways of the world. Things do not necessarily drop into our laps at precisely the moment we want them. They did not for me, and I am sure they have not always done so for you.’
Father Kennedy reflected, not for the first time, that the English had an unfortunate way of sounding pompous and distant when they probably meant to be neither.
‘Indeed they have not. Nor for most of the people I have worked with all my life. And it does people very little good when things do drop into their laps. Struggle is spiritually enhancing, would you not agree, Mr Dashwood?’
‘Oh, I would, Father.’
‘You are not a Catholic, I think?’
‘I am not.’
The old man was silent for a while, looking at him shrewdly, thinking. ‘And what would become of Mrs Kelly if Miles were to go to New York?’
‘I don’t quite know. I would certainly try to look after her. She has been very good to Miles.’
‘She has indeed. And she is anxious to protect him.’
‘Father, I hope you are not implying Miles needs protection from me?’
‘Not from you, Mr Dashwood. From unhappiness. From idleness, from falling into unfortunate ways.’
‘Which I fear he has despite her efforts.’
‘Indeed.’
Hugo leant forward earnestly. ‘Father, I cannot tell you how very very much I want to re-establish contact with Miles. I want to make amends. I want to help him, to give him a chance, to make something of his life. I think it is time I managed to be more to him.’
Father Kennedy looked at him. ‘I hope, Mr Dashwood, and forgive me if this sounds impertinent, I hope you would not be of a mind to change his perspective of life.’
Dashwood met his eyes steadily.
‘I don’t know exactly what you mean. But I give you my word I would do nothing, nothing at all, that would make Miles unhappy, that would make him think differently about his background, or change his mind about anyone who had cared for him.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, Mr Dashwood. It puts my mind at rest. Miles is a loyal and a very well-adjusted young man. It would be a terrible shame if that was to change.’
‘I agree with you.’
Father Kennedy stood up, his gentle old face calm and suddenly decisive. ‘I don’t think I can tell you where they are, Mr Dashwood. I think it would be a grievous betrayal of confidence. But I will write to Mrs Kelly, and tell her what you have told me. And then it will be for her to decide.’
‘Do you not think, Father, that Miles should have a say in the decision?’
‘I think we need have no fear that he will not. Mrs Kelly is fairly desperate to see him settled and doing well. I am quite certain she will consult him in the matter. I will write to her tonight.’
‘Thank you.’
Father Kennedy wondered if he had made himself sufficiently plain to Hugo Dashwood. It was dangerous ground he had been treading. He hoped he was not falling into temptation and attempting to play God. He had an uneasy feeling that he had. He would spend some time in the church tonight, examining his conscience. He might even make his confession to that tiresome new young priest, who would no doubt give him some very tedious penances to do.
He reproached himself for his uncharitable thought. Father Howell was very young. It was wrong to judge him harshly.
He sighed. He sometimes felt he was getting further and further from a state of grace in his old age. It was a sorry state of affairs.