It was a Tuesday in early September 1968, and Mrs Maguire had summoned Sidney to Grantchester. Rather than meeting at her house, she had requested a rendezvous at the Orchard Tea Rooms. This was odd, as she always disapproved of spending money on something that she could do perfectly well herself, and she hated waste. She also looked smarter than usual and, having been complimented on her appearance, she explained that she was wearing the woollen navy Windsmoor jacket her sister had left her. She had to look her best because something dramatic had happened.
‘It’s my Ronnie,’ she said. ‘He’s come home.’
This was news indeed. Mrs Maguire’s husband had disappeared during the war. Everyone presumed that he had been ‘missing, presumed dead’ but his ‘widow’ was so hazy on the details that Sidney always had the slight suspicion that Ronnie Maguire was still alive. Perhaps he had found a girl in Singapore or South Africa (he had fought with the Cambridgeshire Regiment in the Far East) or he had returned to a mistress and second family back in England? A detailed conversation about the matter had never been encouraged.
‘It’s been twenty-five years. More than the time we were together. I don’t know what to think. I thought he was dead. He just arrived on my doorstep with a suitcase.’
‘Have you asked him where he’s been?’
‘He’s a bit cagey about all that. Tells me he can’t remember everything but hopes it will all come out in time. He says it’s taken him all these years to find a way home. I’m not sure I believe him.’
‘And he’s staying with you?’
‘I’ve put him in my sister’s room. Even though it’s been two years since she died, I’ve only just got used to being alone. It’s very confusing to have a man about the house mucking it all up again.’
‘Is there anything you’d like me to do?’
Mrs Maguire was almost afraid to ask. ‘Could you pay us a visit? I’m not sure Ronnie’s quite himself.’
‘Do you mean that you’re not sure it’s really him?’
‘He’s filled out. I suppose we all have. And he’s redder and fuller around the face than he used to be. Breathless too. He was always such a fit man.’
‘I suppose it’s age. None of us are getting any younger, Mrs M.’
‘I know that. But he used to be so handsome. I think he must have let himself go. But there’s more . . .’
‘Something alarming?’
‘I’m not sure. He didn’t recognise the brooch he gave me when we were courting. You know the one? I’ve told you about it.’
It was eleven cultured pearls on a sprig of silver leaves. Mrs Maguire wore it on her best blouses.
‘He also talked about a dance we went to in Great Yarmouth. I’ve never been there in my life. Do you think he might be confusing me with someone else?’
‘That’s possible. Memory can be fickle. But he is definitely your husband?’ Sidney repeated.
‘I’d like to think so,’ Mrs Maguire replied. ‘I do know my Ronnie. He’s just not the man I’m used to. I don’t know whether I’m angry or glad. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to behave.’
‘I suppose it might be a question of how much you’re prepared to forgive,’ said Sidney. ‘When would you like me to come?’
Over a second pint in the Eagle that Thursday evening, Sidney asked Geordie how much he knew about the original disappearance. If Ronnie Maguire had been ‘missing, presumed dead’ then the War Office would have written formally and his widow would be receiving a pension. However, if he were leading a double life somewhere, wouldn’t the police get involved? Bigamy, as far as Sidney knew, was still illegal.
‘But living in sin is not,’ said Geordie.
‘And that’s what he’s been doing?’
‘Sounds like it.’
‘He’s also claiming to have lost a part of his memory.’
‘The convenient bit of his brain that means he doesn’t have to face the music. Once a chancer, always a chancer.’
‘On the other hand, perhaps he had to forget things. I think he was a prisoner of war in Japan. People never like to talk about that.’
‘Well, he wasn’t the only one, Sidney. Do you know what he does for a living?’
‘I think he worked as an accountant. Mrs M once told me he was good with numbers. She never liked to go into details.’
‘Perhaps she knew all along that he wasn’t dead? That might have been easier to tell people rather than the fact that he’d done a runner. Saves face.’
‘I wondered if you could look into the records for me; see if he has any convictions?’
‘The criminal thing he’s done is to leave his wife. Mrs Maguire’s been unhappy for years, hasn’t she?’
‘She’s a good woman, Geordie. She certainly looked after Leonard and me very well.’
‘Only saw one of you married.’
‘Well, Leonard’s not the marrying kind.’
‘Sometimes I don’t think Leonard’s anything at all.’
‘He doesn’t think about that kind of thing.’
‘Perhaps he makes up for those who think about it all the time.’
‘Speak for yourself, Geordie.’
‘I don’t mean me. I’m beyond all that carry-on. And so, presumably, is Ronnie Maguire. What do you think he’s after? Has his missus got any money? That’s the usual line.’
‘Whatever it is, it’s unsettled his wife. She’s spent so long remembering him that I think she’s built him up into a different person altogether.’
Geordie finished his pint. ‘People change over twenty-five years. I know I have.’
Sidney still had a half left. ‘Do you think Cathy would marry you if she met you now?’ he asked.
‘I doubt it. I’d marry her, though. Shall I get a top-up?’
‘I’d better not. I should be getting back.’
‘What about you and Hildegard then?’
‘I’d marry her today.’
‘You don’t ever wonder what it would have been like if you hadn’t met?’
Sidney pushed over his glass. ‘All right. Put another half in that.’ As Geordie stood up, he added: ‘Amanda would never have married me, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
‘I wasn’t. You mentioned her name.’
‘You know that it was never on the cards. You were there at the time.’
‘Do you think she recognises that she made an almighty mistake?’
‘Henry seemed a decent enough fellow before we realised how evasive he had been about his past. But we’ve all got history.’
‘I don’t mean that. I mean not marrying you when she had the chance.’
‘Perhaps I wouldn’t have married her.’
‘Give over, man. Everyone knew you were made for each other.’
‘But it hasn’t turned out like that. And I’m very happy with what I’ve got, thank you very much.’
Geordie went to the bar, paid for the round and returned with the conversation still in his mind. ‘Hildegard’s a good woman, Sidney. No one else would have put up with you. I can’t imagine any old wife letting her husband swan off to Scotland. She must either have complete faith in you or given up on you altogether.’
‘I hope it’s the former. But I wasn’t “swanning”, I’ll have you know. I was persuading a friend to return to her husband.’
‘I fear not. Amanda wants a clean break and a new life. She has petitioned for divorce.’
‘At least that’s easier to do these days. I suppose even if she had married you the same thing might have happened.’
‘Charming.’
‘That is only my opinion, mind.’
‘Fortunately that situation never arose. In any case, the present circumstances are entirely different; although one has to admit that Amanda’s husband had a secret past just like Ronnie Maguire. We’ve talked about this before, Geordie. If you’re determined not to tell people things, then you have no control over the moment of revelation when it comes. Or the consequences.’
‘Things seldom stay private for ever. I’ll give you that.’
‘Perhaps that’s why Ronnie’s come back? To spit it all out.’
‘I’ve always been interested in the urge to confess, especially towards the end of a life.’ Geordie pulled one of Benson & Hedges’s finest from its packet and lit up. ‘It must happen with you too . . .’
‘People feel the need to make amends; to tidy things up before they go.’
‘But do you think, Sidney, that sometimes they do it because they feel that they haven’t been given enough attention? They’re almost annoyed no one has worked out what’s been going on and they just want to show what they’ve done?’
‘The confession as a type of vanity, you mean?’
‘In criminal cases, yes. People like an audience, the interest taken in them. They are getting the limelight that they previously lacked. They’re also intrigued by police procedure. If we get involved then it all becomes a show in which they are the star.’
‘Even if they are the villain. Like Milton’s devil getting all the best lines or the baddie in a panto?’
‘I suppose it is different with you.’
‘When people tell me things?’ Sidney looked at his pint of beer as if it might provide the answer, took a hearty swig that drained the glass, and gave his reply. ‘I try to give people the benefit of the doubt and hope they are just wanting to put things right. It’s dealing with your own shame. But that too can be a kind of selfishness.’
‘And do you think that’s what Ronnie Maguire is doing?’
‘I’ll just have to ask him.’
‘You’ve got yourself involved?’
‘It’s Mrs Maguire, Geordie. When I think of all that she has done for me, I can hardly stand aside. I don’t want to see her hurt. She’s a proud woman; and although she has a confident look to the world, she’s as scared as the rest of us underneath it all.’
‘You don’t have to do it.’
‘She asked me. It’s absolutely my duty, Geordie. If I don’t help her, if I don’t sit with her and alongside her when she has asked for my assistance, then what kind of Christian am I?’
Mrs Maguire thought it best if Sidney first met Ronnie over tea. She would bake both scones and one of her walnut specials; a cake that he had had to wait nearly two years to sample when she was working for him in the vicarage at Grantchester. Perhaps, Sidney wondered, the woman for whom Ronnie had left his wife was a terrible cook and now that her physical charms were waning he had resorted to Wife Number One for culinary comfort?
The tidiness of the thatched house, the aroma of baking, the Michaelmas daisies in the cottage garden at the front and the welcoming atmosphere would have made any Cambridge estate agent gasp. Sidney complimented his former employee on all that she had done and was greeted with the matter-of-fact reply: ‘I am not prejudiced, but I think cleanliness should come naturally.’
Ronnie was waiting in the sitting room. Although fuller in the figure and prone to breathlessness, he had once been a handsome man and still possessed a firm handshake and a twinkle of mischief about the eyes. His thick grey hair and well-maintained beard made him look a little like a Van Dyck painting. He was not tall but carried himself with an air of assurance that was good for another two or three inches. He had also made an effort with his appearance: a navy-blue blazer with a crimson pocket handkerchief, grey flannel trousers and a Cromer Golf Club tie. Sidney noticed that his cufflinks matched his blazer buttons.
Mrs Maguire busied herself in the kitchen; setting out the scones and insisting that the tea take five minutes to brew properly. It gave the men time to introduce themselves. Sidney ventured that he was glad to meet a man he had heard so much about.
‘I’m staying in her sister Gladys’s old room while she works out what to do with me,’ Ronnie began.
‘I think she will be quite cautious. She’s always been careful of her reputation.’
‘Sylvia’s frightened of people thinking badly of her. I remember how she always used to worry if she’d done something wrong.’
‘She likes to know what the rules are so she can follow them,’ said Sidney. ‘And she expects everyone else to do the same.’
‘She hated it at school if the teacher told her off for anything. We were in the same class when we started. It was 1906. Can you believe that? Things were so different when we were young.’
‘We used to buy sweets at Percy Noble’s hut,’ said Mrs Maguire, coming in with the tea tray. ‘It was a tiny shop that sold newspapers, magazines, sweets, cigarettes and minerals, and, Saturday afternoons, cups of tea. Across the road was Smith’s, the local carpenter’s that doubled up as the undertaker; they still had the village stocks in a shed at the back.’
‘There was this one hot summer,’ Ronnie continued, ‘and a rick of clover and lucerne was set up in the field. It had been damp when they stacked it, but then it gradually heated up inside and burst into flame. It smelled like sweet coffee. I always used to feel sad at the end of summer because I had to go back to school, but as I got older I liked the misty autumn mornings, the flat-racing season, the smell of woodsmoke and beer by the fire. Do you remember, Sylvia, when we first went to the races? We played truant from school.’
Mrs Maguire poured out the tea and handed round the scones. She did not need to ask either man whether he took milk or sugar. ‘It must have been a Saturday,’ she answered. ‘I never missed a day except when I had mumps.’
‘It was a Thursday, in fact, just before the Great War. We were twelve or thirteen. I remember it was after the suffragette threw herself under the king’s horse, a couple of years before they switched the Derby to Newmarket. It must have been October. At any rate it was cold; I remember that. You had a new red scarf, Sylvia. We got the bus with my elder brother, looked at horses in the Birdcage and watched by the Ditch Mile in the Nursery. You remember?’
‘Can’t say I do.’
‘My brother teased you because one of the horses was called Greedy Girl. You liked White Star. Frank put money on Radway. He was dead two years later. I think it must have been the last time he went to the races.’
‘You must have gone with someone else, Ronnie.’
‘It was with you, Sylvia, I promise.’
‘I think you must have been with Nancy Spooner.’
‘I didn’t. I promise. It was you.’
Mrs Maguire checked that no one needed more tea. ‘Nancy Spooner. I had trouble seeing that one off, Sidney, I can tell you. I remember the dance when she made a play for you, Ronnie.’
‘Which one was that?’
‘The one where she kicked me on the back of the leg in the middle of the Gay Gordons and you didn’t believe me.’
‘I don’t remember that.’
‘I had to have words with her after. You didn’t even notice.’
‘I didn’t need to if you took care of it, Sylvie.’
‘Sylvia. Don’t you Sylvie me, Ronnie Maguire. You’re supposed to be on your best behaviour.’
‘I seem to remember you didn’t mind when I wasn’t.’
‘Not in front of the vicar . . .’
‘He’s not a vicar any more. He’s an archdeacon; a very venerable man. That’s his title, you know. The Venerable Sidney Chambers, Archdeacon of Ely.’
‘It really doesn’t matter . . .’ Sidney interrupted.
‘All the more reason for you to mind your ps and qs, Ronnie Maguire.’
Despite the confusion over their respective memories, Sidney was reassured that the couple were sufficiently reunited to tease and argue, even if there was much to sort out.
‘You mentioned the flat-racing season, Mr Maguire,’ he said. ‘Do you know, in all my time as a priest in East Anglia, I’ve never been to the racecourse at Newmarket?’
‘Then you must go.’
‘I always seem too busy; and I’ve never quite known who to ask.’
‘Why don’t you ask me? I’m there all the time.’
‘What are you doing, Sidney?’ Mrs Maguire complained. ‘Are you planning on taking my husband away from me as soon as he’s got home?’
‘You could always come with us,’ said Ronnie.
‘I’ve never been a gambler.’
‘Never too late to start, Sylvia.’
‘I’ve taken a big enough gamble letting you back into my house, Ronnie Maguire. Don’t expect me to do any more.’
As soon as he had gathered up speed on his bicycle and was racing away from Grantchester, in top gear and glad to be returning home at last, Sidney was dismayed to be flagged down by Barbara Wilkinson as she approached her own house with a large bag of shopping. ‘I see you’ve no time to visit me these days,’ she said.
Sidney dismounted. ‘I am sorry, Mrs Wilkinson, but I am no longer of this parish.’
‘Out of sight, out of mind, eh? I see you only turn up when there’s trouble.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Nothing so mundane as visiting a scarlet woman whose son is in prison.’
Danny Wilkinson was just beginning the second year of his life sentence; an appeal on the grounds of temporary insanity had been rejected. ‘You can imagine that my family would take a dim view of that.’
‘You don’t have to tell them.’
‘You are a very dangerous woman.’
‘As soon as the show’s over, you’re off quicker than Ronnie Maguire. I’m surprised you’re back so fast. He’s left it twenty-five years.’
‘The situation is altogether different. They are married to each other. We are acquaintances.’
‘I will tell you something for nothing. That is not the man I remember as Ronnie Maguire.’
‘People change over time.’
‘Not as much as that. He’s smaller, he’s redder and he’s much rounder.’
‘Perhaps he’s shrunk with age?’
‘If it is him, he’s done something very peculiar; although I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s as crooked as a bag of fish-hooks, that one.’
Sidney didn’t want to prolong the conversation or point out that this was quite a statement from the mother of a murderer with a wayward sense of the law, and it made him wonder whether those who were quick to judgement (Mrs Maguire inter alia) only did so in order to prevent an attack on themselves. They were like unfancied boxers aiming for a first-round knockout because they didn’t have any defence.
‘It can’t be the money,’ Barbara Wilkinson continued, ‘as Sylvia Maguire’s as poor as a church mouse. Maybe he’s after her house?’
‘Or perhaps,’ said Sidney, helplessly, ‘he wants to make good the mistakes of his past.’
On Monday 16th September Sidney’s father phoned to discuss an important sporting matter. The Warwickshire cricketer Tom Cartwright had failed a fitness test and pulled out of the England tour with a shoulder injury. The selectors had called up Basil D’Oliveira as a replacement.
‘At last they’ve seen sense. As you know, they should have picked him in the first place.’
‘But won’t the South Africans cancel their invitation?’
‘It’s possible. But they did say, I think, that they would welcome any team that has been selected purely on the grounds of cricketing ability . . .’
‘I like the “purely”.’
‘They didn’t put it exactly like that. But this should not become a political problem. It’s a cricketing matter. Although it’s a curious irony, isn’t it, that a coloured man should have to leave one nation and play for another in order to return to his birthplace?’
Sidney thought about the question of shifting identity, put down the receiver and was just about to return to the paperwork on his desk when he heard Anna call. She wanted tucking in and a bedtime story.
They read Beatrix Potter’s The Tale of Jemima Puddle-Duck in which a collie-dog and two puppies prevented the heroine from being eaten by a fox in disguise. When they had finished, Anna looked serious and told her father what had happened during the day.
‘Mummy lost Byron.’
‘What?’
‘He ran away. I was scared, Daddy. We were calling and calling and he wouldn’t come back.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘By the river. It was all misty and dark. Then it got cold. I didn’t like it. Mummy was scared too but she pretended she wasn’t. We both did. I wish you had been there. Byron knows what to do when you’re there.’
Hildegard appeared in the doorway to explain what had happened. ‘You weren’t home, Sidney, so I had to walk him. I was distracted, I admit. I only had twenty minutes before my teaching. As you know, mein Lieber, Byron doesn’t respond to me as he does to you . . .’
‘Obedience has never been his strong point, I’m afraid.’
‘He wouldn’t come at all, Daddy.’
Hildegard turned to her daughter. ‘Aber letztendlich ist er zu uns zurückgekommen, nicht wahr, meine Kleine?’
She then explained to Sidney that an unworried Byron had ambled back as if nothing had happened some half an hour later. ‘It was not good, Sidney. I didn’t know what to say or how to discipline him. You said you would be home and I was late for the next lesson.’
Anna looked at her father. ‘You won’t run away like Byron did, will you, Daddy?’
‘Of course not, darling; now tuck yourself in.’
‘I didn’t like it when you were in Scotland.’
‘I know.’
‘You won’t go there again, will you?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Promise me you won’t.’
‘I promise I won’t go without you. Now snuggle down.’
‘Honestly,’ said Hildegard when husband and wife were alone at last. ‘For Byron to go off like that without any warning. I could have killed him.’
‘I’m glad you didn’t.’
‘You are fortunate. If you’d been there I might have attacked you instead.’
‘Then I’m relieved to have been absent. Perhaps that’s what Ronnie Maguire was doing; avoiding his wife so often that it became a habit and then he never went back.’
‘Don’t start getting ideas.’
‘Don’t worry, Hildegard. I know I wouldn’t last five minutes without you.’
His wife thought briefly before her response. ‘Five minutes you would manage; five weeks is possible. Five years, never.’
The trip to Newmarket took place on Thursday 17th October. Sidney picked out an old three-piece suit that had been spared by the moths and a brown rabbit-felt trilby that he thought would be just the ticket for a day at the races. Ronnie was dressed up to the nines in a Donegal tweed sports jacket with a mustard-yellow jumper, a Tattersall shirt and dark-green tie that matched his corduroy trousers.
The two men visited the paddock before the first race to have a look at the horses for impressive muscle tone, shiny coats and bright eyes. The going was good. Ronnie told Sidney they had to choose horses that were bred to stay, often keeping that extra reserve in the locker, ready to spark on the day.
Both men bet on Fortune’s Hope at 9–2 in the Chesterton Maiden Stakes, with Ronnie professing inside knowledge. ‘Humphrey Cottrill, who bred and still owns him, thinks the world of this colt.’
‘How do you decide who to back?’ Sidney enquired.
‘I look at the owners, the jockeys and then the horses themselves. Peter O’Sullevan and Jim Joel know their stuff and if Charlie Elliott or Lester Piggott’s riding then I’ll check the form. I do the basics on the two-year plates and gilts and try not to be greedy. You’ve got to cover yourself in case things don’t work out . . .’
‘And does that apply to life in general?’ Sidney asked before detecting a flash of frustration in Ronnie’s response and regretted that he had raised the subject so early in the day.
‘Let’s not go into that now. Sometimes a man is led astray. I don’t suppose you’d know about that.’
‘Officially not . . .’
‘But unofficially?’
‘No one has led an exemplary life, Ronnie. Not even a priest.’
‘I’m not too keen to explain myself, as you can probably imagine. When you sum it all up it doesn’t look too good. But wait, the bell’s gone and the horses are off to the start. Let’s watch.’
They stood at the edge of the stand near the bookmakers so they would be quick to collect their winnings and bet again but, despite being the favourite, Fortune’s Hope wasn’t even placed, outrun by West Partisan, Real Estate and Hickleton.
‘I see you don’t have God on your side,’ Ronnie observed.
‘Neither Fortune nor Hope, it seems.’
‘Let’s have a drink and another look at the horses. We’ve got a good twenty minutes until the next.’
Sidney was still trying to get the hang of the betting but was intrigued that, as in cricket, so much of it was taken up with the question of form. He thought of his father, and how much he would enjoy Newmarket. It would certainly have cheered him up a bit after all his anger and frustration with the cricketing authorities. England’s tour to South Africa had now been cancelled and the aftershock was still being felt as recriminations flew. A day at the races would have taken his mind off it all.
A bookmaker was offering tempting odds on an older horse with a good reputation, saying that he had too much class to be done, but Ronnie wasn’t having any of it, backing a younger, more promising alternative, telling Sidney, ‘Those that burn twice as bright burn half as long.’ Racing, like life, was about taking calculated risks, he said. ‘It’s like the old cliché, Sidney. If you only do what you’ve always done you can only get what you’ve always got.’
‘And is that what makes you a risk-taker?’ Sidney asked.
‘I always thought I could lead a better life,’ Ronnie replied. ‘But I suppose I was wrong.’
‘We can’t ever predict how things will turn out. The important thing is to try and behave decently.’
‘Well, I certainly failed at that.’
‘I know you may not want to talk about it.’
‘We all have to face the music some day. I’m just sorry I didn’t at the time.’
‘You got someone else to do it for you?’
‘Her sister. I asked her to tell Sylvia I wasn’t dead, but I wasn’t coming back either. I was a coward.’
‘Perhaps you were frightened of being caught in two minds.’
‘Let’s watch the race, Sidney. All in good time.’
Ronnie put a pound on Profit Sharing at 10–1 in the two thirty, while Sidney went for Harry Lauder at 100–8 in honour of his Scottish grandfather, but they had no more luck than they had had before and Sidney was worried about the extent of his losses. How much was he prepared to gamble in a single afternoon? If he lost more than a pound Hildegard would be furious.
The same thing happened in the three o’clock. Sidney put half a crown on Motet at 100–8 in a little musical tribute to his wife, despite Ronnie telling him that betting on a horse just because you liked its name could only lead to disaster. He was tempted to retort that experience didn’t seem to be doing much good either as his friend’s decision to go for Samivel at 100–6 had been equally unfortunate.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked. ‘All these horses were well fancied and yet we’ve lost every time.’
‘Don’t worry, Sidney, our luck will change. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?’
‘Is it always like this? Whatever happened to beginner’s luck?’
‘Let’s go with the nap. Riboccare is 7–2 in the Jockey Club Cup. He’s a neat little colt and he’ll run two stone better with Lester Piggott on him. Put ten shillings on. I’ll pay you back if you lose.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Trust me, Sidney. I’ll put it on for you.’
‘There’s no need for that.’
‘It’s all right. My treat. You’ll get almost two pounds back. Let me do it now in case they shorten the odds. I won’t be a jiffy.’
Ronnie was as good as his word, and the horse ran in by a comfortable half-length, digging in hard towards the finish, bursting past Fortissimo, the previous year’s winner, a furlong out.
‘It’s not just the winning that matters,’ Ronnie explained. ‘It’s that you suspend your life. When you’re at the races there’s only one thing to think about. The rest of the world disappears and you lose yourself in the sound of the hooves on the track, the flashes of colour, the speed and the movement. You put everything into the horse you’ve chosen.’
Sidney let him talk. He knew that the secret of having a proper conversation with a man was to have it while pretending to do something else. Like watching cricket with his father, flat-racing was a distraction that allowed serious discussion to feel almost incidental.
‘Alice keeps horses,’ Ronnie said out of nowhere. ‘I think that’s why we got on so well. There was so much we didn’t have to explain to each other. We were both brought up on farms.’
‘How did you meet her?’
‘I spent the first year of the war with the Cambridgeshire Regiment on defence duties on the Norfolk coast. We were at Stiffkey on the edge of the salt marshes. Everything that first winter froze solid. It was impossible to get warm. That’s when I met her. It was through her brother John. He was in the same battalion. She was only twenty. She had the longest, curliest red hair you ever saw. Green eyes like she belonged to the land, a soft voice and a way of looking that wouldn’t let you go. She worked on a stud farm and exercised the horses every day. Sometimes I caught a glimpse as we were doing our own manoeuvres and I couldn’t concentrate on anything at all. To see her ride was something I can’t describe. John noticed and he teased me rotten. We were on defensive duties, trying to camouflage some double-decker buses.
‘“I don’t know why you’re doing all this,” he said, “you’ve got no defence at all.” As soon as I had some leave Alice took me to one of the last of the races at Fakenham. It was just before they had to stop because of the war. She knew her horses, I’ll tell you that. I remember we made nearly three guineas. Well, you can imagine what happened.’
‘You didn’t say you were already married?’
‘I don’t think she knows to this day.’
‘How on earth did you keep it a secret? You must be a lot older than her. Didn’t she ask?’
‘I don’t know, Sidney. I must have given her some of the old flannel. I didn’t intend to do so but the war changed everything. It was a bit of company while there wasn’t much going on. I thought the Cambridgeshire Regiment was more like the Home Guard. First we were in Norfolk, then Scotland and then Cheshire. But after Japan came in it all went black. We were sent out to Singapore and then up-country to reinforce the 15th Indian Brigade at Batu Pahat. It was a rum time. We lost so many men. In the end we had to surrender and we became Japanese prisoners of war. The one person who helped me survive was Alice’s brother, John. I don’t know how we got through it all but somehow we did, and when we got back to England I knew I wasn’t ready to go home. I didn’t even know what home was any more. I couldn’t imagine it. I just stayed with John in Holt, near Stiffkey, where it all began. Then I saw Alice again and couldn’t leave her. She had a child by then, my child, a little boy. He was called Frank after my brother. Then we had two more very quickly and I could hardly go back to Sylvia after that. I didn’t want a confrontation. It was best to say I was missing, presumed dead.’
‘And you were happy?’
‘For a long time.’
‘Does Alice know you’re in Grantchester now?’
‘I don’t think she cares too much about my whereabouts at the moment.’
‘You left under a cloud?’
‘I made a mess of things, Sidney. Money, really. It wasn’t another woman or anything like that. I suppose I couldn’t settle. But let’s not spoil the day. There’s another race and our luck’s turned. We have to take advantage of fortune when it comes. I can’t tell you everything at once. It’s been too long a life.’
Emboldened by his victory in the previous race, and having just witnessed horse and rider in perfect rhythm, Sidney backed Lester Piggott with an each-way bet on Grey Portal at 100–30. The horse came third with Ronnie triumphing once more with Zarco, at 13–8, winning by six lengths and a short head.
‘I don’t want to tell Sylvia too much about all this,’ said Ronnie. ‘I wouldn’t want her to think any the worse of me. You know how judgemental she can be.’
‘I am aware of that. But she wouldn’t like it. I think she’d rather not know. She likes to be in control of things.’
‘She’s always wanted the first and last word.’
‘And I’m minded to let her have them.’
Ronnie placed a pound on the favourite, Spring Glory, in the Highflyer Stakes at 7–4 (‘He beat Jacobus by five lengths at York. This is a dead cert, I’m telling you’) whereas a sentimental Sidney, mindful of the time of year, put half a crown on Advent at 100–6.
Neither horse was placed and both men ended up down on the day. Despite the revealing and informative nature of the conversation, Sidney could not help but feel that his first day betting at the races was probably going to be his last.
The next week was spent on routine tasks in Ely: the preparations for Christmas, visiting the sick and learning a modern musical accompaniment to the liturgy that was pitched at attracting young pilgrims.
The news from Grantchester was sparse. Dr Robinson had been called in to check on Ronnie Maguire’s wheezing chest, Barbara Wilkinson had written one of her desperate letters (in turquoise ink) to ask if Sidney had done anything about ‘the imposter’ and Malcolm Mitchell telephoned to say that he had been offered the incumbency of St Bride’s Church, Fleet Street. This was the journalists’ church and Malcolm was beside himself with happiness. It could not have been more perfect, he said. He would now be able to live properly with Helena, their weekly commuting could cease and they could begin to think about starting a family. He was sure that this had been the result of Sidney ‘putting in a word’ and wanted to thank him for the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.
The gratitude was cheering and Sidney was in a particularly good mood as his wife prepared the first casserole of the autumn. He picked up a spoon, tasted the sauce, and added a little paprika. Hildegard asked him what on earth he was doing.
‘I am savouring the stew of destiny with the spice of fate.’
‘Leave it alone, Sidney. Nothing is safe when you are near. Not even an innocent Eintopf.’
‘Suspect everything! Leave nothing to chance!’ Sidney joked, wrapping his right arm round her waist.
‘But trust your wife,’ she replied, giving him a little kiss on the lips. ‘That’s the point of marriage. It should be the one part of your life where there is no doubt. You must know that by now.’
Sidney stepped back to open a bottle of wine. ‘But what if my beloved alters her personality before my very eyes?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘People are changed by marriage.’
Hildegard began to make the dumplings. ‘I think we’re supposed to improve each other. That’s what it says in the Church Times.’
‘I didn’t know you read it.’
‘I have a look and try to understand what you are thinking.’
‘I’m not sure you’ll find it helpful. But that doesn’t matter. We may well become different people through marriage but the question is – how much of our original selves remain? Do you still feel German, for example, or have you lived here long enough for that no longer to be an issue?’
‘My nationality will never leave me. It is who I am. That’s why I want to take Anna next summer; to show her that she can feel at home there too.’
‘Do you think you would feel more yourself if you went back?’
‘And we lived there? I don’t know, Sidney. I miss the language, the people and the food. I miss the white Spargel in the spring; the raisin bread and the Christmas markets. I miss the natural world, the forests and the feeling of being at home. But I’m also happy here with you. It is possible to belong to more than one country.’
Sidney laid the table as Byron nosed around him, hoping for random scraps of food.
‘My father keeps banging on about the D’Oliveira case; especially now the South African tour’s been cancelled. I wonder how much we are the products of our nation and whether we can escape the unpalatable past to become different people? Can one ever become something other than oneself? I know that this is the heart of the Christian message, that we shall all be changed, but isn’t there a part of us that remains immutable? I mean, take Ronnie. Even though he’s clearly married someone else, is he still Mrs Maguire’s husband? There’s been no divorce.’
‘And they were married in the sight of God?’
‘They were. But he has broken his vows.’
‘He’s the same man.’
‘But is he? That’s what I have to find out.’
‘And what of Mrs Maguire?’ Hildegard asked as she rolled her dough into balls for the dumplings. ‘What does she want? Why did she ask you to meet them both? You think it was to have a good look at him; but what if she also wanted you to look at her, to check that she wasn’t giving away too much too soon? Do you not think you might have been concentrating too much on the man rather than the woman?’
‘I think I can look at things through her eyes.’
‘But what about seeing her through your own?’ Hildegard was about to rest her hand on Sidney’s shoulder but stopped when she realised it would leave a floury mark on his cassock. ‘Perhaps I should go and see her instead of you? This may need a woman’s point of view.’
‘That’s not a bad idea . . .’
‘I haven’t been back to Grantchester for over a year. I could look in on Malcolm and congratulate him on his new job.’
‘He’d like that.’
‘I might even take Anna and Byron.’
‘Provided you don’t lose him again.’
‘He is familiar with the Meadows. I think we’ll be all right. And, who knows, Mrs Maguire might even tell me a little more than she has told you? Woman to woman.’
‘If you could, I’d be grateful.’
‘I will listen to her very carefully.’ Hildegard smiled. ‘But I promise not to be a better detective than you.’
‘It’s not a competition, my darling.’
‘Sidney, mein Lieber, I never said that it was.’
The following Thursday, Sidney was emerging from Jesus Lane after a tedious meeting at Westcott House about the training of ordinands in ‘the modern world’ when he saw Ronnie Maguire going into the bookie’s. He appeared to have lost weight and his walk was more hesitant than it had been only a few weeks previously. Sidney even wondered if he might have had a fall. There was certainly less confidence about him.
After an awkward greeting, Ronnie confessed that he wanted to put a large number of bets on at the same time: Sir Ivor in the Champions Stakes, The Elk in the Observer Gold Cup and Be Friendly in the Vernons Sprint at Haydock Park. He even suggested that Sidney do the same, as the prices were good and they could get longer odds by betting in advance.
There was another reason for his visit, he admitted. He hadn’t been well and he was finding it hard to leave the house. He got so breathless. Perhaps Sidney would like a drink after he had placed his bets. Ronnie wasn’t sure when he’d be out and about again.
It would have been churlish to refuse, given how slowly the man was moving, holding his right side and limping slightly, and so they soon made their way to the Baron of Beef. Sidney noticed that Ronnie was no longer wearing his gold watch. He wondered if he might have pawned it. He still had not penetrated the mystery of why the man had left Stiffkey after so many years. All he knew was that it had been about money.
‘You would think I’d have known better,’ Ronnie said at last. ‘I feel such a fool. But that’s where greed gets you.’
‘You don’t have to tell me about it.’
‘I don’t mind. You could take it as a warning, although I don’t think you’d ever be so foolish. I’ve seen how cautiously you bet.’
‘Perhaps I take enough risks on other things, Ronnie. Besides, I don’t have very much money.’
‘You don’t need much to get in a mess. All you need is a bit of fortune to begin with. You mistake it for talent and then you’re doomed.’
‘Sylvia told me that you had always been good with numbers.’
‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘You’re an accountant, aren’t you?’
‘I was. I did the books on the farm. Then I started to help a few other people with their tax and finally, just over ten years ago, I got myself an office in Holt. Nice staff. We did well. I started recommending investments for clients and ways of saving tax. It was all perfectly legit, avoidance not evasion. Then I thought we could do with a stockbroker and I met this bloke at the races. He was a friend of Alice’s brother: Terry Grant. Some people called him Cary because he had the good looks and the charm and Terry sounds a bit like Cary if you’re not listening properly . . .’
‘He had the patter.’
‘Certainly did. We started off quite cautiously. Inflation was around 3.4 per cent, the rate for savers was 3 or 4 per cent and in the first few years our clients were averaging a 7–8 per cent annual return. That was good enough, but others were making a bit more and I asked if we could push it on a bit.’
‘You asked? Or he suggested that you did so?’
‘He was the kind of man who could make you think it was all your idea. He started talking about South African mining stocks; not just gold and diamonds but better value and faster profits in underpriced minerals: titanium in Kenya, copper in Uganda, platinum in South Africa and Rhodesia.’
‘I thought there were sanctions against Rhodesia?’
‘There are. Terry said that made the chance of profits greater. There were fewer deals and plenty of people who still wanted the products and who were prepared to pay more. I don’t know how true that was. I never got the chance to find out. The idea was that they were all minerals with a future: titanium in the aerospace industry, copper wiring in electronics, platinum in shipping. Like Harold Wilson, he went on about the white heat of technology and the consumer revolution, the metals used in cars, fridges, music systems, all the growth industries for which there was public demand. We all want cars, we all want to travel, we all want the best of modern life, and here was a chance to invest in the raw materials. It couldn’t fail.’
‘Except that it did.’
‘Human error. Terry never invested at all. He took money from new investors, gave us back our half-yearly profits, which were always better than we had been expecting, 12–15 per cent, and persuaded us to put more and more back in. He even gave Alice a pair of diamond earrings to keep us sweet. Finally, the returns were so good I remortgaged the house. I thought we could pay it all off, go to the Caribbean, live the life of Riley. Then Terry disappeared off the face of the earth. God knows where he went. At first I thought he might have had an accident or that he was dead. I even worried about him. Then I realised. What a bastard. He just vanished. No one knew where he had gone, not even Alice’s brother, who was supposedly his best friend. He lost money too. The worst thing was . . .’
‘You hadn’t told Alice you’d remortgaged the house.’
‘How did you guess?’
‘It’s why you’re here.’
‘That’s about it. She went crackers when she found out. We were about to lose everything. She had to talk to the bank, sell the horses, get other friends to help. I was kicked out sharpish. I had a suitcase and a wad of cash and that was that.’
‘I didn’t want the shame. I just had to get out. And then I thought of Sylvia and what I’d done and I wondered what had happened to her. Perhaps I could do one thing in my life to make things right. It’s a stupid idea, I know, but I haven’t been thinking straight. You won’t tell her all this, will you?’
‘It’s not for me to say, Ronnie. It’s for you.’
‘I don’t know what I’m doing any more. But I’d like to earn some money back for her. Leave her a bit to be going on with.’
‘Do you mean that you’re planning to move on? You’ve only just got here.’
‘I’m not sure she can keep me. Besides, none of us carry on for ever.’
‘You’re not old.’
Ronnie began to cough and reached for his packet of cigarettes as if it might contain the cure. ‘I’m nearly seventy. I’m not in the best of health. I can’t take anything for granted, Sidney. You know that. I’m sorry you’re involved in all this. You’ll tell me the right thing to do, won’t you?’
At the same time, Hildegard was seeing Mrs Maguire. They had not found it easy to adjust to each other in the past, but a mutual respect had taken hold over the years and both women knew that this was not a relationship that benefited from confrontation. Hildegard recognised that she was going to have to proceed carefully if Sylvia Maguire was to confide anything personal.
Both Anna and Byron had been left at home with a babysitter (the original idea of taking them had been mere bravado) and Hildegard, like her husband, began by complimenting her host on her appearance, her cottage, her tea and her cake. ‘I was expecting more sign of a man.’
‘I’ve got my husband trained. We’ve also had a bit of a clear-out. Sold some of my sister’s clutter.’
‘I see.’
‘Gives us room to move. I only hope we don’t have to set up a bedroom down here. Ronnie’s finding the stairs a bit difficult.’
‘Is he unwell?’
‘He gets breathless. We’ve had the doctor round. They had a bit of a chat but I’m not party to what they tell each other.’
‘I’m sure you could ask questions afterwards.’
‘I think I’d rather not know if it’s anything serious. I don’t like the future ruining the present.’
‘And I imagine you have a lot of the past to catch up on.’
‘Oh yes,’ Mrs Maguire continued. ‘We talk about what it was like all the time. I’ve got a few photographs and we keep going through them: the school, the shop, the farm. Would you like to see? There’s one of me on a pony and Ronnie pretending to be a scarecrow.’
She fetched out an old album. ‘We can’t remember who everyone is, that’s the only thing. Ronnie tries to help out and sometimes I think he makes up stories just to please me. I’m sure I never pushed Nancy Spooner out of a boat, but he says I did and it was the funniest thing he ever saw. My memory isn’t what it was. Normally it’s the recent things. I used to think I was quite good at my childhood, but sometimes memories are like those propeller seeds that get caught in the wind. That’s one of the first things I remember. We called them whirlybirds. I was running along a line of elm trees trying to catch them with my friends. Whoever got the most was the winner. The sun was so bright. I had a little green dress, I think. I must have been about five, the same age as your daughter, Mrs Chambers. I don’t know if Ronnie was there or not. I get so confused about time. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s morning or afternoon.’
Hildegard hesitated to bring up something she had already noticed, but the conversation gave her the opportunity. ‘You used to have a very fine carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Has that disappeared in the clear-out?’
‘Ronnie said he’d get it valued. He mentioned something about insurance. He took a bit of jewellery too. There’s not much. I’m not a rich woman, as you know. I’ve always had to live carefully. I’ve only got a few valuables: my mother’s silver candlesticks and a set of cruets. I think there’s a cup and saucer from Queen Victoria’s Diamond Jubilee somewhere. You know that I was born on the day she died?’
‘I did.’ It was the one fact Mrs Maguire shared almost every time they met. ‘Did your husband take all that to be valued as well?’
‘I think so. He had on his mysterious face, the one that doesn’t like to be interrupted. He said it would be useful to know.’
‘And did he say when he might bring the items back?’
‘A couple of weeks, I think. He wasn’t very clear and I didn’t like to ask. I don’t want to make him cross.’
‘It was good of you to let him back.’
‘Didn’t have much choice if I wanted company, did I? And vows are vows. Not that they matter much to Miss Kendall, I hear – or rather, Mrs Richmond.’
‘That has been unfortunate. Divorce is never easy.’
‘Did Sidney really go all the way to Scotland to fetch her back? That’s what people are saying. She’s led him a merry dance. It’s a pity her husband couldn’t do it himself.’
Hildegard was silent for a moment, deciding that it would not be wise to talk too much about the ways in which a reluctant spouse could be persuaded to return home.
Mrs Maguire continued. ‘I’m glad he found you. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about. Miss Kendall was always too posh for him.’
‘And I’m not?’ Hildegard asked spontaneously, unable to check herself.
‘I don’t mean that. You’re a first-class woman in every way.’ (Hildegard knew Mrs Maguire had not always thought this but kept her discretion.) ‘I sometimes wonder how you put up with him.’
‘I think we all have to find ways of coping with our husbands; and most of the time we have to disguise the fact we’re doing it.’
‘That’s where Miss Kendall went wrong. She didn’t have the patience.’
‘And is that the secret of marriage, do you think, Mrs Maguire?’
‘You have to keep hoping it will all come right even if you have to wait until the very end. Ronnie always loved me. Why would he come back if that wasn’t true?’
‘Did you always know he was alive?’
‘I suppose I did, but I didn’t like to admit it, especially not in public. It was easier to blame his absence on the war. He was in the Far East. A lot of men never came back. My sister told me she thought he was up north somewhere but I didn’t believe her. If he was in England then why wouldn’t he want to see me again? Then she said she thought Ronnie was in South Africa. Gladys never got her story straight and I didn’t know where she was getting her information. She said it was his sister. I was sure Ronnie never had a sister. Perhaps it was the other woman, but I never liked to talk about that.’
‘You knew there was one?’
‘It was obvious, I suppose. But I didn’t want to imagine such a thing because I knew if I thought about it too much it would be all I would remember. I had to hold on to what we’d had ourselves. Then I could hope for the future.’
‘And are you glad he’s come back?’
‘He’s taken his time about it, I must say. It’s not an easy thing to forgive. I’ve been on my own so long.’
‘I suppose it depends on how many sacrifices you are prepared to make.’
Mrs Maguire had a thousand-yard stare in her eyes. ‘The reason I married him was because he gave me a feeling of being safe, even when I was a child. I didn’t like being on my own. I was always afraid something bad would happen. Then Ronnie came along. That was a good thing. I knew where I was when I was with him. Then he went away and I was a child all over again, trying to catch propeller seeds in the wind, not knowing how I would ever get home. And that’s where you need to be, Mrs Chambers. That’s enough of my prattling. Anna will be needing to be bathed and put to bed.’
Ten days later Geordie popped up to see Sidney in Ely. He felt like a bit of a chat, he said, and wanted to get away from his normal routine and talk about something different over a couple of pints in the Prince Albert.
‘Ronnie Maguire?’ Sidney asked.
‘Could be, but I never quite know what I’m going to get with you. It could be cricket, jazz, marital secrets, trips to Scotland, who knows?’
‘I’m sure you can enjoy just as much conversational variety at home.’
‘You’re wrong, Sidney, and I like this pub. It’s small enough to be snug, they do a good beer and they leave you alone. What more could a man want?’
‘I wish you lived here,’ said Sidney. ‘I don’t have anyone else to have a drink with.’
‘I’m sure that’s nonsense. There must be the odd clergyman with a need to get away from it all.’
‘Alas, the only other priest prone to distraction has his eyes firmly set on the ladies.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Steady, Geordie.’
‘Any news on the returning hero?’
‘He’s a rogue, of course. Hildegard’s seen Mrs Maguire and suspects he’s been pawning her valuables . . .’
‘With her agreement?’
‘It seems so, but that’s always a grey area. Hildegard also thinks he’s a bit of a drinker. She noticed a whisky bottle in the bookcase.’
‘That’s very observant. At least you and I haven’t got to that stage; unless your wife’s had a bit of practice already, spotting these things at home.’
‘It’s a slippery slope, I’m told.’
‘Indeed. Fancy another?’
Once they were on to their second pints the men discussed gambling, the pawn shop and the possibility of alcoholism.
‘I like to think I’m all right when I know people who are worse,’ said Geordie.
‘You must see a lot in the force.’
‘It’s not just the police. There were a couple of Scots blokes. Actors. They used to come in at opening time for a sharpener to get over their hangovers. Three double white spirits: that’s a double rum, a double gin and a double vodka, poured into a pint glass and topped up with Guinness. That set them up. Then they were ready for the day.’
‘It’s amazing they survived.’
‘They didn’t. They were both dead before they were sixty.’
‘I’ve spent some time with Ronnie,’ said Sidney, returning to their principal subject. ‘He carries a hip flask and likes to keep himself topped up, but I don’t think he’s that bad. I’ve never seen him late in the day, mind you.’
‘I hope Mrs Maguire doesn’t have to put him to bed.’
‘He’s been going there of his own accord quite recently. Not as fit as he once was. He has difficulty breathing. There are mood swings too, I fear. He can say some very dark things.’
‘And are they directed towards other people in any way?’
‘No. Only to himself.’
‘I wouldn’t want any violence towards his wife. Then we would have to step in.’
‘I think he’s quite capable of beating himself up. I think that explains the drink and the gambling; life hasn’t turned out as he had once hoped.’
‘These things often become self-fulfilling prophecies.’
‘He’s hoping to make some big money on the horses, he said, “before it’s too late”. I don’t know whether that means before he runs out of money or before he dies. I know he placed some tremendously large bets on the racing at Haydock yesterday. He had some sure-fire tips and was hoping to make as much as two or three hundred pounds.’
‘Haydock, you say. Yesterday?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, he won’t have made any money there.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Fog. The racing was abandoned. He’ll be no better off than he was at the start of the day.’
‘At least that means he won’t have lost the money. But it might make him do something desperate.’
‘What’s he playing at?’ Geordie asked. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. Do you think he’s planning on disappearing all over again?’
In early December Hildegard saw Mrs Maguire once more and reported on their conversation at bedtime. ‘She told me she wasn’t sure why Ronnie had come home, but then she said to me, “Why ask too many questions? Does anything matter if we’re happy? It’ll soon be Christmas.”’
‘Perhaps it doesn’t matter. People are sometimes content with delusion. It could be the fear of hurting each other. I wonder if we’d do that.’
‘I’m not sure, Sidney. Would you like me always to tell you everything I think and know?’
‘I don’t always know what you are thinking.’
‘It would be terrible if you did.’
Sidney climbed into bed. ‘I think there is a right and a wrong time to say things. I have always been honest, but there has to be some privacy in thinking. We cannot always control our thoughts and sometimes they rise up, embarrass and frighten us. We have to judge when and what to say. We can’t just blurt out all our feelings. That would be terrible.’
Hildegard turned on to her side to face her husband. ‘It would, even from you.’
Sidney stroked her cheek and continued: ‘Not everything needs to be said out loud. There is such a thing as silent understanding and I’d like us to think we both know each other better than anyone else.’
‘That doesn’t mean we take each other for granted.’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Because I know you’d tell me things if you had to.’
‘Of course.’
Hildegard cuddled in to her husband. ‘I wonder how much the Maguires have said to each other. It must be so difficult; what to say and what to leave out; how to be honest and how not to cause hurt. They are both so proud and so vulnerable.’
‘And I’m not sure how much time they’ve got left. At least it’s not too late.’
‘I don’t know, Sidney. We need to look after Mrs M. I don’t think this can end well.’
Any attempt at resuming normality the following morning was undone by the fact that both husband and wife had forgotten Amanda was coming to lunch. They had to pretend that they had always known and rustled up a quick shepherd’s pie they had been planning to have that evening.
‘Don’t worry at all about me,’ said Amanda. ‘I know perfectly well how busy you both must be. Would you not prefer it if I took you out?’
‘No, I have it all prepared,’ said Hildegard. ‘Unless you’d like to see Sidney on your own?’
‘There’s no need for that. I’ve spoken to him quite enough recently. And we have to catch up, Hildegard. You know I love you equally.’
It was clear that despite a certain brittleness, and a fear of being caught off her guard, Amanda did not want to make too much of the recent trip to Scotland. Nor did she particularly want to discuss her failing marriage. She just wanted to spend time with people she loved.
‘That’s the point of our friendship. It doesn’t matter which one of you I am with. I can talk, knowing that you will tell each other anything I say. That’s right, isn’t it, Sidney?’
‘He did tell me about Scotland; and about your decision,’ Hildegard replied.
‘Never mind about me. I need some distraction now that I am back in circulation. What’s been happening to you?’
The Chamberses were initially reluctant to go into detail about the Ronnie Maguire case, given Amanda’s recent history. However, they then realised that their guest’s experience would provide a unique approach to the situation. She was also in such a combative mood that her opinion would be given quickly and directly. It therefore wasn’t long before they furnished Amanda with a full account of what Sidney described as ‘complicated shenanigans’.
‘We didn’t want to tell you too much about it,’ Hildegard explained. ‘Other people’s lives . . .’
Amanda’s response was as forthright as they had hoped. ‘Oh, you’ve no need to show any sensitivity with me. Things are what they are. Have you asked about Mrs Maguire’s will?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Whyever not? She might have changed it; particularly after her sister died. Who knows, Sidney, she might even have left her house to you.’
‘I very much doubt it. Besides I think Ronnie Maguire’s due to die first. He’s not in the best of health.’
‘Then why do you think he’s come back?’
‘Atonement.’
‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘As a minister I must remind you of the Christian teaching that it is never too late.’
‘I hope that doesn’t apply to Henry.’
‘I’m afraid it does.’
‘Well, you’re not going to have any luck convincing me on that one. His opportunity for forgiveness lapsed a long time ago.’
‘Your mind is made up?’
‘I’ve seen a lawyer and please don’t either of you try to persuade me all over again. How can I keep living with him and how can I ever know that there aren’t more secrets? One can never get a straight answer from him about anything. I’ve decided to go ahead with the divorce and that’s an end to it. It sounds like Mrs Maguire should do the same.’
‘I don’t think she can.’
‘Nonsense. This is Mrs Maguire we are talking about. She can do anything she puts her mind to. Do you want me to go and tell her myself?’
‘That won’t be necessary, Amanda.’
‘Then you might as well hear my other news.’
‘Romantic?’ Hildegard asked.
‘Not at all. I’ve given up all hope of that. In any case, it’s far too soon. The situation is this. I’ve got a new job in the Department of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum. I am going to be their deputy curator.’
‘That’s marvellous,’ said Sidney.
‘I know I told you that I was having thoughts about a completely different life but this was too good an opportunity to give up. The collection is little short of astonishing. There are over fifty thousand drawings and two million prints from the thirteenth century to the present day. It’s a complete treasure trove: Dürer, Raphael, Rembrandt and Goya.’
‘It will be a new life for you,’ said Hildegard.
‘I’m starting with some research on Michelangelo. They have a fascinating selection of his work from different stages of his career. I can give you both a private tour. Yesterday I looked at a preparatory drawing for Adam on the Sistine Chapel ceiling. It is such a wonderful opportunity to examine an artist’s first thoughts. I can study all those sketches and the beginnings of ideas and understand the formation of style; how things eventually become what they are. It’s such an overlooked area. We spend all our time looking at the finished article, never at the early stages. So I’m going to throw myself into my work. I think it’ll be much safer than chucking myself at a man.’
A few days later Mrs Maguire telephoned to say that Ronnie’s condition had deteriorated. The doctor and the vicar had both come but neither was as comforting or consoling as Sidney. She wanted to hear his voice and have him beside her. It was the only thing that would feel right.
Sidney could hardly say no and it was one of those rare times in his life when he knew, exactly, that he was behaving as he should, as both priest and friend; not that this was about him at all. He shouldn’t be vain, he corrected himself, his presence should be entirely at the service of others.
‘It’s been a bit difficult, I have to say,’ Mrs Maguire began. ‘I’ve done my fair share of nursing but that was a long time ago and I’m frightened of making a mistake. I’m so anxious about most things these days. It’s like going for a walk and being sure you’re going to fall over but you don’t know when. You can’t trust a single step you take.’
She showed Sidney into the living room, where a bed had been assembled. Ronnie was asleep.
‘He’s asked me to put some money on the horses, said it will help tide me over, but you know I’m not very good at that kind of thing. My father used to call gambling the devil’s work.’
‘I am sure that a bet at this stage in both your lives won’t do too much damage.’
‘I don’t like to think of my old dad looking down on me.’
‘Perhaps he’ll turn a blind eye.’
‘You’ve always been a wild one . . .’
‘I trust that the Lord is merciful, Mrs Maguire. It’s my only hope.’
‘“In very present danger”.’
‘You know your prayers . . .’
‘I know my Bible too. It keeps me right.’
‘You’re an example to us all, Mrs M.’
‘You should call me Sylvia.’
‘I think that’s Ronnie’s prerogative. Has he been sleeping long?’
‘He always naps after an early lunch. We eat at midday, you know. I think it gives him an excuse to have a drink. Then he sleeps. He’ll wake in time for the racing, don’t you worry.’
Sidney looked at the supine figure lying in front of him in his navy-blue-and-burgundy-striped pyjamas, breathing erratically. He prayed as Ronnie slept:
‘Hear us, Almighty and most merciful God and Saviour; extend thy accustomed goodness to this thy servant, Ronald, who is grieved with sickness. Sanctify we beseech thee, this thy fatherly correction to him; that the sense of his weakness may add strength to his faith, and seriousness to his repentance. That if it shall be thy pleasure to restore him to his former health, he may lead the residue of his life in thy fear, and to thy glory; or else give him grace so to take thy visitation, that after this painful life has ended he may dwell with thee in life everlasting, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’
Mrs Maguire placed her hand on his and Ronnie woke up, uncertain where he was. He smiled on recognising Sidney.
‘Now I know it’s serious,’ he said and began to sit up.
‘Don’t stir yourself on my account.’
‘It’s good of you to come,’ Ronnie gasped, before lapsing into a fit of coughing. ‘I don’t suppose I’ve got much longer.’
‘We live in hope.’
‘I think I ran out of that a long time ago.’
Mrs Maguire turned the television volume back up so they could catch the racing. She said she would leave the men while she tidied up. Ronnie fancied a flutter on Beau Champ in the Palace Handicap Steeplechase at Sandown Park at 5–2 and then Privy Seal at 8–1 in the three forty-five. He still thought it was cowardly just to back the favourites and there wasn’t enough money in it, but he didn’t want to take any more risks. He wondered if Sidney could place the bet for him.
‘I’d like to win so I can manage a bit more than paying for my own funeral. That’s not a very good way to go, is it?’
‘You’d leave a clean balance sheet.’
‘That’s one way of looking at it. But I want Sylvia to know that at least I tried to look after her. I’d like to leave her with a decent amount of money. This is the only way I know how to earn it. She disapproves of the gambling but what can you do? It’s all I know. You will explain everything to her, Sidney, won’t you?’
Soon after placing the bets and leaving the bookmaker Sidney called in on Dr Michael Robinson at his surgery in Trumpington. He hoped that their long friendship might excuse a little indiscretion.
‘What are Ronnie’s chances?’ he asked. ‘I know he’s not well.’
‘I’m afraid it’s not looking good,’ his friend replied. ‘Mr Maguire is in the final stages of emphysema. I don’t think I am breaching any confidence in telling you this as it will be perfectly obvious to anyone with even a smattering of medical knowledge. The man should be in a hospital, but his wife wants to care for him at home and I think we can allow that. It’s probably because he wants to keep smoking and drinking and that’s not going to make much difference to the final outcome. The damage is done, his heart is weak, and so eventually he’ll either have a heart attack or be unable to keep breathing. I’ve organised some nursing visits and I’ll call in when I can, but at this stage the duty of care is as much your job as it is mine.’
‘Do you think he’s fully aware of how little time he has left?’
‘I know he is. And his wife knows too.’
‘Is there another?’
‘I’m afraid there might be.’
‘Then someone should tell her. Mr Maguire has made it very clear that he doesn’t want a lingering death.’
‘Will you help him when the time comes?’ Sidney asked.
‘I will do as much as I can to make him comfortable. But I will not be able to “help” in the way I think you mean. There’s only so much I can do within the laws of the land. But you know, Sidney, I must get on with my labours; people who require medical rather than moral assistance.’
‘I thought you provided both?’
‘I wouldn’t want to do you out of a job, Sidney, would I?’
What lay unspoken between the two men was the memory of a series of deaths in the February of 1954 when Dr Robinson had been suspected of helping patients on their way into the unknown with larger than average doses of morphine. It was only after a frank exchange on the potential difference between God’s will and the nature of a merciful death that the two had become friends, united by a common desire to alleviate suffering and comfort the afflicted.
‘You know,’ Dr Robinson continued, as he picked up his Gladstone bag and held open the door for Sidney’s departure, ‘I have often puzzled over the phrase “a lingering death”. Other people might refer to that simply as “life”.’
Before he settled back down at home, Sidney took Byron out for a walk on the edge of the fens. The stooped, bare trees looked like a parade of old soldiers from the First World War. There was a fine rain but it was nothing that would get either of them wet. Sidney could almost hear Mrs Maguire’s words telling him it was ‘only a bit of bange’. She had so many of the ancient East Anglian words for the weather. He had once heard her describe the misty drizzle over a riverbank as ‘dinge on the draw-ground’ and an evening fog as a ‘roke over the holm’. He wondered how soon all those old expressions would be lost.
It was dark before four. When he got back to Cathedral Close he poured himself a whisky and took down a volume of John Donne. He wanted to reread ‘A Nocturnal Upon St Lucy’s Day’ and think about death, the afterlife and the hope of love renewed after resurrection:
Study me then, you who shall lovers be
At the next world, that is, at the next spring:
For I am every dead thing,
In whom love wrought new alchemy.
When he had finished, and after he had thought for a while, he knew that he could not afford to be melancholy any more. He should go back out into the kitchen, see his wife and daughter, be glad of their company, and enjoy the simpler truths life had to offer.
Ronnie died early on the morning of Sunday 15th December, and Sidney visited his widow that very day. Mrs Maguire told him of her husband’s sharp decline after the doctor had seen him and how he had kept throwing off the blankets in the final stages.
‘Either his feet were frozen or his shoulders were too cold. He didn’t want me to tuck him in; he wanted to be free. I was sad that I couldn’t help him enough.’
‘I wanted him to go happily. He won the treble at Chepstow: The Sentry, Oberon and King Candy. That’s nine pounds and five shillings on a one-pound stake. He was proud that I’d swallowed my principles and put the money on for him, even if it did mean leaving him for longer than I wanted to. It was good to get out of the house, though. It gave me a bit of time to think. He handed me a fiver but I only risked a pound. Didn’t tell him. Still, it paid out and I told him that he had a winner at the last. He was still fighting it, you know. He didn’t like to be told. Even by death. He went the distance, every furlong, and I was with him when he crossed the line. He even thanked me. Said he was glad he’d made his decision. Seen me at the beginning and the end of his life. You can’t say more than that, can you?’
Sidney remembered his father’s words in the D’Oliveira case. Cricketers must surely be judged on merit alone. Perhaps Ronnie, despite his terrible history and his obvious flaws, had proved his form after all.
The next day was Anna’s fifth birthday and also the end of her first term at school in which she had played one of the sheep in the nativity play (hardly the starring role, but there was no favouritism for clergy daughters).
She was given her first Sindy doll, a Booma Boomerang, a Jack and Jill annual, some Lego, and animals for the farm. Hildegard’s mother had sent her a series of wooden buildings to make a little German town, and her sister a traditional Hampelmann, or jumping jack, in preparation for what they hoped would be a homecoming visit the following year. A trip to Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was also promised.
Amanda and Leonard arrived as dutiful godparents. Leonard seemed to have an extra spring in his step, whereas Amanda was still watchful, as if fate had one more trick up its sleeve or she was frightened that people might accuse her of something other than divorce. She had brought some paints and reminded Anna that one day they would go back to Florence together, when her goddaughter was older, and she would show her the most beautiful drawings in the world.
Sidney was saddened by the idea that there would never be a time when all his friends were happy, and the contrast with the children’s exuberance as they played their games of Pass the Parcel, Musical Chairs and Blind Man’s Buff only increased his sense of melancholy. He would have to pull himself together for Christmas and find his hope again.
Perhaps, he thought, he could look to Mrs Maguire as an example? She had taught him how to understand all was to forgive all; and that by thinking beyond her immediate self, loving hopefully and sometimes beyond all reason, she had found a better way to live than filling her life with suspicion, fear and self-doubt. If that involved an element of misconception then was that really so bad? Who amongst us had not preferred the comfort of illusion or deceived themselves in order to deal with the difficulties of life – sometimes hoping for the impossible – knowing that even if their aspirations were implausibly far-fetched, it was better to take that risky highway rather than remain on the low road of caution and despair?
He lit the five candles on his daughter’s cake and cheered as she blew them out in turn.
‘That’s so I get five wishes instead of only one, Daddy.’