A Question of Trust

It was the afternoon of Thursday 31 December 1953, and a light snow that refused to settle drifted across the towns and fields of Hertfordshire. Sidney was tired, but contented, after the exertions of Christmas and was on the train to London. He had seen the festival season through with a careful balance of geniality and theology and he was looking forward to a few days off with his family and friends.

As the train sped towards the capital, Sidney looked out of the window on to the backs of small, suburban houses and new garden cities; a post-war landscape full of industry, promise and concrete. It was a world away from the village in which he lived. He was almost the countryman now, a provincial outsider who had become a stranger in the city of his birth.

He started to think about the question of belonging and identity: how much a person was defined by geography, and how much by upbringing, education, profession, faith and choice of friends.

‘How much can a person change in a life?’ he wondered.

It was an idea at the heart of Christianity, and yet many people retained their essential nature throughout their lives. He certainly didn’t expect too radical a departure in the behaviour of the friends he was due to meet that evening.

As the train pulled in to King’s Cross, Sidney was determined to remain cheerful in the year ahead. He believed that the secret of happiness was to concentrate on things outside oneself. Introspection and self-awareness were the enemies of contentment, and if he could preach a sermon about the benefits of selflessness, and believe in it without sounding too pious, then he would endeavour to do so that very Sunday.

He put on his trilby, gathered his third umbrella of the year – he had left the previous two on earlier journeys – and alighted in search of a bus that would take him to the party in St John’s Wood.

His New Year’s Eve dinner was to be hosted by his old friend Nigel Thompson. Educated at Eton and Magdalene College, Cambridge, Nigel had been tipped as a future Prime Minister while still at university and had become Chairman of the Young Conservatives straight after the war. Having been elected as the Member of Parliament for St Marylebone in the 1951 General Election, he began his rise to power as PPS to Sir Anthony Eden (a man his father had known from the King’s Rifle Corps), and now worked as Joint Parliamentary Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs. Sidney was therefore looking forward to a few meaty conversations about Britain’s role on the international stage with one of the most promising MPs in the country.

His wife, Juliette, had been the Zuleika Dobson of their generation, possessing a porcelain complexion, Titianesque hair and a willowy beauty that her dream-like manner could only enhance. Sidney had worried at their wedding whether she had the stamina necessary to be the wife of an MP but cast such masculine thoughts aside as the first intimations of jealousy.

Their home was a nineteenth-century terraced house to the north of Regent’s Park. It had previously been the type of establishment in which rich Victorian men had kept their decorative mistresses. Sidney considered this rather appropriate as Juliette Thompson certainly had a whiff of the Pre-Raphaelite about her. Her beauty was both doomed and untouchable: unless, of course, you were Nigel Thompson MP.

Sidney got off the bus at the stop for Lord’s Cricket Ground and made his way towards Cavendish Avenue. He was not an admirer of London in winter, with its wet streets, fetid air and gathering smog, but he recognised that this was where his family and friends earned their living and that if he wanted to enjoy the congeniality of their homes and the warmth of their fireplaces then he had to put up with any inconvenience in getting to them.

At least, Sidney remembered, his sister Jennifer would be at the dinner. His younger sibling had a naturally good-natured manner, with a rounder face than the rest of the family, eager brown eyes and a bob cut that framed her face and gave the impression, Sidney thought, of a circle of friendliness. She was always glad to see her brother; and he felt his heart lift every time she came into the room.

Traditionally, Jennifer was considered the most responsible member of the family but on this particular evening she was to bring a rather shady new boyfriend to the dinner: Johnny Johnson.

She had briefed her brother about him during the family telephone call on Christmas Day, and she had high hopes that Sidney would approve of him: not least because he and his father ran a jazz club. He was ‘a breath of fresh air’, and he did, apparently, ‘a million and one amazing things’. Sidney only hoped that his sister was not going to become besotted too soon. The family trait of thinking the best of people had resulted in the past in her having rather too fanciful expectations about the ability of men to make lasting commitments, and this had, inevitably, led to disappointment.

They were to be joined by Jennifer’s best friend and flatmate, Amanda Kendall, who had just begun her career as a junior curator at London’s National Gallery.

When Sidney had first met Amanda, soon after her twenty-first birthday, he had been rather smitten. She was the tall and vivacious daughter of a wealthy diplomat who had once been a colleague of his grandfather. Unlike Juliette Thompson, she was not what a fashion magazine would refer to as an ‘English rose’, being dark and commanding and full of opinion. But she had presence, and even though her own mother had described her nose as ‘disappointingly Roman’, dinner parties throughout London were grateful for her conversational sparkle. It was universally considered that, although she might cause trouble with her outspoken views, Amanda could liven up any party and would be a good catch for any man who was prepared to take her on. Sidney had nurtured a faint hope that one day he might be that man, but as soon as he had decided to become a clergyman, that aspiration had bitten the dust. It would have been ludicrous for a well-connected debutante, in pursuit of the most eligible bachelor in town, to marry a vicar.

Now, after several years of careful research, Amanda appeared to have got her man. On one of her recent trips to assess the potential death duty on a series of paintings in a Wiltshire stately home, she had met the allegedly charming, undoubtedly wealthy, extraordinarily good-looking and unfortunately ill-educated Guy Hopkins. This was the man to whom she was to be engaged, perhaps even, it had been suggested, that very night.

Sidney’s official companion at dinner was the renowned socialite Daphne Young, a terrifyingly thin woman who was famed both for her sharp intelligence and for the number of marriage proposals she had turned down. Consequently, he rather dreaded the disappointment that even someone so well mannered would be unable to conceal on discovering that her dining companion that evening was going to be a clergyman.

At least the other two guests at the dinner were relatively jovial: Mark Dowland, a publisher who was delightfully indiscreet about his authors, and his small and spiky wife Mary, a zoologist with piercing blue eyes and the sharpest of tongues. The softest thing about her, her husband had once remarked, was her teeth.

Sidney had never been that keen on New Year’s Eve. It was, perhaps, the thought of yet another year passing, a reminder of all the time that he had frittered away in the previous twelve months and the secular conviviality so soon after Christmas. He sometimes wondered what it might be like to take to his bed until it was over, and remembered a fellow priest who, when he felt the horrors approaching, would hole up in the grimmest boarding house in the most depressing town he could find, in order to plumb the slough of despond. The idea was, that after hitting rock bottom, he would emerge into a world in which anything would seem better than his most recent experience. The town his friend had chosen to confront every demon known to man, Sidney remembered, was Ipswich. It seemed an odd choice.

Cocktails were served in the drawing room on the first floor where Mark Dowland began to recite from the work of John Betjeman, a promising new poet:

 

‘Phone for the fish-knives Norman

As Cook is a little unnerved . . .’

 

The other guests began to laugh at the performance but Sidney could not join in. He was already disconcerted by the fearful realisation that the party might end in charades; an activity which he always dreaded since his failure, the last time he had been at the Thompsons, to mime the five syllables of the Dickens novel Martin Chuzzlewit.

He accepted a gin and tonic to stiffen his sinews before facing the prospect of Amanda’s potential engagement and the introduction to his sister’s new inamorato.

Johnny Johnson proved to be a dark, good-looking man, and he was dressed in an extremely well-cut, thin black suit that Sidney rather admired. He began with a question. ‘All right?’

‘I think I am,’ Sidney replied.

‘Jennifer’s told me a lot about you.’

‘Nothing too damaging, I hope.’

‘Not at all, Sidney. Although I did find it quite a turn up for the book when she told me her brother was a vicar. I thought you’d be a teacher or a doctor.’

‘I think that was what was expected of me.’

‘I don’t go to church very much, Sidney, if I’m honest. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.’

‘That may be the intention.’

‘You need to liven those services up a bit,’ Johnny continued. ‘Literally. You could have Sunday evenings as jazz nights. After you’ve done all the serious stuff.’

Sidney brightened. He had always wanted to attract more people to his church services and stem the departure of teenagers from protracted ceremonies that still felt Victorian. Sometimes he thought that the church had hardly advanced since the days of Trollope. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ he replied.

‘I could help if you like; put you in touch with some people to get you started?’

‘That would be splendid.’

Mary Dowland moved over to join them. ‘You’re not seriously thinking of having jazz in church, are you?’

‘Why not?’ Sidney replied.

‘Well, you can never tell if the notes are being played in the right order.’

‘That’s the wonder of jazz, Mary,’ Johnny explained. ‘There’s no right way and there’s no order.’

‘Don’t people get very lost?’

‘You can’t get lost if you’ve got rhythm, Mary.’

Sidney was amused by Johnny Johnson’s copious use of other people’s Christian names. He admired his directness.

Edna, the Thompsons’ maid, arrived with a further tray of drinks, offering refills, which Johnny refused.

‘You’re not having a cocktail?’ Sidney asked.

‘I don’t drink alcohol, Sidney.’

‘How restrained,’ Mrs Dowland noted.

‘I like to keep my wits about me, Mary.’

‘Shall we go through?’ Juliette Thompson asked, as she stood up and smoothed her hair. She was dressed in a sleeveless gown that flared out from her thin waist and Sidney noticed Guy Hopkins giving her the once over. He wished Amanda’s prospective partner could have been less obvious.

The dining room was decorated in the Georgian style, with walls painted in smoking-room red, an ornate plastered ceiling and an egg and dart cornice. A narrow sideboard held two Chinese vases and a canteen of silver cutlery.

‘I presume there are placements?’ Daphne Young asked, turning to her host. Her halter-necked and backless dress only drew attention to her almost skeletal frame. ‘I do expect to be seated to your right.’

‘Then your expectations have been fulfilled,’ Nigel Thompson replied.

Sidney dreaded the humiliation of this moment. At many a dinner party he was placed next to the ‘difficult relation’: the cousin with a slight lack, the daughter recovering from a broken engagement, the son who had lost everything in a casino and who had come home to sort himself out. He knew, for a start, that he was unlikely to be seated anywhere near Amanda Kendall but was surprised and delighted to find himself next to his hostess. He looked at the placements.

 

Nigel Thompson MP

 Miss Daphne Young        The Hon. Amanda Kendall

 Mr Guy Hopkins        Mr Mark Dowland

 Mrs Mary Dowland        Miss Jennifer Chambers

 Canon Sidney Chambers        Mr Jonathan Johnson

Mrs Juliette Thompson

 

‘This all looks very congenial,’ he said to his host.

Nigel Thompson was anxious that everyone should appreciate his reasoning. ‘Guy,’ he called out, ignoring Sidney’s gratitude. ‘I haven’t put you next to Amanda because I am sure you have been seeing quite enough of each other recently. And besides, I rather want her to myself.’

‘You can have her on loan,’ Guy called out. ‘Like one of her paintings. I shall need her back at midnight.’

‘I am no Cinderella,’ Amanda replied.

‘And I am no Ugly Sister,’ Mary Dowland chipped in. ‘Canon Chambers, I believe I am seated next to you?’

Sidney passed her the plan.

‘I see Jennifer and Johnny have been seated next to each other,’ Mary observed. ‘Shouldn’t we swap?’

‘But that would mean putting a brother and a sister side by side,’ Juliette explained.

‘Of course,’ Mary Dowland stood behind her chair. ‘Not that I have anything against sitting beside you, Canon Chambers . . .’

Jennifer cut in. ‘Don’t go on about it, otherwise he will think that you do. He’s very sensitive about these matters, my brother. He’s always complaining about how disappointed people look when they discover that they are sitting next to a clergyman.’

‘But this is not just any old clergyman,’ Juliette Thompson explained. ‘Sidney is one of the most charming men I know. That’s why he’s sitting next to me.’

‘Now, now,’ Nigel announced. ‘You’ll embarrass the man. I presume we can rely on you to say grace, Sidney.’

‘Blimey, Jenny,’ said Johnny Johnson under his breath. ‘It’s a long time since I’ve said that.’

‘You only have to say “Amen”, darling.’

Sidney began: ‘Benedic, Domine, nobis et donis tuis, quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi, et concede ut illis salubriter nutriti, tibi debitum obsequium praestare valeamus, per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.’

‘Amen,’ the group affirmed.

Johnny pulled in his chair. ‘And I wasn’t expecting Latin, Sidney.’

The meal consisted of French onion soup and then the braces of pheasant that Guy Hopkins had brought as a gift from his Boxing Day shoot. This was accompanied by roast parsnips, carrots, cabbage and game chips; followed by a lemon meringue pie. Nigel Thompson had provided several amicable bottles of Beaujolais. He also promised champagne for the chimes at midnight.

The conversation drifted aimlessly as the guests discussed the best kind of house party, the merits of a London home over a place in the country, and the right kind of carpet for a dining-room floor. The Thompsons were, apparently, ‘between carpets’ and so the dining-room floor, for the moment, consisted only of the wooden floorboards.

Sidney was a little disappointed. He had been expecting an advanced level of political and cultural debate. The increasing international escalation over atomic weapons had created the possibility that, for the first time, mankind held the means of its own extermination. Tensions between Eisenhower and Khrushchev were on the rise; and questions remained concerning German rearmament, the rescue of the Atlantic alliance and the building of a new framework for the collective defence of Western Europe. Yet here they all were talking about carpets.

Sidney was surprised that people took the conversation so seriously but was happy not to have to respond to gambits which presumed that Christmas must be his ‘busiest time of year’. Instead, Mary Dowland was keen to tell him about the prospective arrival of a panda at London Zoo, while Daphne Young informed Sidney that her current paying guest was a clergyman in search of a new challenge who needed a little advice.

‘I’m not sure anything I say could be of much benefit.’

‘Nonsense,’ Daphne replied. ‘Nigel tells me that you are one of the brightest clergymen in the Church of England.’

‘I think that is only because he is a friend of mine.’

‘He’s a good friend to have. And I imagine Grantchester’s a fine living. Perhaps you need a curate?’

‘I have considered it.’

‘Then come and meet Leonard. He’s frighteningly intelligent. He’s learning Russian at the moment. God knows why. I fear he thinks me rather flippant.’

‘I very much doubt that.’

‘It’s true, I’m afraid.’

Guy Hopkins put his arm around the back of her chair. ‘I’m surprised you haven’t brought someone along, Daphne. Don’t you have a man in tow?’

Mary Dowland giggled. ‘You normally have several, don’t you? I’m sure you must be in the address book of every eligible bachelor in London.’

Her husband filled his glass with more red wine. ‘I wonder what happens when they get married. Do you suppose their wives cross you off?’

‘It has been known,’ Daphne Young acknowledged, aware that she was being teased. ‘I suppose that these days I am considered rather dangerous. It can sometimes take a man rather a long time to recover.’

‘A lifetime, I should imagine,’ said Sidney, generously.

‘You are too kind, Canon Chambers.’

Just before midnight, after the maid and the cook had been allowed to leave for the New Year celebrations at Piccadilly Circus, and as the port began to circle round the table, Guy said that he had a surprise. He stood up and placed a jewellery box in front of Amanda. ‘I think you may be able to guess what this is.’

‘How stupendous,’ Nigel announced. ‘I think this probably calls for something more than port.’

‘Hold on,’ his wife counselled. ‘We do not know what it is yet.’

Mary Dowland would not wait for the champagne and filled up her own glass with wine. ‘I think we can guess.’

‘I don’t know what to say . . .’ Amanda began.

Guy put a protective hand on her shoulder. ‘Open it.’

Inside the case was a gold ring with a large ruby surrounded by miniature diamonds.

‘It’s beautiful,’ said Amanda.

‘Try it on.’

The room was stilled, the candles guttered. Sidney hoped that it was what Amanda wanted. She smiled, nervously, almost embarrassed, at this public demonstration of love and money. ‘I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’

‘Can I see it?’ Daphne asked.

‘Of course. It’s lovely, isn’t it?’

The ring was passed round for all to admire. Nigel returned with champagne. ‘There’s more in the fridge. I was saving this for midnight but all it means is that we will have to drink a bit more. If I can just squeeze past . . .’

Johnny Johnson lifted his chair and was about to tuck it in behind him when Nigel Thompson tripped over the leg and stumbled.

‘Bloody hell!’

The champagne bottle fell from his hand and smashed on the floor.

‘Oh . . .’ his wife cried. ‘It’s everywhere.’

‘So bloody careless of me . . .’ said Nigel, looking down at the floor.

‘Don’t swear!’ his wife cut in, mopping the champagne from her dress. ‘You know how it upsets me.’

‘I’m quite happy with the port,’ said Mark Dowland. ‘Goes down a treat.’

Daphne stood up. ‘Let me get a cloth from the kitchen.’

Mary joined her. ‘And a dustpan and brush.’

‘It’s splashed up all over me,’ Juliette complained. ‘I will have to change.’

‘Then go and do so,’ her husband snapped.

‘I don’t want to leave everyone. I don’t know what to do.’

‘I’ll go with you,’ Amanda offered. ‘There’s no need to make a fuss. We can go upstairs. It’s all right, darling.’

‘It’s all such a mess . . . .’

‘Soon be midnight,’ Johnny said quietly to Jennifer. ‘We don’t want to miss the bells. Shall we stand outside then?’

‘I think we have to stay here. I’m sorry.’

‘I was hoping we could be alone.’

‘That comes later.’

They smiled and then looked up to see that Sidney had heard them. Guy stood back in the doorway as Daphne and Mary cleared away the champagne and the broken glass. Nigel went in search of another bottle.

Mark Dowland drank some more port. ‘This is all going terribly well . . .’ he said, expecting those around him to appreciate his irony. They did not.

Sidney worried how he was going to get back to his parents’ house in Highgate. There were taxis, of course, but they were expensive. He had assumed that he was going to get a lift with Jennifer and Johnny but they seemed to be going on somewhere else and he couldn’t imagine Amanda and Guy wanting his company on the evening of their engagement. It was curious, however, that Amanda had not technically accepted the proposal of marriage. She had merely admired the ring. If he had been in Guy’s position he would have been looking for a more affirmative answer.

At last, the guests sat down once more, helping themselves to the stilton and awaiting Juliette and Amanda’s return. Nigel suggested retiring to the drawing room, where they could all see in the New Year in greater comfort and settle down to some charades but he was interrupted by the return of his wife, in a black silk peignoir, and Amanda, who smilingly challenged them: ‘I hope you’ve all been behaving. I’ve been looking forward to some champagne. Who’s got my ring?’

There was a silence.

‘I don’t have it,’ said Mary Dowland. ‘I handed it to Sidney . . .’

‘And I gave it to Juliette . . .’

‘I can’t remember what happened,’ said Juliette. ‘I can’t remember anything. I think it was in front of me.’

‘Well, I haven’t got it,’ said Jennifer.

‘Nor I,’ said Daphne.

‘Then where the hell is it?’ Nigel asked.

His wife looked frightened. ‘Don’t swear . . .’

‘Perhaps it fell on the floor?’ Sidney suggested.

‘I didn’t see it there,’ said Mary. ‘And we cleared up quite carefully, didn’t we, Daphne?’

‘You couldn’t have swept it into the bin?’ Mark Dowland asked his wife. He had not moved from his chair for the whole evening.

‘No, of course not. Do you think this is funny?’

‘Or could it have fallen between the floorboards?’ Sidney asked.

‘Not a stone that big,’ Guy said quickly.

Nigel Thompson got down on to his hands and knees. ‘It can’t just have disappeared.’

Sidney tried to be reassuring. ‘Well, we should all look. It must be here somewhere.’

The guests stood up and paced around the room, looking into the table decoration, under plates and mats, on the sideboard, across the floor and down the backs of chairs. The ring was nowhere to be found.

Guy Hopkins began to lose his temper. ‘This is ridiculous.’

Amanda tried to calm him down. ‘It must be here somewhere, darling.’

‘But where?’

The doorbell rang. ‘That will be my taxi,’ said Daphne Young.

Her host was surprised. ‘You’re going?’

‘It must be early . . . .’

‘Have we missed the bells?’ Mark Dowland asked.

‘I asked it to come for a quarter past midnight,’ Daphne explained. ‘I am expected elsewhere on the half-hour.’

Mary Dowland was unable to resist the opportunity for sarcasm. ‘Then it was good of you to stay with us so long.’

Guy pressed closer. ‘And you’re sure you don’t have my fiancée’s ring?’ he asked.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Daphne replied. ‘What do you take me for? You can look in my bag if you like.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Nigel.

‘It will,’ Guy replied. ‘We have to find the ruddy thing.’

Daphne opened her bag and emptied its contents on to the dining-room table without a word. Inside had been a compact, perfume, a handkerchief, a set of keys, a little diary, an address book and a small purse which she opened in front of all the other guests. Sixpences, threepenny bits and a ten-shilling note scattered across the table.

‘You can look all you like,’ she said. ‘You won’t find it there.’

‘Amazing,’ said Johnny Johnson. ‘I’ve never seen inside a woman’s handbag before, Daphne.’

As Guy scattered the objects of the handbag across the table, examined them and then put them back, piece by piece, Daphne returned to her place, picked up her stole, and finished her glass of port.

‘Happy?’ she asked.

‘It’s not here,’ Guy complained.

‘It is very bad form to look into a lady’s handbag.’

‘I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was upset.’

‘It’s positively boorish,’ Daphne continued. ‘Now if you don’t mind, I will say goodbye to my host and hostess.’

Johnny Johnson held up his glass of water. ‘Happy New Year, Daphne.’

‘I am sure the ring will turn up in the morning,’ said Sidney.

‘The morning?’ Guy exploded. ‘I’m going to search this room and everyone in it.’

‘If you’ll excuse me.’ Daphne edged past. ‘Would you like a lift, Canon Chambers? I believe I may be going in your direction.’

‘Perhaps I should stay, Jennifer . . .’

‘It’s all right, Sidney,’ his sister reassured him. ‘I’m sure the Thompsons won’t mind.’

‘I would not want to take you out of your way, Miss Young. You’ve been delayed already this evening, I’m sure.’

Daphne Young accepted his refusal with alacrity. ‘Indeed, Canon Chambers. A Happy New Year to you.’

Nigel and Juliette Thompson accompanied Daphne into the hall, where they said their goodbyes. A further, fruitless, search around the room ensued, and after everyone had ostentatiously opened their pockets and satisfied Guy Hopkins that they were not thieves, Jennifer and Johnny left too. They asked if Sidney wanted to come along to a jazz club with them and although her brother was tempted, he thought it better if everyone calmed down and went home.

‘I suppose I’ll be doing the driving,’ Mary Dowland said to her drunk husband.

‘Despite my celebratory consumption, I am perfectly capable of driving a car,’ her husband explained. ‘There is nothing to it. And, on a night such as this, what more can possibly go wrong?’

 

Sidney spent what, on a clergy stipend, was a small fortune on a cab and stayed the night with his parents. It was strange to be back in his childhood home. No matter how often he tried to explain the nature of his vocation and the daily routine of his job, Alec and Iris Chambers regarded their son with an air of amused perplexity. They couldn’t seem to understand how they could have produced a child who had become a priest.

They found it easier to talk to him as if he was still a diligent seventeen-year-old over whom they still had a measure of control. Whenever Sidney came to stay he was expected to fit in with their daily lives as if he had neither left nor grown up, assisting his father with The Times crossword and his mother with the preparation of the vegetables. Iris Chambers had hinted more than once that it was about time that she was a grandmother, but since neither Sidney, nor Jennifer, nor their brother Matthew, had made any progress in this area of life the three siblings were treated as children every time they came home.

Matthew was considered to be something of a night owl, and always excused himself from the family gatherings at lunchtime, but Jennifer was expected and she arrived late and in something of a state. She threw down her bags in the hall and exchanged half-hearted New Year greetings with her mother.

Alec came out of his study to greet her. He had put on his new Christmas jumper and still had his pipe in his right hand. ‘What on earth is the matter?’ he asked.

‘Has Sidney not told you about last night?’

‘Told us what?’

‘As far as I can see,’ Sidney replied, ‘there is nothing, so far, to report. A misplaced ring is bound to turn up.’

‘Well it hasn’t,’ Jennifer answered forcefully, before throwing herself down on the sofa. ‘The whole thing is a disaster . . . .’

Her mother sat down in a neighbouring armchair. ‘You will have to explain, dear.’

‘Sidney can do it. I am too upset.’

There was a small pause in which her mother stood up again and began to head towards the kitchen. ‘Perhaps then, Sidney, you would like to finish laying the table and tell me what happened?’

Alec Chambers was having none of it. ‘But then I don’t get to hear the story!’

Jennifer interrupted. ‘It’s very simple. Amanda was given an engagement ring last night.’

‘By whom?’ her father asked.

‘Guy Hopkins.’

‘And who might he be?’

‘So Amanda is engaged?’ her mother cut in.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘That is not the point.’

‘I would have thought that is very much the point.’

‘You never let me finish,’ Jennifer complained.

Alec Chambers was trying to understand his daughter’s story. ‘Is this the ring that is missing?’

‘What was it like?’ Iris asked.

‘It doesn’t really matter what it’s like. The fact is that it’s gone. Amanda passed it round the table for everyone to admire. She never got it back. The whole evening was a fiasco. Champagne everywhere.’

‘Was it very expensive?’ her mother asked.

Her father would not let Jennifer answer. ‘You mean to say that the ring was lost in a welter of champagne?’

Sidney tried to reassure everyone. ‘I am sure there is a perfectly innocent explanation. It must have either fallen through the floorboards or someone has been absent-minded and misplaced it when the champagne bottle was smashed.’

‘What a profligate waste,’ Iris tutted.

‘An accident, I hope?’ Alec asked.

Jennifer ploughed on. ‘Johnny thinks someone’s stolen it.’

‘Does he, indeed?’

‘But you were amongst friends,’ her mother cut in. ‘Surely that’s impossible?’

Alec continued. ‘I presume you searched everywhere, including the bathroom? Perhaps Amanda took it off in an absent-minded moment?’

Jennifer explained. ‘She hardly had it on in the first place. We looked everywhere. Although some of those present weren’t at their sharpest.’

‘Ah! I assume drink had been taken?’

‘It was New Year’s Eve, Daddy.’

‘It sounds ghastly,’ said Iris. ‘But I am sure it will sort itself out. Besides, it’s time to carve the joint, Alec. After we have eaten I thought that you both might like to help me with the Christmas thank-you letters. Some of your father’s patients have been exceedingly generous of spirit.’

Jennifer made her way to the table. ‘Well, I wish some of that generosity of spirit had been in evidence last night.’

Her mother served out the roast beef while her husband poured from a bottle of claret. ‘By the way, Sidney, I found the last clue in the crossword – “Boar’s head and all man? Yes.” It’s Hogmanay.’

‘Very good; hog, man, aye.’

‘Are you going to say grace?’

‘I will,’ Sidney replied. It was important to keep the family up to his standards even though his father had been positively agnostic of late.

‘Mensae caelestis participes faciat nos Rex gloriae aeternae.’

After the ‘Amen’ his father turned to Jennifer. ‘When are we going to meet this chap of yours?’

‘I’m not sure he’ll want to see me again after last night. It was so embarrassing.’

‘Is Nigel Thompson’s wife all right these days?’ Iris asked her daughter.

‘Juliette? I’m not at all sure. We all think she was the last to be seen with the ring in her hand but it can’t have been her. She was the hostess, for goodness sake.’

‘She has always had a nervy disposition.’

‘Now be careful, Iris,’ Alec cautioned. ‘We must not jump to conclusions.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, but poor dear Juliette is often her own worst enemy in life. I seem to remember . . . .’

Alec Chambers doled out the claret. ‘I hope no one cast any aspersions . . . .’

‘Have the Thompsons called the police?’ Sidney asked.

Jennifer rested her knife and fork on her plate and gave her brother one of her steady sisterly stares. ‘They don’t want this to become public knowledge. Nigel’s not been an MP for long and he doesn’t want anything to damage his prospects. You know how ambitious he is.’

‘Our future Prime Minister,’ Alec smiled.’ I expect Churchill’s got something to say about that.’

‘He can’t go on for ever, Daddy.’

‘You know that Gladstone formed his last administration at the age of eighty-three?’

‘But that was not a success.’

Sidney felt they were straying from the point. ‘So they plan to sort out this ring business amongst themselves?’

‘That’s the idea.’

‘And how are they going to do that, Jenny?’

‘I told them that you would come back and help.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, my dearest brother, you.’

‘I am not sure how I can be of any assistance.’

Jennifer looked at her brother as if he was slow to understand. She had, since she was ten, spoken to him about serious matters in emphatic italics, never quite believing that he was giving her his full attention. She employed this tactic now. ‘You can help look for the ring and then, if it is still missing, you can find out what went wrong, without causing a scene.’

‘A scene has already been made, I recall.’

‘Nigel was going to telephone you . . .’

‘You suggested it?’

‘I told him that I would talk to you in person first. Juliette’s taken to her bed, and Amanda is apparently alternating between rage and tears. Nigel is one of your oldest friends. I promised I’d pop you round this afternoon. You were there at the time and you are the only one everyone trusts.’

‘But I have to get back to Grantchester . . .’

‘There are no services tonight or tomorrow, are there?’

‘No, Jennifer, but that is not the only thing I do. I lead quite a full life and need to be back tomorrow evening. I am never really off duty.’

‘And that’s precisely why you can be on duty now.’

‘It’s not even my parish. It’s St John’s Wood, for goodness sake. Haven’t they got a vicar of their own?’

‘Of course they have.’

‘Then why can’t they ask him?’

‘Because he wasn’t present at the time and their vicar is not a detective.’

‘Neither am I.’

‘You are going to have to become one. I have brought my car.’

Sidney looked to his father for support but found none. ‘You don’t appear to have much of a choice, old boy.’

 

It was hard for Sidney to retain his cheerfulness. Here he was, surrounded by the possibility of deceit, theft and betrayal, and now bullied into taking an unwilling part in an investigation into events at a party he had never been that enthusiastic in attending. He felt ethically compromised. He always liked to give people the benefit of the doubt and yet now, here he was, on the verge of questioning the lives and morals of his friends and acquaintances.

He saw already that if a crime had been committed he would have to look dispassionately at every member present, even his own sister, who could, he supposed, if he thought objectively, have stolen the ring out of some misguided jealousy. And yet it made him sick to be so suspicious.

Nigel answered the doorbell. He was wearing a tweed jacket and a crumpled open-necked Viyella shirt that looked as if it had been pulled straight back out of the laundry basket.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come,’ he said. ‘Everyone is in pieces.’

Sidney took a step back. ‘I’m not sure I can be of much assistance.’

‘Your calming presence will be a good start.’

Juliette came down the stairs in the same peignoir that she had worn the previous evening. She did not appear to have slept. ‘It’s Edna’s day off,’ she began. ‘But can I get you a cup of tea?’ It was a question, Sidney thought, which was more commonly asked of vicars than any other profession.

‘Say yes,’ her husband whispered. ‘We have to keep her mind on other things.’

‘That would be most kind.’

The two men walked to what Sidney supposed he must refer to as the scene of the crime. ‘How would you like to begin?’ Nigel Thompson asked. ‘We went through the room as thoroughly as we could and then put it back to normal. Juliette found it too upsetting to leave it in a mess. There were still bits of broken glass everywhere. I don’t know how we missed them.’

The dining table was without its tablecloth and was set with two silver candlesticks and a lazy Susan at the centre but was, Sidney noticed, smaller than the previous night. ‘There are only six places,’ he observed. ‘And yet the dinner party was for ten.’

‘It extends,’ Juliette explained as she came into the room with a pot of tea. ‘You can pull it out at either end. We can even seat twelve at a push . . .’

‘Late Georgian walnut,’ her husband continued, ‘with a rather unpredictable mechanism underneath. It’s a bit of a palaver to go under the table and do it and then put it back together in the morning but it’s a family heirloom. However, you’re not here to discuss the furniture.’

‘Indeed.’

Amanda entered the room. She was wearing a black jersey-knit twin-set and looked on edge. Sidney wondered what the outcome of the evening had been and whether she was engaged to Guy Hopkins or not. He would have to find the right moment to ask.

Juliette turned to her husband and began to cry. ‘I know that everyone thinks I did it.’

‘No they don’t, my darling.’

‘I was the last person that people can remember seeing with the ring but I know I never took it. It would never occur to me to betray one of my closest friends.’

Amanda put an arm around her while looking firmly at her husband. ‘Believe me, Juliette, none of us would ever suspect you of such a thing.’

‘Would other people?’ Sidney asked.

‘I am afraid so,’ said Nigel. ‘Juliette, perhaps you would like a little lie down, my darling? You know how these conversations upset you.’

‘But I don’t want to lie down.’

‘I will take you upstairs,’ Amanda offered. ‘Let’s leave the men to talk for a bit.’

Juliette looked frightened. ‘You will come and see me in a little while, Nigel? You know how I hate to be on my own.’

‘Of course, my darling. I think Sidney and I need a word in private. Amanda will be with you.’

The two men watched as the women left the room. Then Nigel Thompson closed the door. ‘Can I get you something stronger now we’ve had the tea?’

‘No, thank you. I’m sorry Juliette is so upset.’

‘The theft is a disaster. It’s clear everyone thinks she stole the ring because she has had her moments in the past.’

‘I remember you telling me. It was a sad time.’

‘I’m not sure that I confessed in full, Sidney. After we lost our first child I’m afraid there were incidents. Shoplifting. Mainly baby clothes. When she was caught I managed to appeal to the police and they turned a bit of a blind eye, thank God. I can hardly ask them to do the same thing again. I promised I would keep her in check. Now, of course, she’s too scared to leave home without me. I knew she was delicate when I married her. Daphne had even warned me. She told me Juliette would need a lot of looking after, but I didn’t expect this.’

‘Are you sure she can’t have taken the ring without knowing what she was doing?’

‘We have searched the house. I’ve questioned Juliette quite carefully and I’ve never seen her frightened in this way. I wonder if she might even have seen something or if someone has threatened her because I genuinely don’t think she has done it. In the past she was never upset. She could not accept she had done anything wrong. Now she is all too aware of what has happened and she can’t think of anything else; and just when her nerves seemed to be getting better. I can’t understand it and it makes me furious. All these people are our friends, for goodness sake.’

‘And you have no suspicions?’

‘Well, I’m afraid I do, but it wouldn’t be fair to jeopardise your own line of inquiry.’

‘You mean Johnny Johnson?’

‘I can hardly suspect anyone else, can I?’

‘Even though he’s a friend of my sister?’

‘He was going on to a jazz bar afterwards. He could have passed off the ring there . . .’

‘I won’t believe it,’ Sidney answered. ‘You can’t just arrive as a guest at a house for the first time and do something like that. And Jennifer speaks very highly of him.’

Nigel thought for a moment. ‘It’s difficult though, isn’t it? You can hardly suspect Guy of stealing a ring that he has only just given to his future fiancée, or Amanda of taking it. I hope you don’t suspect me, and I’ve already told you about Juliette. Apart from Johnny Johnson and your sister that only leaves the Dowlands, who don’t appear to be too concerned about such things.’

‘Tell me a little bit more about Daphne Young.’

‘She was at school with Juliette. They were the prettiest girls in their year. Her mother died when she was fifteen and then her father went to the bad, I’m afraid. She doesn’t like to talk about it but it was gambling. As a result she works in the Health Service. Does very modern work: research papers into the psychological influences that contribute to addiction, although that doesn’t stop her enjoying the odd flutter herself. Research, she calls it. As you know, she’s one of the most popular girls in London.’

‘No money worries?’

‘I can’t imagine so. I think her suitors pay for whatever she wants. And she takes in paying guests. I think she has some kind of chaplain at the moment. Didn’t she mention him to you?’

‘She did.’

‘Of course she can’t have taken the ring. She emptied her handbag in front of us all before she left. And then, after we had searched everywhere and you had left, Guy went mad. He accused Amanda of being too scatty for words, careless, irresponsible, unreliable, clueless, embarrassing and stupid.’

‘She is certainly not stupid.’

‘The Dowlands made an attempt to stop him but Guy called them meddling know-nothings. That didn’t go down too well, either. He said that if they really wanted to involve themselves then they should have done so earlier by spotting the thief. He then poured an enormous glass of port and announced that if the ring wasn’t found he would go to the police and blame us all. I tried to calm him down as it’s the last thing I want but then Juliette started having hysterics and I had to get her to bed and the Dowlands went home. That meant leaving Guy and Amanda to scream at each other.’

‘Did Amanda put up a fight?’

‘I’ll say. She gave as good as she got. We didn’t hear the entire conversation as we were halfway up the stairs to the bedroom but it was one hell of a barney. We did hear Guy shouting out, “three hundred and twenty-five guineas” and Amanda screaming back that she wasn’t a horse to be bought at market and that if all he could think about was money then he could forget any engagement and go back to Wiltshire and marry a stable girl.’

‘You heard as much as that?’

‘It was impossible not to. Juliette asked me to go and make them stop but she was in no state to be left, and then all we heard were slamming doors, Guy storming out with a bottle of my finest port in his hand and Amanda collapsed in a heap. I tell you, Sidney, it’s not easy to find yourself in a house with your wife shivering with fear in the bedroom and one of your guests crying on the sofa downstairs. Poor Amanda: what a night it must have been. And Juliette can’t sleep at all. She keeps coming down and searching the room, trying to remember where she put the ring.’

The door opened. It was Amanda. Sidney noticed that she had changed her hairstyle, pinning her dark hair back. ‘You are not telling him about my row with Guy, I hope? It is confidential.’

‘If we are to avoid going to the police then nothing is confidential.’

‘I can talk to him about the police. I am sure he will have calmed down, even if I have not.’

Sidney held Amanda’s look. ‘You will not forgive him?’

‘I am not one who subscribes to the theory of in vino veritas but I cannot marry someone who insults me in the house of my friends.’

‘Has he apologised?’

‘He telephoned and tried his best but then kept repeating “three hundred and twenty-five guineas, Amanda”, the very phrase that had set me off in the first place. He seems to think that the monetary value of the ring excused his behaviour.’

At this moment the telephone rang. ‘I’m sorry,’ Nigel apologised. ‘I think I had better answer.’

Amanda looked at Sidney. ‘Would you like me to stay?’ she asked.

‘If there is any light that you can shed on last night I would be grateful.’

She sat down next to him and, almost absent-mindedly, looked down at her ringless left hand. He had expected her to choose a seat opposite and at a distance and found her proximity and her intimacy unsettling. She had a brittle, challenging presence, and he could smell her perfume. It was the same fragrance as that worn by a girl he had met in Paris at the end of the war: Voile d’Arpège.

She put her hand by her side. ‘I’d like to think the ring may just be lost. I try to think the best of people and I don’t want to blame anyone, apart from Guy, of course.’

‘I don’t think he can have done it.’

‘When I really hate him I think he might have done it as some kind of insurance swindle but I don’t think he’s capable of that. He’s too stupid.’

‘I wouldn’t say he was stupid. He chose you.’

‘Anyone can do that,’ Amanda replied. ‘He was probably after my money.’

‘Are you very well off?’ Sidney asked.

‘Very, as a matter of fact; but I try not to let people know too much. It gets in the way and you start suspecting their motives. That is why it is easier to mix with rich people. It’s not something that I feel proud about. Although, truth to tell, I could have bought the bloody ring myself . . .’

The grandfather clock in the hall struck the hour. It was four o’clock.

Sidney tried to imagine what it must have been like to have a proposal made and withdrawn in the same evening, with the ring stolen and a public argument following. Many women, given that course of events, would have taken to their beds or fled back to their parents. ‘You seem more angry than upset,’ he said gently.

‘I’m furious with myself for not realising what Guy was like. My head was turned by his good looks and his courtship but the man turns out to be appalling. And to accuse me of deliberately losing the thing! I wish I had now. That would serve him right.’

‘So who do you think took it?’ Sidney asked.

‘Are you going to talk to Johnny Johnson?’

‘I am hoping to talk to everyone.’

‘The Dowlands have gone down to Cornwall for a few days so you won’t have much luck there. I suppose most people think it’s Johnny since no one, myself included, can bear to think it’s Juliette. And that’s where the ring was last seen. But it’s horrible to think like this. Loyalty should be at the heart of friendship, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t think it counts for much without it. It’s a question of trust.’

Amanda met his eyes and did not look away. ‘So, Sidney, what are you going to do now?’

‘I think Jennifer is taking me to meet up with Johnny at a jazz club tonight. It’s a good excuse to talk to him, as I’m rather fond of jazz and I’d like to hear some music before I go back to Grantchester.’

‘When do you return there?

‘I have to prepare for Sunday, Amanda.’

‘But you’ve only just had Christmas. Can’t you have a holiday? You must be exhausted.’

‘I am. I find all this rather depressing, I am afraid.’

Amanda continued to study his face as she spoke. ‘Betrayal, anger and mistrust. It’s not a good start to the year.’

Nigel returned to the room. ‘Daphne has been on the telephone. She was asking if there had been any sign of the ring and if there was anything she could do to help. It might be worth your going to see her, Sidney.’

‘I can’t imagine I’d be welcome.’

‘She tells me that you offered to see her lodger, although I think she refers to him as a “paying guest”. Doesn’t he want a job as a curate or something?’

‘I didn’t plan on going so soon.’

‘Well, they are both ready for you now. I could give you a lift.’

‘No time like the present,’ said Amanda.

Nigel was putting on his coat. ‘It’s a twenty-minute drive across to Hereford Square. I hope you don’t mind.’

It was quite extraordinary, Sidney thought, to have the control over his life taken away with such entitled ease.

 

It was after five o’clock when Sidney rang the doorbell of Daphne Young’s flat in South Kensington. As he did so, he continued to wonder when his life was going to return to normal. He should have been in his study preparing for Epiphany, but now the only revelations in his life were all too human. The reason he felt so unsettled, he decided, was because these investigations forced him to think about life in a manner that was contrary both to his character and his faith. As a priest he was expected to be charitable and think the best of people, tolerating their behaviour and forgiving their sins; but as an amateur sleuth he found that the requirements were the exact opposite. Now his task was to be suspicious, to think less of everybody, suspect his or her motives and trust no one. It was not the Christian way.

Daphne Young was wearing a pale pink afternoon dress with bands of bright red dotted Swiss cotton alternating with ivory lace. ‘Let me take your cloak,’ she began. ‘I always think they make priests look like vampires.’

‘That is not the intended effect, I can assure you.’

‘Mr Graham has left in search of shortbread. You remember that he is a clergyman who is keen to meet you? Would you like some tea?’

‘I wouldn’t want to detain you.’

‘I was hoping to get down to Brighton this evening to see my father. He’s on his own. Then I will have Sunday lunch in the country. Do you know the Longstaffs?’

‘You asked me that last night.’

‘Friends of the Quickmains. Lord Teversham’s often there. Lovely people.’

‘Your father, you say?’

‘A daughter’s duty,’ Daphne Young replied. ‘But I like to be social. It’s not often I’m in town at the weekend. Now, of course, the idea of a London dinner party is even less attractive.’

‘Last night was very difficult.’

‘It was, Canon Chambers. Although why the Thompsons can’t go to the police is beyond me. I suppose it’s all to do with Nigel worrying about his reputation. He doesn’t want to be in The Times for the wrong reasons.’

‘I think it is a matter of discretion.’

‘Even if the crime is obvious?’

‘You think Johnny Johnson stole the ring?’

‘I can’t imagine anyone else doing such a thing.’

‘But why would he want to do that? He’d only just met everyone.’

‘Why do people steal, Canon Chambers? I suppose that is something for someone of your profession to consider. Is it the need for money or could it not also be the thrill of the crime? Could it even be seen as a kind of revenge, a political act against the wealthy, an attempt to restore some kind of social balance?’

‘I see you have thought of this in the past.’

‘I am a trained psychologist, Canon Chambers, as I think you know. But this case seems pretty straightforward. Mr Johnson’s background certainly provides pause for thought.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Don’t you know?’

Sidney gave a brief shake of the head.

‘His father is Phil “the Cat” Johnson: a well-known jewel thief.’

‘How do you know?’

‘My father is a retired jeweller, Canon Chambers. Johnson was notorious. Of course if the Thompsons had involved the police then they would have looked through their files, put two and two together, and the whole sordid business would be over and done with.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Sidney.

‘Did Jennifer not tell you?’

‘It’s possible she did not know. His son is very charming, as you have seen.’

‘Like father, like son,’ Daphne Young smiled to herself. ‘Everyone trusted Johnson. Then he robbed them blind. This is quite a simple matter when you think about it. Go to the police, Canon Chambers. I know it puts your sister in an awkward position but she’ll thank you for it in the long run.’

‘I think I must do this in my own way.’

‘If word gets out we will be social pariahs. Invitations will cease immediately. If I had known that the Thompsons weren’t intending to involve the police I would never have got in that taxi. We should have stayed and searched the room and taken all of our clothes off if necessary. Then we would have discovered where Johnny Johnson had put it. A ring can’t simply disappear.’

‘But it appears to have done exactly that.’

Leonard Graham entered the room and was full of apology. He was a small, well-groomed man with precise and definite manners and he was wearing a clerical cassock. This was unusual for an off-duty priest, almost as unusual as his pencil-thin moustache. A mistake, thought Sidney. A clergyman, as far as he was concerned, should either be fully bearded or clean-shaven; a moustache was neither one thing nor the other.

‘I knew that I might miss you,’ Leonard began ‘but I went in search of shortbread as we didn’t want to welcome you with tea alone. Unfortunately, the shops are closed.’

‘As you know, Sidney has very kindly agreed to talk to you about your future prospects,’ Daphne announced.

‘And I am very grateful.’

‘Would you like me to leave the room?’ she asked.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Sidney replied. ‘I think it might be more convenient altogether if I took Mr Graham to a nearby pub. It is half past five and I believe that one of them, at least, will be open.’

Leonard Graham looked alarmed. ‘Isn’t it a bit early?’ he enquired.

‘It may appear so,’ Sidney replied. ‘But I believe I have earned a pint. You are, of course, welcome to join us, Miss Young.’

‘That is polite to the point of being amusing. You ask knowing that I must refuse. I have a train to catch. My father awaits in Brighton.’

‘Then I will not keep you.’ Sidney stood up.

‘That would be kind,’ Daphne Young answered. ‘Although I hope you will not lead my lodger astray, Canon Chambers.’

‘I will keep him on the straight and narrow, Miss Young, don’t you worry,’ Sidney replied. ‘And I will bear your observations in mind.’

‘You would do better to act on them, Canon Chambers.’

‘I may well do, but, in the meantime, I will keep my own counsel. Non liquet. The case is not proven.’

‘Then, Canon Chambers, you will need to keep an even mind amidst your difficulties. Mens aequa rebus in arduis.’

 

The Hereford Arms was a delightful pub on the southerly end of Gloucester Road. The two men settled down by the fire and enjoyed the reassuring nature of each other’s company. Leonard had only recently completed his theological training. He had been ordained into a parish where he had spent most of his time at a private school for girls, and he now considered himself ready for a proper parochial curacy. What he had not anticipated, however, was the circuitous route that would lead him to Sidney, or the rather loose interpretation of ‘pastoral duties’ that his new companion seemed to follow.

Leonard had been taught that a clergyman should draw his community to God through leadership, example and self-sacrifice. It was a serious and sacred role that required a full commitment to the church and the community around it. He had never seen a priest extend his sense of social responsibility so far as to play an active role in the investigation of crime in an area that was miles away from his own parish.

Leonard therefore found himself in a curious situation. He had hoped to seize this opportunity of meeting a well-connected country parson to talk both about the latest developments in theology and his own future prospects, while Sidney was keen only to discuss the complexities of his latest case.

After a brief ‘Cheers’ and a polite ‘Happy New Year’, and with their pints of beer on the table, the inquiry resumed. Sidney was on the offensive. ‘How long have you been Miss Young’s paying guest?’ he asked.

‘Four or five months.’

‘And do you know her well?’

‘As well as opportunity allows. She is out every night and every weekend.’

‘Does she have any particular friend?’

‘She is unattached as far as I can ascertain. There are a few regulars. One of them sends her a sonnet every day.’

‘Good heavens.’

‘There have been so many that she’s stopped reading them. There are at least thirty on the mantelpiece in a pile.’

‘Are they any good?’

‘No. They are dreadful. Although the name Daphne is difficult to rhyme, I suppose.’

Sidney thought for a moment. ‘Didn’t Swift write a poem to a Daphne?’ he asked. ‘I seem to remember he referred to her as “An Agreeable Young Lady, but Extremely Lean”.’

Leonard Graham smiled somewhat mischievously and his moustache followed the curvature of his upper lip. He really should shave that off, thought Sidney.

‘That would be appropriate,’ Leonard answered. ‘Daphne Young reminds me of a whippet. She hardly eats a thing.’

Sidney remembered the poem:

 

‘What Pride a Female Heart enflames!

How endless are Ambition’s Aims!

Cease haughty Nymph; the Fates decree

Death must not be a Spouse for thee . . .’

 

He drank his beer. ‘Someone should write a book about the dedicatees of the great poets.’

Leonard Graham smiled. ‘Or their demise.’

Sidney considered the matter. ‘Death of the poets. A valediction.’

‘I’ve always found it strange that so many of them meet their Maker in unusual circumstances. Matthew Arnold, for example, died while leaping over a hedge . . .’

‘I suppose he did,’ Sidney replied. ‘And didn’t the Chinese poet Li Po drown while trying to kiss the reflection of the moon in water?’

‘Pushkin and Lermontov were both killed in duels . . .’

Sidney began to recall his classical education, ‘Aeschylus was felled by a falling tortoise.’

‘Euripides was mauled by a pack of wild dogs . . .’

‘Neither of them strictly poets, of course . . .’ Sidney cautioned.

‘Although if the criteria was broadened to writers in general then we could have a field day,’ Leonard Graham continued. ‘Edgar Allan Poe was found in another person’s clothes.’

‘And Sherwood Anderson swallowed a toothpick. But we are getting distracted, my good friend. Tell me about your landlady’s father. I gather she is on her way to see him.’

‘He lives in Brighton, as she has informed you. Miss Young is very solicitous in her visits. I think she organises his finances and gives him pocket money; a reversal of roles at the end of a life.’

‘It is interesting that he was once a jeweller.’

‘You are surely not suspecting my landlady of theft? She is quite a well-known psychologist.’

‘I find it uncomfortable when people are keen to pin the blame on others. But I agree that it is unlikely. Furthermore Daphne Young was seated at the wrong end of the dinner table. She has told you what happened last night?’

‘Not in detail.’

‘Then I will, if I may, go through it all with you.’

‘It seems strange for a priest to be so involved.’

‘Indeed it is, but I would find it helpful to talk it over with someone who might have an objective view.’

‘I am no detective, Canon Chambers.’

‘Neither am I, Leonard, but, under the circs, I have to make the best of things. Let me begin . . .’

After he had described the events of the previous evening Sidney returned to the subject of Daphne Young’s keenness to implicate Johnny Johnson. ‘There was quite a commotion after the champagne bottle had been dropped. I think almost any of the guests could have snaffled the ring at the time as very few people were sober, apart, of course, from Johnny Johnson . . .’

‘Why, of course?’

‘He does not drink. Which, curiously, puts him at a disadvantage. He was sitting next to Juliette Thompson and she had the ring. Her husband dropped the champagne bottle next to them. It would be quite simple for Johnson to act coldly and clearly amidst the confusion.’

‘Unless, of course, the bottle was dropped deliberately?’

‘It’s a possibility.’

‘The wife could have taken the ring?’

‘She could indeed . . .’

‘Knowing Johnny Johnson would be our chief suspect?’

‘That would be too calculated, I feel. I think this was an opportunistic crime.’

‘You are convinced it took place amidst the confusion of the champagne bottle?’

Sidney tried to clear his head but ending up thinking aloud. ‘Unless of course Nigel Thompson dropped the bottle to warn his wife? It was a distraction to stop her taking the ring; an attempt to wake her up, as it were; and then unbeknownst to them both, Johnny Johnson took advantage of the situation. It’s a difficult business. Someone took the ring and hid it. But where? I am at a loss, I must admit.’

‘Is there anything I can do, Canon Chambers?’

Sidney finished his pint of beer and an idea came at last. ‘There is perhaps, one thing . . .’ he began.

 

South Kensington was abnormally quiet. The gas lamps of London were aflame, the smog had descended, and the last of the dog-walkers were returning home from the parks. Sidney made his way to the Underground and took the Piccadilly Line to Leicester Square. From there he planned to go into Soho and fulfil his assignation with Johnny Johnson. He would then take the late train back to Cambridge.

He looked at his fellow passengers on the Tube. There was an elderly lady in a fur coat with a Pekinese dog on her lap; two young men, despite the vacant seats, standing and smoking roll-up cigarettes; a man in a battered trilby reading a copy of The Times: ‘Russian Date for Berlin Conference Accepted’ was the headline. None of them looked as though they had to worry about theft or betrayal, but doubtless they had their own demons. Sidney looked at the elderly lady’s hands. They were covered in rings.

Emerging from the lift at Leicester Square, and crossing Chinatown, Sidney noticed the streets were filling up. This was where everyone had gone: skifflers, jazzers and rock’n’ rollers: political dissidents, free spirits, philosophers, ranters and rebels. All was noise, bustle, shout and song: street salesmen, market vendors, milk bars and music booths.

Sidney believed that time flowed more easily in Soho. Life here was no longer broken up into a series of worldly meetings, appointments and assignations that had to take place between certain hours. Instead one event merged into another. People took their own time. It didn’t matter if they were early or late. They came and went as if the events they were going to had no beginning and no end. It was, perhaps, a secular incarnation of what the Church Fathers had referred to as a ‘glimpse of the infinite’.

He remembered that his brother Matt was performing with his new band ‘The Bottlemen’ that night. He had half-promised to put in an appearance but Jennifer told him that Johnny would be at The Flamingo if he wanted a chat and Sidney thought it best to get the whole sorry business of the stolen ring out of the way as soon as he could.

He found Johnny at the far end of the bar smoking a cigarette and drinking a Coca-Cola. He was dressed in the black suit with thin lapels that Sidney had appreciated on New Year’s Eve, and he wore a narrow tie. ‘What are you drinking?’ he asked.

‘I think I had better have something soft. I have had two pints of beer already this evening,’ Sidney apologised. ‘A bitter lemon?’

‘Have some gin in it.’

‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

Johnny gestured to the barman for the drinks. ‘What are you doing getting involved in all this, Sidney? Couldn’t you just leave them be?’

‘I think it’s to stop the police becoming a part of it.’

‘Well, that’s one good thing. I assume someone’s told you about my Dad?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘No need to apologise. It was bound to come up. This is Dad’s place, in fact, but I lead a different life. I work in property. Flats mainly. I buy them up then rent them out. We charge too much but it’s more legal than what my father used to do. Although even he’s seen the error of his ways these days.’

‘You are a realist, I think, Mr Johnson, about business and about crime.’

‘No point lying to you, Sidney. If the ring is still missing then I am sure they all think I did it.’

‘It would have taken some nerve.’

‘Believe me, I’m not so daft as to go out with your sister and steal from her best friend the first time I meet her.’

‘I never imagined you did it. Unfortunately, I appear to be the only one who thinks this.’

‘As well as Jennifer.’

‘Yes, Jenny does too. So the only way in which I can keep the police away and deflect the blame from you is to find out exactly what happened. I am asking what you think as you were almost certainly the most sober person in the room and the theft probably took place under your very eyes.’

‘Well, unfortunately I did not see anything. It obviously wasn’t planned in any way as no one could have known for sure that the ring was going to be produced in the first place.’

‘How do you think it was stolen?’

Johnny smiled enigmatically. ‘You’d have to ask my Dad that.’

‘You must have ideas of your own?’

Johnny took a sip of his Coca-Cola. ‘It would have to be taken quickly. And then hidden – perhaps in a place that could be explained if it was discovered later. A place of safe-keeping.’

‘And who are you suggesting?’

‘No one, Sidney. I don’t make accusations. Let’s just say it might be someone who knew the room well.’

‘But it would have to have been done by sleight of hand.’

‘The port glass and the handkerchief, I suppose. You drop the ring in your glass of port. Drain the glass, dab your lips with a handkerchief, spit the ring into it, and put the two back together in your pocket.’

‘And why do you think someone took it?’

‘There’s the need for money, of course. But if you ask me about last night I’d say it might also be about getting one over on people. Amanda Kendall has everything, doesn’t she? Good looks, a career, plenty of boyfriends, I imagine – although the one she is with now is a disgrace – and so I’d say, since you’re asking, that the person who stole her ring wanted to take her down a peg or two. It wasn’t so much about stealing, it was about the satisfaction of the taking.’

‘Intriguing.’

‘I might be completely wrong. But I’d also say it was a woman. Guy’s the fiancé, the MP’s the host, you are a priest, and the publisher was drunk. Would you like another drink?’

‘No thank you. I should leave. But go on.’

‘Stay if you like. We’ve got a great quartet later and Johnny Dankworth’s looking in. Your sister will be here in a minute.’

‘To tell you the truth I’m rather anxious to get back to my job, the one I was called to do.’

‘I can tell that they’ve bullied you into this, Sidney. I suppose it’s because they think you can get more out of people. People will sometimes say more to a priest whereas if any of that lot asked me anything I’d keep my mouth shut. I only hope they’re not using you.’

‘Can I buy you a drink before I go?’ Sidney offered.

‘You don’t need to worry about that.’

Sidney waited and met Johnny’s eye. ‘I would just like to say that I really don’t think you had anything to do with this. I do want you to know that.’

‘I appreciate it, Sidney.’ Johnny smiled as he stubbed out his cigarette. ‘I was just thinking that it would be quite funny if you found out that you were better at being a detective than you were at being a priest.’

‘I like to think I have a sense of humour but I can tell you that I wouldn’t find that amusing at all.’

‘Jen and I might.’

Sidney was swept by a wave of insecurity. ‘To tell you the truth, Johnny, at this precise moment, I can honestly say that I don’t think I am very good at anything at all.’

‘Nonsense. You are very good at being a decent human being.’ He held out his hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. Any time you want to come to the club, or need a flat, or require a bit of female company, I can arrange it.’

‘Thank you, but I rather feel that it’s time for me to take charge of my own life. It’s been getting out of hand recently. God bless you, Johnny.’

‘And God bless you, Sidney.’

As he spoke Sidney realised that Johnny was the first person, since his ordination, ever to have given him that reply.

 

It was after midnight by the time he returned to Grantchester. Although he had sketched out his sermon before he had left for London, Sidney knew that he would have to rise at six in the morning in order to finish it. It was ironic that the need to preach on the subject of Epiphany, the revelation of Christ to the Wise Men, should leave him so short of wisdom on the subject himself.

He knelt down by the side of his bed and said his prayers, ending with a plea that he knew that neither he, nor his Maker, would ever be able to fulfil.

‘Grant Lord, that I may not, for one moment, admit willingly into my soul any thought contrary to thy love.’

He was hopelessly restless and, after a night broken by insomnia and uneasy dreams, most of which involved a crime of some kind, Sidney made himself a pot of tea and began to think on what he might say later that morning. He would talk about Christmas presents, he decided, comparing the gifts brought by the Wise Men and the tokens exchanged by friends and family. He would improvise a few thoughts on the spirit of giving, and he would use the carol ‘In the Bleak Mid-Winter’ with the line: ‘What can I give him, poor as I am?’ He would speak about the importance of giving with your heart, something he remembered, involuntarily, and with a sinking feeling, that Guy Hopkins had singularly failed to do.

He lost himself for a moment in the memory of New Year’s Eve, and then felt annoyed by his inability to concentrate. He wished he could stop mulling over the crime and meditate on the meaning of Christ’s incarnation. It was so much more important than the theft of a ring at a dinner party.

It was an appropriately bleak morning and Sidney was further dispirited by the fact that his congregation was half the size that it had been on Christmas Day. This, however, was no excuse for putting in a performance that was below par, particularly as, to Sidney’s surprise, Inspector Keating had brought his family.

‘We never got to church on Christmas Day because our youngest had chickenpox,’ he explained afterwards. ‘And we felt like a change. Our own vicar can go on too long and we wanted to see if you lived up to expectations.’

‘I was not at my best.’

‘You made us think and you made us feel guilty. Isn’t that what you are supposed to do?’

‘We come to the table in good charity and in penitence . . .’

‘You do, however, appear to be tired, Sidney. Is it the exhaustion of Christmas?’

‘It is a little more than that, I am afraid.’

‘Ominous . . .’

‘I fear so. What are you doing this evening? We had to suspend our routine over the festive season and I feel in need of it now . . .’

‘It can’t wait until Thursday?’

‘I fear not.’

‘Then what about a quick pint in The Eagle at eight? Would you like to give me something to chew on over lunch?’

‘I can see your wife and children are waiting. It involves a group of friends, a stolen engagement ring and my own sister.’

‘Not as victim or thief?’

‘No, but bad enough. I can’t sleep, Geordie.’

‘Well, we can’t have that. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so low.’

‘I think it is the New Year. I always find it a dark time. Another year gone.’

‘A good pint of beer will sort you out.’

That evening, a thick mist descended over Cambridge and the lights of cars and bicycles glowed dimly through the gloom of the wet streets. The rain had passed but the air was damp and it still felt like the end of an old year rather than the beginning of something new. Sidney wondered where he really belonged these days, working as he did, halfway between a parish and a college, making trips to London and involving himself with the police. He was constantly between places and never at rest; but perhaps it was a priest’s duty, he thought, to be a pilgrim, out in the world, a man of good courage, travelling wherever the Lord decided to take him.

Despite the consolation of faith, the religious life still contained its doubts and its loneliness; and on this dank winter evening Sidney needed the companionship of a friend.

Inspector Keating had already bought the drinks by the time he arrived and it was clear they were going to need a second round as it took nearly all of the first for Sidney to go through the salient facts of the case. He finished by asking if people sometimes collaborated to point the finger of suspicion at one man.

‘That is more in the nature of fiction than reality,’ Inspector Keating replied. ‘Although it does happen.’

‘There seem to be a number of possibilities but, apart from my sister, they all appear to think Johnny Johnson did it.’

‘Then either they are correct, or they are all in it together, or they are hiding something.’

‘I don’t find that very helpful.’

‘Then you have to start again, examine all the evidence as if you are doing so for the first time and without prejudice. In other words, you need a detective.’

‘They don’t want the police involved. The host is an ambitious MP who wants to keep this out of the newspapers.’

‘Well, that is evidence in itself, Sidney. If they were all so certain that Johnny Johnson is guilty then they would call us in. The fact that they haven’t done so might mean that they know the evidence against him will not stand up; or that they suspect someone else and are not telling you. Can you trust them? They sound a slippery lot.’

‘I think I can trust my sister.’

‘What does she think?’

‘The wife has stolen before.’

‘Then that too needs to be taken into account.’

‘I don’t think she did it, Geordie. We searched the room and then her husband went through all her possessions so that they could specifically eliminate her from their enquiries.’

‘But none of you could be objective. Some of you had drunk too much, others were tired and, once the crime had been revealed everyone probably wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. That’s not an ideal scenario for a search.’

‘Which means?’

‘You need to conduct a further investigation.’

‘Surely it’s too late for that?’

‘The ring might still be there. Even if it isn’t, a search will give you ideas. I presume you looked thoroughly under the table and between the floorboards?’

‘We didn’t take the floor up . . .’

‘You need to picture the scene all over again.’

‘And then?’

‘You need to call everyone back into the very same room. You need to do a re-enactment and watch everyone very closely.’

‘I am not sure they will agree to that. And how will I know that some of them will not alter their behaviour?’

‘Sidney, you know that this is really a matter for the police?’

‘I think they are all expecting my sister to have a word with Johnny Johnson, that he will then return the ring, and the whole thing can be over and done with. The only problem is . . .’

‘That he had nothing to do with it.’

‘In my opinion. And that of my sister.’

‘Well, you need to be careful, Sidney. You know how desperate the rich can be.’

‘Do I?’

Inspector Keating finished his pint. ‘Well, if you don’t know now then you will soon enough.’

 

On Thursday 7 January, the day after the Feast of the Epiphany, Sidney found himself boarding another train to London, clambering on to yet another bus to Lord’s (it was so depressing to stop there in winter, when there was no cricket), and walking up to Cavendish Avenue. He was going to search the Thompsons’ dining room. By committing himself ruthlessly and concentrating hard at the scene of the crime he hoped an idea would eventually come to him.

When he arrived in the early afternoon Sidney was not altogether surprised to see that Juliette Thompson was dressed in a white nightgown but he became alarmed when she appeared to have forgotten who he was, an incident so worrying that Sidney wondered what type of medication her doctor was giving her.

Nigel himself was clearly irritated by the visit. Sidney had not been invited to lunch and his host was briskly polite. ‘We did search the room quite thoroughly at the time,’ he said. ‘We looked all over the floor and down the backs of the chairs, as you will recall.’

‘Can you extend the table to its full range, and bring in everything that was used on the night in question?’

‘I will ask Edna to help you.’

‘Do you have a torch and a stepladder?’

‘I can’t see the stepladder being of any use, Sidney. Nobody could have hidden the ring in the cornice.’

‘I think I need to look at the room from every angle, if you don’t mind,’ Sidney replied. ‘Is Juliette all right?’

‘I fear we may need professional help. I do not think we can solve this particular problem on our own. It only makes me hate the thief even more, not for the actual incident or for the hurt caused to Amanda – she seems to have recovered forcefully – but for sending Juliette into such a sharp decline. I sometimes think that the person who did it knew that she would react like this.’

‘Which would rule out Johnny Johnson. He had never met her before.’

‘Indeed. And so it must be one of our greatest friends, but I just can’t believe such a thing, Sidney. It would be such a betrayal of our trust. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to involve the police but I just can’t risk it. When Churchill retires and Eden takes over, I’ll be in line for a junior Cabinet post. I can’t allow anything to endanger that, especially something so trivial as another person’s engagement ring. The whole affair is taking up far too much time and trouble as it is.’

‘I will do all that I can to help you.’

‘I know that, Sidney, and I appreciate it, but do you really think this search of yours is going to do any good? The ring will be long gone by now.’

‘That is probably so. But I want to spend enough time in this room to think through all the permutations. One has to have a bit of faith.’

Sidney imagined the room to be a series of cubes on a three-dimensional grid. He would move from north-west to south-east, working in a series of horizontal lines from left to right and then right to left, using both a torch and a magnifying glass. He would look at the wood, the table, the walls and the floorboard. He would open the sideboard and empty the canteen of cutlery, and he would sit for a few moments, every ten or fifteen minutes, with the seating plan and the notebook, thinking and praying and waiting for inspiration to come from his observations.

Three hours later he had his own, minor, epiphany.

 

It was not a popular decision to re-create the final moments of the dinner party and it took place at the inexact time of five in the afternoon as the guests, or suspects, had only agreed to come on the condition that it did not scupper their plans for the evening. Daphne was being taken to Madam Butterfly at Covent Garden, Jennifer and Amanda were due to see Richard Attenborough in The Mousetrap, and although the Dowlands had no plans for the evening they were required to cut short their annual expedition to the National Exhibition of Cage Birds at Olympia. Consequently, there was considerable tension in the atmosphere as they sat down in their allotted places and waited for Sidney to conduct them through the events of the previous week.

Nigel was further disconcerted by the idea that he was expected to waste yet another bottle of champagne by deliberately dropping it where he had done so before. Sidney reassured him that he could mime these actions as long as everyone repeated their movements on the night.

‘Next thing I know,’ Nigel complained, ‘you will suggest that I dropped the damn thing deliberately in order to cause a distraction.’

‘I have already discounted that,’ Sidney replied, rather too punctiliously.

‘Are we expected to keep to the conversation as well?’ Guy asked.

‘You can paraphrase,’ said Sidney. ‘I would just like to recreate our movements round the table from the giving of the ring.’

‘When do we stop?’

‘At the moment you were left alone with Miss Kendall and your hosts, Mr Hopkins. The subsequent conversation has no relevance to the disappearance of the ring even though it was certainly of importance to those involved.’

‘I’ll say,’ said Amanda.

‘There’s no need to bring that up,’ Guy snapped.

‘I would remind you,’ Amanda bristled, ‘that we are on “no speaks”.’

‘Then why are you “speaking” to me now?’

‘I am not talking to you. I am “speaking” to Canon Chambers.’

Sidney tried to calm the proceedings. ‘Let us begin. We need, of course, a ring. I have brought one in this box from Woolworths. I hope it will suffice. Mr Hopkins, if you would be so good as to give it to Miss Kendall?’

‘Very well.’

Guy stood up and walked round. He placed the box in front of her and she opened it. ‘I see. Rather better than the one you gave me last week.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

‘Mr Hopkins,’ Sidney continued, ‘if you would be so good as to return to your seat.’

Amanda handed the ring across the table to Daphne Young. She passed it across to Mary Dowland, who gave it to Sidney. He then placed the ring in front of Juliette.

‘I feel quite sick,’ she said.

‘Now,’ said Sidney, ‘Mr Thompson, can you please drop the bottle of champagne?’

‘I found some rather uninspiring sparkling wine,’ said Nigel. ‘I am sorry about the waste but I think I might as well repeat the whole blasted thing.’

As he did so his wife gave a shriek and dropped the ring, Johnny Johnson pushed his chair back and brushed the sparkling wine off his trousers with a cry of ‘twice in one week’.

‘Continue,’ Sidney ordered.

Amanda removed Juliette from the room while Daphne fetched a dishcloth and Mary Dowland a dustpan and brush.

After the mess had been cleared up for a second time, the ring from Woolworths remained by Juliette Thompson’s place.

‘You can hardly expect someone to steal it this time,’ said Mark Dowland.

‘Please go on,’ Sidney insisted. ‘Let us repeat our search.’

The guests walked round the room, looking across and under the table.

The maid rang the doorbell. Sidney explained. ‘Miss Young, I think you said your goodbye at this point.’

‘I certainly did.’ Daphne Young opened her bag and emptied its contents on to the dining-room table once more: the same compact, perfume, handkerchief, set of keys, diary, address book and small purse fell out. She scattered her change across the table. ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush,’ she said.

‘Amazing,’ said Johnny Johnson. ‘That’s exactly as you did it before.’

Mary Dowland appeared beside him. ‘Then I came up beside you, I think.’

‘And Mr Hopkins went through the bag,’ Sidney explained. ‘Will you do so once more?’

‘It’s a bit pointless, isn’t it?’

‘On the contrary,’ Sidney said quietly. ‘Miss Young, I think you returned to your place and picked up your stole?’

‘I did.’

‘And then you said your farewells.’

‘That is correct. May I go now?’

‘Not quite,’ Sidney explained. ‘We need to continue, if you would not mind waiting. Mr Hopkins must give you your handbag . . .’

‘Thank you.’

‘And then the Dowlands leave quite shortly. As, of course, do I. So we will just re-enact these movements and then, instead of leaving, we will return to our places.’

‘I can’t see how that has done any good at all,’ said Mark Dowland when the domestic ballet had been completed.

‘On the contrary,’ said Sidney, ‘you have shown me a great deal. And now, I have something unexpected.’

‘I don’t like surprises,’ said Juliette Thompson, returning to her seat. ‘They make me afraid.’

‘But this is, I think, a pleasant one,’ said Sidney. ‘You will see that the ring from Woolworths has disappeared.’

‘Where is it?’ Guy Hopkins exclaimed.

Sidney reached under the table in front of him. ‘Instead, I have something else. Quae amissa salva. What was lost is safe.’ He placed Amanda Kendall’s original engagement ring in front of him.

‘Where did you get that?’ asked Daphne Young.

‘Your lodger very kindly retrieved it from The Lanes in Brighton.’

‘He is not a “lodger”. He is a “paying guest”.’

Sidney ignored the distinction. ‘In Brighton, there is a second-hand jewellery store, next to some shared accommodation for distressed gentlefolk. Living there is a rather confused gentleman called Hector Young, formerly of the jewellers Braithwaite and Young.’

‘You cad.’

Sidney began. ‘The ring was reclaimed from your father, Miss Young. How it came into his possession is a matter for conjecture, but my colleague received a rather full explanation.’

‘You sent a priest under false pretences knowing that my father was confused?’

‘On the contrary, his mission was perfectly straightforward. I sent him under clear instructions to talk to your father and recoup the ring. You often take jewellery down to Brighton, I believe . . .’

‘There is nothing wrong with that.’

‘Most has been secured on approval so that it can be returned. Some former colleagues also help . . .’

Daphne Young looked down into her lap. ‘It is the only thing that keeps him in his right mind. He remembers the treasures he has lost. Sometimes he believes he still has his shop.’

‘I am sure he does, Miss Young.’

‘He lost everything.’

‘How?’ Juliette asked.

‘He used to rent out things on deposit so that women could make a bit of a splash of an evening and then return the jewellery the next morning. Unfortunately, he . . . he . . .’

Sidney quietly finished her sentence. ‘Gambled.’

Daphne was pulling at the handkerchief in her hands. ‘He thought he could escape his debts and give his clients a little bit of the proceeds. He went to Epsom and Goodwood and put the biggest bets on the handicaps. He liked to think he could always spot an underrated horse but he was wrong. He didn’t mean to lose so he borrowed in order to pay his customers back. He thought it would all come right in the end. Then he started going to the pawnbrokers with some of the stock and without telling his business partner. Now half his mind has gone . . .’

‘You were being a dutiful daughter,’ said Sidney.

‘The jewellery I show him takes him back to the early thirties when I was a little girl and my mother was alive. The shop was a success then. So I’ve been trying to keep him living there, in the memory of that time, so that he can die with more contentment than he would if he was aware of the world today.’

Mary was unsympathetic. ‘So are you trying to tell us that you stole the ring for charitable purposes?’

‘I took it without thinking. It was right in front of me.’ Daphne looked at Juliette. ‘It was there. I couldn’t help it.’

‘My God,’ Nigel exclaimed. ‘You stole the ring in the house of one of your best friends. Are you aware of the effect this has had on Juliette?’

‘It was her or my father. I made a choice.’

Johnny interrupted. ‘How did you do it, Daphne?’

‘I am sure Canon Chambers can explain.’

Sidney began. ‘It did look as if you were the criminal, Mr Johnson. Miss Young was aware of your father’s history and could feel quite confident that you would be blamed; she even tried to do this herself. Then, if that didn’t work, there was always Mrs Thompson.’

‘But she has never stolen anything,’ Mary Dowland cut in.

‘No,’ Sidney lied. This was not the time for further revelation. ‘But she was upset and distracted and it would be a simple matter to make her think she had taken the ring even when she had not.’

Juliette Thompson looked at Sidney. ‘So I was right? I never had the ring?’

‘It was taken from your place. For the criminal to act in such a way when there were two ready suspects was tempting . . .’

Daphne cut in. ‘I am not a criminal. I didn’t think of it like that.’

‘It must have been when Nigel dropped the champagne,’ said Johnny. ‘Daphne was picking up bits of broken glass . . .’

‘Miss Young, to you.’

‘But I would have seen her,’ said Mary Dowland. ‘I had the dustpan and brush.’

‘But,’ Sidney explained, ‘Miss Young had the dishcloth. It was a simple matter to wipe away the ring at the same time as she mopped the table. If anyone noticed she could easily explain her behaviour as absent-mindedness and put it back. But if no one spotted her . . .’

‘But how could she hide the thing?’ Johnny Johnson asked. ‘She emptied her bag on to the table and opened her purse. There was nothing in it.’

‘That was something of a masterstroke. To conceal the ring in an item that had already been searched and then to walk calmly away . . .’

‘But how?’ Amanda asked.

Sidney began to walk round the table. ‘The idea came to me when I was searching the room myself. It was the first time that I have been permitted to be on my own in this house and I was able to think the matter over without distraction. Then I remembered one of my friend Inspector Keating’s first questions. “Did you look under the table?” ’

‘Of course we did,’ answered Nigel.

‘I don’t think you understand. When I say “under the table” I mean something slightly different. Miss Kendall, and Mr Johnson, I would like you to think about your positions at dinner.’

‘I was sitting next to the host and Johnny was next to the hostess,’ Amanda answered.

‘My God,’ said Johnny Johnson, ‘I think you have got it.’

‘You are also sitting, as is Miss Young, at the ridge of the table, where it extends. Of course, this is not noticeable with a tablecloth, but it is common enough. At Miss Young’s place there is a slight scratch mark in the ridge where she hid the ring.’

‘You mean it was wedged in the ridge underneath the table?’ asked Nigel

‘Exactly so. And then removed when Miss Young went to fetch her stole. We, of course, were all distracted by the contents of her handbag. The action would have required only the simplest sleight of hand.’

Daphne Young rose from her seat. ‘Very good, Canon Chambers. We can all applaud your persistence. If only you had demonstrated the same level of dedication to the priesthood. I presume you have summoned the police.’

‘As a matter of fact, I have not. I think it is for Miss Kendall to decide. It is her ring.’

Guy Hopkins cut in. ‘I rather think it is mine.’

‘You gave it to me,’ Amanda Kendall replied.

‘But you have turned me down. I think a return is customary.’

One thing Sidney had not expected was the aftermath of his revelation. Daphne Young took advantage of the hiatus and walked to the door. ‘I shall leave you all to it. I am expected at the opera. You have my address.’

‘Daphne,’ Nigel Thompson announced before she left. ‘You will never be welcome in this house again.’

His former guest replied without emotion, ‘I have no excuse.’

The assembled company listened to her footsteps recede in the hall and the front door open and close. They even heard her sharp whistle for a taxi. ‘What an extraordinary woman,’ said Mary Dowland. ‘She never even apologised.’

‘I can’t stop thinking about her father,’ said Johnny. ‘I can’t imagine that was the first time. She must have stolen before.’

‘I’m not so sure,’ said Sidney.

Mark Dowland offered another explanation. ‘Perhaps she thought she deserved it more than Amanda. A better cause . . .’

‘I’ve always thought she was a bitch,’ said Guy.

‘Your thoughts on women are a disgrace,’ Amanda replied. It was the first time she had looked at him properly all evening. The ring was still in front of her. She looked at Sidney. ‘What shall I do with it now?’ she asked.

 

In 1954, Valentine’s Day, which was also Sidney’s birthday, fell on a Sunday. He was thirty-three years old. Because he was unable to leave his pastoral duties, his sister Jennifer brought Amanda up to Grantchester to mark the occasion. They came with cards from the rest of the family and a chocolate cake that they had made themselves. The celebration was to consist of a trip along the River Cam and a winter picnic.

It was a crisp but bright winter day and Jennifer and Amanda were sitting in the front of the punt with rugs over their knees and a hamper in front of them. It contained two flasks of milky tea laced with a little brandy; ham and mustard sandwiches; a selection of dainties from Fitzbillies; and the chocolate birthday cake with a candle which they would light at dusk.

Sidney was punting in his clerical cloak and he wore a wide-brimmed hat that made him look like a nineteenth-century eccentric. This was paradise, he thought: to be free of the cares of the world with his adorable sister and her beautiful best friend on his birthday. They would spend an hour or two chatting away and then the girls would return to London and Sidney would take Evensong and allow himself time to contemplate his blessings.

‘I have never known anything so unusual as a winter picnic on the river,’ said Amanda, ‘and I am enjoying it immensely. Where shall we moor?’

‘Just a little upstream,’ said Sidney. ‘Past Byron’s Pool. I know a spot.’

He dropped the pole into the water, pushed down, and then as he let the punt move away he began to recite: ‘Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after.’

‘Oh Byron,’ said Amanda. ‘My favourite poet. “Here’s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate; And whatever sky’s above me, Here’s a heart for every fate.” ’

Sidney smiled. ‘I’m so glad that you seem to have recovered from all that sorry business on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Such a pity we couldn’t pin the whole business of the ring on Guy,’ Amanda replied. ‘I’d enjoy his fury at going to prison.’

‘That’s not very charitable.’

‘We’ve been generous enough with everyone else.’

‘You decided to let Daphne off?’ Sidney asked.

‘It would have finished her . . .’ Jennifer answered. ‘And Nigel was keen to avoid a scene.’

‘And so a crime has been ignored? That was very forgiving of you.’

‘We just have to trust she won’t ever do it again.’

Amanda was dubious. ‘I don’t see how we’ll ever know. I don’t think any of us will be inviting her again. But I suppose she did me a favour. Not that I’d tell her that.’

Sidney manoeuvred the punt round a corner, letting it glide past the frosted willows. ‘And you let Guy keep the ring?’

‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘He can give it to some other fool deluded by his so-called good looks. I don’t want it. It would just be a reminder of the whole ghastly evening. It was very good of your clerical friend to go all the way to Brighton and get it back. Are you taking him on?’

‘He should be joining me after Easter.’

‘Johnny thinks he might be a pansy,’ said Jennifer. ‘Do you?’

‘I wouldn’t dream of enquiring,’ Sidney replied as he ducked under a low branch of wych elm.

‘Isn’t that rather unlike you?’ Amanda inquired. ‘You have such an inquisitive mind.’

Sidney let the punt glide to the side of the river and moored in readiness for the picnic. ‘It is my belief that a private life should remain private. If Leonard Graham has something to tell me I am sure he will do so. I have asked him, in a rather informal way, to shave off his moustache. It makes him look a bit of a spiv and I don’t think it suits him. Other than that, I do not intend to pry.’

‘Even if your curiosity is piqued?’ his sister asked as she unwrapped the picnic.

‘I think I pique my curiosity whenever it can be of benefit to others,’ Sidney replied. ‘Otherwise, I try not to spend too much time on tittle-tattle, however pleasurable it may seem at the time. It never does anyone any good and it makes you feel cheap afterwards.’

‘I’m sorry I raised the question,’ said Jennifer.

‘I don’t mind you asking any question you like, my dear sister, just so long as you don’t mind my not answering it.’

‘But surely you must wonder?’

‘I try not to think about that kind of thing. It serves no purpose. Discretion is a very underrated virtue, don’t you think, Amanda?’

‘I suppose it must be. But one can’t be serious all the time. Gossip can be quite fun.’

‘I am sure it can be, and I can see the temptation; but it’s too dangerous for a priest.’

Amanda gave Sidney what he now recognised as one of her quizzical looks. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with such moral certainty,’ she replied. ‘You make me feel quite the flibbertigibbet.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being a flibbertigibbet,’ said Sidney. ‘In fact, I think the world needs all the flibbertigibbets it can get.’

‘Then I am glad to be of assistance,’ said Amanda. ‘I wonder what the derivation of the word is? “Gibbet” is not very encouraging, is it?’

‘I think,’ said Sidney, ‘ “flibber” suggests “flighty”; it’s onomatopoeic.’

‘And where would you like to fly to?’ Amanda asked.

‘The moon and back, Miss Kendall, the moon and back.’

Jennifer handed out mugs of tea. ‘Are you two flirting?’ she asked.

‘I think that should remain private,’ Amanda giggled. ‘I have heard that discretion is a very underrated virtue.’

‘I was only asking,’ said Jennifer, beginning to find herself quite the gooseberry. ‘My brother is something of a dark horse in that department.’

Amanda let her gloved hand skim the surface of the water. ‘Well, I always enjoy a day at the races; not that it did Daphne’s father any good.’

‘I felt rather sorry for her in the end,’ said Sidney.

‘I love the way you think the best of people. She was quite short with you, wasn’t she? When she said,’ and here Amanda began to imitate the deep voice of her former friend, ‘ “if only you had demonstrated the same level of dedication to the priesthood,” I thought it was unnecessarily barbed.’

‘I don’t mind barbs.’

‘Really, Sidney. You are almost unnatural. I’m not sure I believe you.’

‘He likes to retain an air of mystery about him,’ Jennifer explained. ‘Although he is yet to realise how effective a ploy that is.’

Amanda remembered what she had been meaning to say. ‘Perhaps, one day, you could take me to Newmarket, Sidney. We could have a bit of a flutter.’

Her companion smiled. ‘That would be fun. Or, perhaps, we could go to a jazz concert. There’s a very good singer coming over from America later in the year, Gloria Dee . . .’

‘Oh I don’t think so,’ said Amanda quickly. ‘I draw the line at jazz.’

‘Dearie me,’ said Jennifer. ‘It was all going so well.’

The three friends laughed and Sidney could not remember a time when he had been happier. They lit the candle on his cake, and the two girls sang ‘Happy Birthday’ in harmony. Then he blew out the candle and wished that he could have more of these moments away from the cares of the world. They remained sitting in the punt, singing and teasing each other for a good half-hour before they found that it was too cold to continue and decided it was time to go home.

There would be a freeze that night and both women were anxious to return to London after Evensong in order to avoid any delay on the railway. Jennifer was starting a new secretarial job in the morning, while Amanda was preparing for the display of a newly cleaned Van Dyck double portrait at the National Gallery. It was, Sidney felt, a familiar Sunday evening experience for those involved in regular employment. The anxiety of Monday morning always seemed to cast a retrospective shadow.

At Cambridge station, Amanda left in search of a cigarette while Jennifer took advantage of a moment alone with her brother.

‘I’m glad you two are getting on so well,’ she said.

‘Oh yes,’ Sidney said, almost involuntarily. ‘We’re thick as thieves these days.’

Jennifer gave her brother a little punch on the shoulder. ‘Be careful.’

‘I think she’s out of my league.’

‘Perhaps, my dear Sidney, that is because you are in a league of your own. Happy birthday.’

She let her brother kiss her lightly and then looked out for her friend. The train doors were slamming. The train guard looked at his watch and put his whistle between his lips. Amanda returned. ‘We must hurry,’ she said, without appearing to do so. ‘Although I’ve told the guard to wait.’

She took Sidney’s hand in hers. ‘Happy birthday, Sidney. I do hope I can come again. Knowing you is such an adventure.’

‘You will always be welcome,’ Sidney smiled.

Amanda leant forward to kiss him. As she did so she accidentally brushed her lips against his. ‘I think you’re wonderful,’ she said, looking into his eyes.

‘Come on,’ Jennifer called.

Sidney watched the two women board the London train and waved them goodbye. Then he bicycled back through the dark and icy roads to Grantchester. There were only a few, minor mishaps as he made his dreamy return; a front-wheel skid, a near miss with a cat and a wobble as he waved to a colleague from his college: the usual, unpredictable, moments that made it a relief to arrive home safely.

The next morning Sidney stooped down to pick up a letter that had arrived in the second post. It looked like a birthday card and it had been sent from Germany. The writing was Hildegard’s.

Sidney’s pleasure at receiving the letter was mixed with guilt about his friendship with Amanda. He passed it from one hand to the other, uncertain whether to open it or not. ‘I might just save this for later,’ he said to himself. ‘I think I’ve had enough excitement in my life for the time being.’