A Man Called Darius Page 4

  ***

  In that moment, I knew that Father Garry Gillespie was my friend for life.

  ***

  We must have talked for a long time, because it was nearly 2.0am when Garry left the Three Sisters, “like any gentleman would,” - as he put it...and I dropped off to sleep, a lot happier and more at peace than I had felt for some time. He left me his card, with his name and address in the States and scribbled his military details on the back, together with a telephone number where I could reach him, if ever I needed to. He also gave me a warm invitation to visit him, if I should ever find myself in the United States. I thought it highly unlikely but I smiled as I studied the card, then popped it into my purse. I gave him Aunt Martha’s phone number, although I didn’t expect he would use it and besides, I didn’t want Aunt Martha to know of my clandestine meeting at the Three Sisters... especially as it was with the clergy. She would never have approved of that....

  Chapter Four

  Jeremy was away when I got back to Aunt Martha’s where I found her giving her budgie a lesson in perfect English. She named the bird, Marigold, but nobody ever knew why, or if there was any connection there to any member of the family The Vicar was due to arrive that afternoon for tea and she didn’t want her beloved Marigold disgracing herself with any of Jeremy’s high pitched crudities. Strange, how she loved Jeremy so much and yet despised most of his habits and his bachelor way of life. She had always hoped that some saintly, wonderful woman, of substantial means, of course... and of good breeding, which was also a necessary requisite, would come along and thrust her virtues upon her nephew, so that he would eventually become the man of her dreams. He had the potential of course... was he not her sister’s son? Was he not a Shackleton, with Greenwood blood as well, what was more. She would advise and encourage him in every way possible, from where she sat, not in any way interfering, but simply assuring that Jeremy got the best that life could offer, both here and hereafter. Martha Greenwood had a lifetime of virtue and experience behind her and she would use it for this very purpose. Her only regret was that she had for a short time in her life, (to use her own words...) been ‘given over’ to smoking. Miss Greenwood had absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever and never, never, ever made a mistake....

  “Happy New Year Aunt Martha, I called out as I came into the hall and put my head around the lounge door to greet her.

  “Is it?” she replied and I knew I had already said too much and should have held my tongue as I cursed for not being at Rowan Trees when I needed him so much at that time, but concluded that my selfishness was being well punished, as I was sure Father Garry would agree.... or would he? ? What the hell was I doing here in England when I was so happy and content in Basra... with all its sweaty heat and irritations of the mosquito bite... and I wondered what Darius Crane was doing in his avoidance of the pestilence... I contemplated his magnificent optics... and more, in my mind and began to count the days until I would return to such a barbaric and uncivilized, beautiful existence...

  It was a fortnight later, on the 15th of January to be precise that I got the uncontrollable yearning to phone my priest-friend for a chat. He was out, but I left a message with his batman, hoping he would be able to ring me back whenever he could. I wanted so much to talk to him about all the things that were on my mind at that time, when there was so little time on our last meeting. Well, at least not enough time to sort out my thoughts and discuss with him, if I could, the shambles that I was making of my life. The telephone rang that same evening when we were at dinner.

  “It’s for you Miss Smythe.”

  Monica put her head into the lounge and was about to close the door again when Aunt Martha called out after her in her usual grating tone of voice.

  “Don’t give messages in that fashion, Monica. Use the tray in the hall and write it down for the person concerned. That’s what it’s for... and the name is Barrington-Smythe... if you please. This is not a football pitch and we don’t shout at one another.”

  Monica returned to the lounge and bobbed a little courtesy of her own as she apologized.

  “I’m sorry Miss Barrington-Smythe... Miss Greenwood, Ma’am.”

  When I excused myself from the table and followed Monica into the hall, she gave me a knowing glance that confused me for a moment.

  “There’s a MAN on the ‘phone for you Miss... I think he’s an American.”

  She raised her eyebrows and gave me another little bow... but there was a twinkle in her eye... however, the American accent brought life to my hitherto anaemic heart when I heard it. Garry couldn’t come to see me that evening as he had a convert to instruct at 7.30 and that would take about an hour, he said. He also had to make some arrangements for a funeral the next day, so he was pretty well tied up for the evening, but the following evening would be fine. He was free from 6.30 onwards and he would be delighted to see me, if that was agreeable. I said it was, put the phone down after having arranged the meeting place and was just about to go back to dinner when I noticed Monica’s skirt touch the wall slightly as she vanished downstairs.

  I had arranged to meet Garry at the Strand Palace Hotel, in the tearoom at 7.0pm and I was deliriously happy. Wasn’t I a ‘cooky’ I could hear him say...

  When I returned to the dinner table, Jeremy was about to pour the coffee after Aunt Martha had rung her bell without success, for the by now, infamous Monica to do the honours.

  “Coffee dahling?” Jeremy enquired and his eyes narrowed into a blank, blind smile.

  “Thank you Yes, “ I replied and added quickly my apologies for not being at home for dinner the following evening, saying that I had arranged to meet a friend in town.”

  Jeremy’s face lit up as he passed me my cup.

  “A Tarzan or a Jane, dear?” he giggled and spilled the coffee into my saucer.

  “Do be careful, Jeremy, Aunt Martha scolded with a wry smile, “You could ruin your trousers if you spill any more of that.”

  Jeremy waited for my answer and Aunt Martha ground her dentures in an effort to display her total indifference to my social arrangements. She didn’t want me to marry Jeremy, but she was most inquisitive as to who might possibly be in competition. Her eyes moved swiftly to and fro in their sockets and she shuffled to study her swollen feet by way of a diversion from the subject. Wouldn’t she have just loved to know the identity of my caller? She would have spilled much more than her coffee, I rather think, if she found out. I smiled at her and turned to Jeremy.

  “Just a friend Jeremy... an old friend,” I lied and dabbed my mouth with my serviette.

  Chapter Five

  It was a wet and murky evening when I arrived at the Strand Palace. I paid the taxi and shot my umbrella into the air, as I watched him speed off, as Garry came, seemingly from nowhere to meet me, grabbing my arm and propelling me gently into the shelter of the foyer.

  “Quack, Quack,” he joked, “wonderful weather for ducks, ain’t it?” he gabbled and I shook my umbrella before we reached the revolving doors.

  “Have I inconvenienced you in asking you to meet me like this Garry?” I asked and he grinned but said nothing in reply and when he had assured himself that we were well away from the rain, he grinned again.

  “Well, I had arranged to meet five other broads for a dance around Trafalgar Square, but now that we’re here... “

  I saw his crooked front tooth again as he chuckled and a young waiter with very blond hair swept back from his forehead and wearing a scarlet bow tie came towards us and strangely enough, he must have been used to American Catholic priests in the hotel because he smiled cordially and addressed the priest by his title.

  “Can I be of any assistance Father?” he asked

  “Well... look... we need a quiet table where we can talk... can you arrange that for us?”

  The waiter smiled broadly and stroked his blond mane with an
effeminate movement of his hand.

  “Certainly Father. I have just the table. Please come this way.”

  He showed us to a secluded table near a huge marble pillar, where two large plants stood nearby which gave excellent privacy from the entire room, then he took our coats and my wet umbrella and held the chair for me to sit down.

  “Would you care for some refreshments., Father... Madame?”

  Garry looked at me and left me to decide.

  “Can we have tea... and some scones, perhaps?” I was thinking of the ration coupons he may require but Garry nodded his approval and I was sure that the American forces new nothing of such restrictions, however the young man took out a small scribbling pad from his pocket and waited for our further instructions. Garry looked at him kindly.

  “What’s your name, by the way?” he asked and the waiter turned to him in surprise. I don’t suppose many of the hotel guests ever showed such solicitude.

  “Why... it’s William, Father... William Prentice... and tea and scones will be my pleasure.”

  Garry studied the young man as he began to walk away.

  “Thank you, Willie,” he said and pulled back his chair to sit down. “Nice young man, ain’t he Frannie ...so obliging... but then I find the English are that way in general.”

  I glanced to where the waiter had disappeared through an arched door at the end of the room.

  “I thought they wore black ties, “ I said and Garry raised his eyebrows.

  “Maybe he’s the top boy, eh?” he chuckled and stroked the palm branch at his side. “Ordinary priests wear black, you know and only the brass hats, the Cardinals wear red,” he replied. “Anyways, he seems to know that I’m a priest, so I guess there are more American priests having tea and scones at his table, eh?”

  It was then I began to realize that the tell-tale crosses on Garry’s lapel would tell anyone who knew anything that he was a priest in uniform.

  I smiled. The table was excellent for our need to talk in private. The large pillar cut out the view to the left of the lounge and the plants eliminated a long corridor to the right. We had the wall to our backs.

  “I bet there’s been some canoodlin’ goin’ on here in the past,” Garry said mischievously and we both laughed and I was beginning to feel relaxed already.

  “What’s canoodling?” I enquired playfully.

  “Well I can’t really show you here,” he said and his brow wrinkled as he pursed his lips. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about Frannie? You’re not in any trouble, are you? I mean, you did sound rather anxious on the phone yesterday.”

  I unclasped my handbag and took out my mirror to study my face, through force of habit, I suppose as I was sure Garry Gillespie hadn’t come to the Strand Palace Hotel to look at my profile. I don’t know why I did that, really.

  “You look just fine... now c’mon what’s wrong?” he asked again.

  “I don’t really know Garry. I should be happy, I suppose. I don’t need money and I love my work. Well, I’m not short of cash... you know what I mean and my father is fairly well off … but I have my own independence from some money my mother left me when she died. I seem to have everything a girl could want and yet... “

  He played with a fork, rubbing it against the linen tablecloth rather forcibly and it disturbed me a little to see him do that.

  “You haven’t said anything about a partner yet. Do you have one?” he asked quite bluntly and I could feel the muscle flinch in my left eye as I turned away from him in that moment as if I was examining the rich green palms that grew so still in their earthenware pot. He asked again

  “Do you have a young man tucked away somewhere Frannie?”

  I returned my gaze to where he was sitting watching me intently, but I did not look at his face, instead I studied his hands and the way his fingers moved on the fork.

  “You have... haven’t you?” he went on, not asking me, but telling me what he felt he knew.

  I told him about Jeremy and of the situation that was between us since we were children; of my father’s marriage and of my mother’s tragic illness and subsequent death... and of course, about Aunt Martha, but I omitted to mention my feelings for a certain Theatre Assistant in Basra and he continued to stretch his forefinger over his fork as he push it into the table, as if this was some method of punishment that he alone knew.

  “All this is a situation that’s been chosen for you Frannie and over which you have no control, but there must have been some moment in your life when you chose to do your own thing... surely... Something that you wanted to do... Your own choice and not influenced by an outside force.”

  I saw the Eyes from Basra in my mind again as he spoke and I could feel the desert heat once more on my arms and neck... but I did not answer... instead, I put the same question to him.

  “Have you always been able to do just what you wanted to do in your life Garry? Has anyone got that much control? Do you believe in destiny... in fate?”

  Garry put the fork aside and stared at the wall, but at that moment the waiter returned with the tea and this gave him an excuse to avoid my question.

  “Ah. English tea... the life saver... what a treat for an American, eh, Willie?”

  The waiter smiled and looked at me with slight embarrassment.

  “Are the scones to your satisfaction Madam? I’m afraid we only have soda and treacle scones,” the waiter said as he bowed slightly.

  “That will do nicely,” I said and should have added ‘ Willie’ perhaps to my gratitude, but I thought it best to leave things as they were. After all, I hadn’t tasted the scones yet, although they looked delicious. The young man bowed again and withdrew leaving us to tuck into our repast, which we both did with vigour... to find the scones; both soda and treacle were, as Jeremy would say, simply scrumptious... They oozed with real butter and we each had a little carton of whisky marmalade.

  “Wherever did he get these things from?” Garry asked with his mouth full of the soda variety and in grateful appreciation of the service our young friend had provided. “Perhaps he’s a Pape... Yes, that’s it. I bet he’s a Pape... but then I’ve never heard of a Papist called Prentice ...That was what he said his name was, didn’t he?”

  Garry did not wait for me to answer. He licked his fingers, which had got covered in the marmalade.

  “They don’t make these little cartons very well, do they? Look... Now, I ‘ve got this bloody stuff all over my pants.”

  He looked up quickly and apologized.

  “Sorry... I’ll say three Hail Mary’s when I get back to camp... promise.”

  “Scouts honour … Scouts honour,” he assured me grinning, “Now what were we talking about before this b......., blessed stuff fell all over my lower garment....”

  “We were talking about free will... yours and mine, Father Gillespie.”

  Garry stammered over his next statement.

  “I suppose... yes... well to a certain extent... but perhaps my views of free will and yours might differ somewhat Frannie, don’t you think? Hey, these scones are really tasty, aint they.” He cut one in half. “Here... try that for taste and eat it while it’s hot. I’ll call Willie for some more.”

  “You’re changing the subject very nicely, Father Gillespie.”

  “No... no, I’m not,” he said,”but I don’t want to sermonize on such a wicked old day as this, where it’s miserable outside and so warm and comfortable here, inside and with such a charming companion as your lovely self to help me eat these wonderful scones... Mmmmm....scrunchy... scrunchy.”

  “I need to be sermonized. I need it badly. I really do... Please Garry, please help me.”

  He looked steadily into my eyes and licked his thumb and I laughed.

  “Can’t you ever be serious? Why ever did you become a priest?” />
  Garry stared at the floor.

  “That’s just what I’m trying to tell you Frannie. I didn’t become a priest... God, for some reason of His own and totally unknown to me, chose me... and He does the same to all of us in one way or another. We buzz around like... like... well, I’m gonna say it and add another Hail Mary to my penance... we buzz around like blue arse flies and think we’ve achieved this or avoided that. He’s got the strangest way of making us feel we’re doin’ everything, when actually... and to a great extent, we’re like puppets on a string. He’s behind it all Frannie. He manipulates and we’re not aware of it. Put your trust in Him and be happy. Put your life in His hands and... and sing. As long as your doin’ all you can, as you obviously are, then there is nothing more to be done. It’s like a game of cards. It takes two to play and each move is important.”

  I stared at him with wide eyes.

  “Well now, you have ‘sermonized’ me... I asked for that, but what you’ve just said makes a lot of sense... well, the way you put it, that is.”

  We sat for a while in silence eating our scones, oozing with the rich butter that I was sure would add pounds to my weight... or was God manipulating here too … gosh … maybe I was too thin, I thought... so then I put the scone down and drank my tea.

  “But Garry, you must have gone into the seminary of your own free will surely... You weren’t kidnapped, were you?”

  He laughed heartily and dabbed his mouth with his serviette.

  “I wonder sometimes,” he said and threw his head back in renewed laughter. “No...no, Frannie, it’s not like that. Of course I wanted to be a priest, but it wasn’t like seein’ a light or somethin’... an’ then goin’ for it. It took a lot of trust and a lot more faith, since I wasn’t at all sure that I was made of the stuff that priests were made of an’ I was twenty-one when I finally decided I just has to go and try at least.”