He smiled sweetly at Chung, who hissed, 'Who are you talking to, for God's sake?'
'Bishop's chaplain. Nice lad, but he plays lacrosse. Lacrosse! No wonder there's no respect for religion. Hello, Joe. About time. No, the lad got it wrong, of course there's no problem about your international tickets. Have I ever let you down? I'd fix you up with a helmet and let you walk the line if that was the only way to get you in. That's me, reliable. Like you, Joe. You can trust me like I trust you. Right, I'll come to the point, I know you're a busy man. Friend of mine's got a problem . . .'
Ten minutes later he put the phone down and said, 'There you are. All fixed.'
'My God, Andy. And I mean that literally! But what about the Chapter? And I thought the Bish was shit-scared of Eustace?'
'It seems at this Chapter meeting the use of St Bega's wasn't really on the agenda. It had all been fixed ages back. It was old Horny-cassock himself who brought it up and naturally there were a couple of sniping speeches at him because he gets up a lot of noses, and suddenly he says, right, I think I've got the feeling of the meeting and they're into any other business, no vote taken. As for Joe being scared of Horncastle -' Dalziel smiled ursinely - 'who'd you be more scared of, luv? A wanked-out cleric or me?'
'No competition,' said Chung. 'But how do you know him, the Bishop, I mean . . .'
'Didn't anyone tell you I was a failed priest?' said Dalziel so seriously that she let her astounded half-belief show till his huge frame started to shake with convulsions of laughter which were Krakatoa to her Mexican wave.
'Oh, you bastard,' she said joining in.
'I told you,' he said between guffaws. 'He were one of the front row forwards I was good at shaking. Bugger tried to bite me ear off once. I had three stitches. He told me after it were a kind of reverse transubstantiation, my blood tasted like Sam Smith's beer. Now, I'm no bishop, I really am busy, so what about this rehearsal? Lucifer still on his travels, is he?'
'Philip? Yes, it's a damn nuisance. He said a week and its been more than two.'
'Don't worry, luv,' said Dalziel. 'He'll be back, word of God. Now I've got this grand idea for when I'm talking to Noah...’
There had to be easier ways of earning a crust than rehearsing Andrew Dalziel, thought Chung. But, once she got it into his head that though in matters criminal and even episcopal he might reign supreme, in matters theatrical she was boss, he could be sensational as God.
She explained this to Dorothy Horncastle that afternoon. The Canon's wife smiled as if the idea pleased her. Chung, whose curiosity about masks and motives was the mainspring of her professional life, said, 'You like the idea of a big fat copper as God, don't you? What's the appeal? Rude sign at the Church? Put-down for the Canon? Or what?'
It was a step into an intimacy which had yet to be proved, but Chung hadn't got where she was by pussyfooting around.
For a few moments the woman froze, her features setting into just the kind of umbraged mask a lady of her class and condition ought to wear in face of such intrusive familiarity. Then a slow thaw set in, another smile struggled through like a weak spring sun, and she said ruefully, 'Sorry, I'm still getting used to your . . .'
'My big mouth. Say it, hon,' laughed Chung. 'It's my best feature.'
'Your directness,' corrected Dorothy. 'Your honesty.'
'Come on! You're so honest, it drips out of you!'
'No. I obey rules, I follow the law. That's not the same. I only approach real honesty in fantasy.'
'Me too,' said Chung. 'It's my job. But don't think honesty means you've got to put up with crap. It can also mean telling the people who dish it out to go screw themselves.'
'Go screw. . .' Dorothy tested the words. 'I'm not quite sure if I'm ready for that. Don't misunderstand me. All I mean is that profanity should come as naturally as the leaves to a tree or it should not come at all.'
'You work at it, hon. Meanwhile, you can just tell me to mind my own business.'
'You know, I don't think I will. Why do I like the idea of Mr Dalziel making a hit as God? Certainly not because of any sense of rude gesture, or putdown. On the contrary, I think he is perfect for the part! After all, isn't the image most people have of God precisely that of a big fat copper who will put everything right?'
'Is it? I suppose so. But there's more to Andy than that. He can make a lot of noise when he wants but he can also manage to be so quiet he's practically invisible. And he ought to be a straight up and down establishment figure, but he doesn't really fit in anywhere. Usually when people say someone's their own man, they mean they haven't sussed out who owns him. But with Andy, I reckon it might actually be true. Hell, am I making any kind of sense?'
'Of course you are,' said Dorothy Horncastle, who had been listening intensely. 'You're saying Mr Dalziel is ubiquitous, omniscient and immortal. My dear, clearly you didn't cast him as God. He
She spoke very seriously and for the second time that day Chung found herself inhibited from taking as joke what had to be a joke.
Then the Canon's wife began to smile and soon the two women were laughing together, or at least they were laughing at the same time.
CHAPTER THREE
Philip Swain landed at Manchester Airport at 7.30 on the morning of one of those days of early May which can make a Yorkshireman feel good to be alive even in Lancashire. His trip had taken three weeks rather than the one he had anticipated, but he had gone out tourist and come back first and there was no sign of flight fatigue on his face as he collected his luggage from the carousel.
He strode confidently through the green channel and out into the main arrivals hall, heading for the exit like a pit pony eager for the sky. Footsteps accelerated behind him and a hand clamped heavily on to his shoulder. He halted, spun round, then smiled broadly.
'Arnie,' he said. 'You needn't have come all this way. I'd have got a taxi.'
