Dear Brother Michael,
Most of my preparations are now made and I cannot wait to get this part of my life over with. Ever since I made the most important decision of my life, time has dragged painfully.
I have thought over what you said about the money at our last meeting, and have decided that I would rather hand over the cheque at my Becoming Ceremony. Somehow that seems right to me. At the moment that I shed the personality of Theresa Cotton and become Sister Camilla, I want also to shed the material trappings of Theresa Cotton. I hope you understand. Apart from anything else, the money will not be through until the house sale actually takes place, and I don’t like the idea of writing postdated cheques.
I have also given a lot of thought to what you said about my mental preparation, particularly about getting my mind into a state of maximum receptiveness. I know that I should clear it of all grudges and resentment, as well as of material thoughts. I must confess at the moment I am finding getting rid of the material thoughts easier than the others! But I will keep trying. I think the solution will probably be for me to wait until I am about to leave and then, in as short a time as possible, to go and see all the people towards whom I feel resentment or about whom I know secrets, and just talk to them, clear the air. As you said, confrontation of the things that worry us is always better than avoidance. Otherwise bad thoughts grow and fester. I am determined to come to you with a mind as free of the past as I can make it. With a mind in which there is as much room as possible for God.
Following your advice, I have worked out a way of obscuring my precise destination when I leave here. I am sure God will forgive me a small lie in such a good cause! So far my story has not raised any awkward questions and, given the lack of interest in others amongst most of the people of my acquaintance, I don’t see why it ever should!
As I said when we last spoke, I propose to leave here on Monday evening, but I do not wish to come straight to the Church. Some instinct tells me that I will need twenty-four hours’ break between my old life and the new. I will come to the Church next Wednesday in the morning, with my mind clear and unsullied by material or evil thoughts. The time cannot come too quickly when I will be with you in God.
Yours ever (though not much longer, thank God, in this identity)
Theresa Cotton
Well, thought Mrs Pargeter, there’s a turn-up.
? Mrs, Presumed Dead ?
Twelve
On the other hand, it did make a lot of things clear. If Theresa Cotton was about to enter some sort of religious order and make a complete break from the galloping consumerism of her old life, at least some of her behaviour was explained.
But the explanation only went so far. And in fact it raised almost as many questions as it answered. Particularly, it raised questions about her husband. Was Rod Cotton aware of his wife’s plans, was the change in her lifestyle something which they had discussed? Or had he, like everyone else, been misled by false information? Was Theresa intending just to vanish from his life and spend the rest of her days as Sister Camilla? Come to that, did Rod know that his wife proposed to donate the proceeds of their house sale to some obscure religious foundation?
What on earth was the Church of Utter Simplicity? Mrs Pargeter felt certain that she had never heard the name before. There were some alternative sects which were never out of the news, usually with bad publicity, but this one was completely unfamiliar. What were the precepts of the Church of Utter Simplicity? And how much money were they hoping to receive from their latest convert?
Mrs Pargeter hesitated for a moment. Now, thanks to the letter, even though it did raise all these questions, she knew where Theresa Cotton had gone. Though she might not approve of the deception the woman had practised, the mystery was cleared up. The more dramatic explanations of Theresa Cotton’s disappearance which had been encroaching on Mrs Pargeter’s thoughts could be dismissed. The truth was bizarre, but at least it did explain things. The fortunes of the Cottons were now no longer Mrs Pargeter’s business.
And yet…
There was still something that niggled in her mind. To call it an anxiety would have been to overstate the case, but there was a little shadow of disquiet there. Something didn’t quite add up, and Mrs Pargeter knew that she wouldn’t really relax until she had checked just one or two details.
All she needed to do was confirm the truth of what the letter implied, and then her mind would be set at rest.
¦
Though the existence of the Church of Utter Simplicity sounded much less likely than that of ‘Elm Trees’, Bascombe Lane, Dunnington, Directory Enquiries had no difficulty in providing her with its number.
She rang through and was quickly answered by an efficient American female voice. “Church of Utter Simplicity.”
The words still sounded incongruous to Mrs Pargeter, but she supposed that if you said them every time the phone rang they ceased to be odd. Certainly the American voice gave no sign of being amused.
“Good morning. Could I speak to Brother Michael, please?”
“Just a moment.”
The line clicked, then she heard, “Hello? Brother Michael speaking.”
The fruitiness of the voice was unmistakable. It was the man who had interrupted her sleep on the previous Friday afternoon, the man who had asked her where Theresa Cotton was. Just as she was now asking him. The little flicker of disquiet in Mrs Pargeter’s mind pulsed more strongly.
“Good morning,” she said without identifying herself. “I am trying to contact a Mrs Theresa Cotton…”
“Oh,” said the man’s voice. “I didn’t know anyone knew she was supposed to be coming here.”
“She did confide in a few friends,” Mrs Pargeter lied.
“That was foolish of her.” As in their previous conversation, the man made no attempt to be pleasant.
“Well, since I do know she’s there,” Mrs Pargeter insisted, “I wonder if it would be possible for me to speak to her…?” Though quite what she’d say if her request was granted Mrs Pargeter had no idea.
This was a problem she did not have to face, because Brother Michael immediately snapped, “No. If she were here, you wouldn’t be allowed to speak to her, anyway. That is not the sort of contact we encourage for our members. But, since she isn’t here –”
“She
“That is what she told me,” said Brother Michael in an aggrieved tone. “However, she didn’t appear last Wednesday.”
“Oh?”
“And she hasn’t appeared since. But, if you do see her,” he continued, anger building in his voice, “please tell her that her change of mind – if that’s what it is – has caused great inconvenience to me, and wouldn’t, I’d have thought, have done her much good with the Living God! Goodbye!”
And the phone was slammed down.
The disquiet in Mrs Pargeter’s mind by now would have qualified for the description of anxiety.
¦
“Hello? C,Q,F&S.”
If Mrs Pargeter had been hoping that the girl on the switchboard might give some helpful gloss on what those initials stood for, she was destined to be disappointed.
“Oh, good morning. Could I speak to Mr Rodney Cotton, please?”
There was a silence from the other end. Then, presumably having checked in some list, the girl announced, “Sorry, we don’t have anyone of that name working here.”
“Ah,” said Mrs Pargeter, sticking to her prepared script. “It’s possible that he may have been transferred to your northern branch. Could you give me their number?”
