forward, his elbows on his knees, his two hands extended. Toby was sitting on the floor just in front of him, one leg curled under, the other crooked up at the knee. One hand clasped his raised leg while the other was in process of making some gesture in Michael’s direction. As Dora entered they both scrambled hastily to their feet.
“Oh hello, Toby,” said Dora, “that’s where you are, is it. I’m terribly sorry to bother you, Michael, but something awful has happened.”
Michael looked appalled. “What?” he said.
“Someone I used to know has turned up, a journalist, to write about the bell. But when Paul finds out he’s here he’ll tear the place up. You must go and tell him not to.” This seemed to state the case.
Michael looked relieved. Then he looked at Toby. Toby mumbled something about “Better be off now.” Dora began to say something to him but he went off without looking at her. Michael made to follow him, got as far as the door, and then came back looking confused and distracted. Dora was firm. Generalship was beginning to come to her. She said to Michael, “Do you understand?”
“Yes, no,” said Michael. “This man, this reporter is here now and you think Paul will make a jealous scene? Can’t you persuade him to go?”
“He won’t go,” said Dora, “and it’s no use your telling him to. What I want you to do is to prevent Paul from exploding. I’m going to tell Paul about it straight away.” She turned and set off again at a run. She could hear Michael’s footsteps following her. They clattered down the uncarpeted stairs and out through the hall.
On the terrace, Noel was talking to Mrs Mark. They stopped to stare at the spectacle of Michael and Dora.
Noel said, “Everyone seems to be in a terrible hurry today.”
Mrs Mark said, “Oh Michael, don’t go away, the Bishop will be here any moment!”
Michael who was down on the grass by now, ran back to reassure Mrs Mark. Dora kept on in the direction of the causeway. By the time she had reached the middle of the causeway and was almost out of breath she saw Paul emerge from the end door of the parlours. She started to wave to him frantically. As she neared the end of the causeway she saw a dark Rolls Royce coming slowly down the avenue from the Lodge gates.
Dora rushed up to Paul, who had quickened his pace when he saw her waving. She could see his frown from a long way off. “Noel is here!” she cried.
“Who?” said Paul.
“Noel Spens,” said Dora. “You know.”
Paul was tense and cool. “You say”, he said, “that Noel Spens is here. You yell this at me as if it were good news. He came to see you?”
“He came to report the bell business,” said Dora.“Paul darling, don’t get into a rage!”
“He came to see you,” said Paul. “You invited him?”
“Of course I didn’t invite him!” shouted Dora. “Do you think I’m mad? He just came to interview people for his paper.”
“Well, I’m going to interview him,” said Paul. “I’m going to give him an interview he won’t forget!” He began to walk quickly across the causeway.
Dora followed, still talking and trying to hold onto his arm. The causeway was not quite wide enough for two people to walk side by side when disputing. The bishop’s car could now be seen in the distance crossing the bridges at the far end of the lake. Paul began to run.
At the end of the causeway Dora, who had been outdistanced, made a spurt and caught him up. As she did so she could see Michael running towards them down the grass slope from the house. Dora seized hold of Paul’s hand violently and tried to pull him back, crying, “Paul, it’s not my fault, I didn’t want him to come! Don’t spoil everything for the others by being furious now!”
Paul turned on her. He detached her hand from his with the other hand, and said to her quietly but baring his teeth,“There are moments when I hate you!” Then he gave her a push which sent her flying back into the long grass.
Paul went on running. Michael converged on him, his arms spread out like someone who wants to prevent an animal from charging out of a field. Dora got up from where she had fallen in the grass, found her shoe which had come off, and began to run too in the direction to the terrace. The Bishop’s car was just approaching the house. She passed Michael and Paul who had now met and came to a standstill. They both seemed to be talking at once. Dora did not think they needed her assistance.
The Rolls Royce came onto the terrace with the dignified condescension of a very large car moving slowly. It stopped at the foot of the steps, quite near to the bell. Mrs Mark, who had after all been left to hold the fort alone, rushed forward. James appeared a moment later on the balcony and began to hurry down the steps, falling over his feet. Noel lounged out of the refectory, eating a bun. Dora arrived panting and had to double up immediately because of an agonizing stitch.
The Bishop, who had apparently been driving himself, got slowly out of the car with the affable leisureliness of the great personage who knows that whenever and wherever he arrives he is immediately the centre of the scene. He was a big portly man with frizzy hair and rimless glasses, dressed in a plain black cassock and purple stock. His large fleshy face turned slowly, glowing with friendliness. He pulled a stick out of the car on which he leaned lightly while shaking hands with Mrs Mark, James, and Noel, and then with Dora, whom he was anxious not to exclude although she was hovering uncertainly in the background. Dora decided he took her for one of the maids.
“Well, here I am!” said the Bishop. “I hope I’m not late? My charming chauffeur has abandoned me – a lady, I hasten to say, and also my secretary. The exigencies of motherhood called her to a higher task. She has three children to look after, that is not counting myself! So at much wear and tear to my own nerves and those of my fellow motorists I have driven myself to Imber!”
“We’re so glad you’ve managed to come, sir,” said James, beaming. “We know how busy you are. It means a lot to us to have you at our little ceremony.”
“Well, I think it’s all most exciting,” said the Bishop. “And is this exhibit A?” He pointed with his stick to the white ribbony mound of the bell.
“Yes,” said Mrs Mark, blushing with excitement. “We just thought we’d deck it up a little.”
“Very pretty too,” said the Bishop. “You are Mrs Strafford I believe? And you are Mr Meade?” he said to James. “I’ve heard so much about you from the Abbess, bless her.”
“Oh no,” said James. “I’m James Tayper Pace.”
“Ah!” said the Bishop. “You are the man who is so sorely missed in Stepney! I was there only a few weeks ago at the opening of a new youth centre, and your name was often taken in vain. Or rather, not in vain. What an absurd expression that is, to be sure! Your name was mentioned, most fruitfully I’ve no doubt, and with positively devout enthusiasm!”
It was James’s turn to blush. He said, “We ought to have introduced ourselves. I’m afraid we make you a very poor reception committee, sir. This is indeed Mrs Strafford. This is Mrs Greenfield. Michael Meade is just coming across the grass with Dr Greenfield. And I’m afraid I don’t know this gentleman.”
“Noel Spens, from the office of the
“Why, splendid!” said the Bishop. “I hoped some gentlemen of the press might be present. Did you say the
“That’s correct,” said Noel. “Mr Holroyd got wind of this picturesque ceremony and sent me along. He sends you his greetings, sir.”
“An excellent fellow,” said the Bishop, “in the best traditions of British journalism. I have always thought the Church was foolish to shun publicity. What we need is more publicity, of the right kind, of course. Perhaps I may say of
Michael and Paul had stopped again, just below the steps to the terrace, still talking. They began to walk back towards the causeway. Mrs Mark watched them with a look of despair, Dora with one of appalled apprehension. The Bishop was given a cup of tea. Noel chatted to him affably about members of the Athenaeum known to both of them. James stood beside them, smiling and rather shy. Father Bob Joyce, bearing with undignified haste what later
