Angel with Two Faces

performance in fear of an unscripted accident. As he watched, thinking how easy it was to become mesmerised by the motion of the waves, a woman of about forty with a shock of untidy brown hair – already dressed as a pilgrim for one of the crowd scenes – descended the steps to his right and walked quickly along the backstage path, apparently oblivious to the steep drop at her feet. She stopped immediately below him, where a recess directly under the balustrade offered actors a welcome spot of shelter to await their cues, and took out half a dozen lanterns, which she placed at regular intervals along the edge of the path.

‘Billy,’ she called back over her shoulder to a middle-aged man in a flat cap, whose tanned, muscled arms wouldn’t have looked out of place on someone ten years younger, ‘I’ve put the lanterns in place. Check they’re working when you have a minute, will you?’

‘Right-o, Miss Cade,’ the man said, and set about his task immediately.

Archie watched as the pilgrim went back up the cliff, stopping occasionally to pick up a bit of litter or a stray stone and shadowed by a pair of King Charles spaniels. What an extraordinary woman Rowena Cade was, he thought – he looked forward to meeting her later. Now, he still had a few minutes to spare, so he decided to climb up into one of the granite outcrops that formed the wings and see what the view was like from there. He hadn’t got far before he realised that someone else had had the same idea. Nathaniel was sitting with his back against an enormous boulder, out of sight of anyone on stage or in the auditorium, holding the jackdaw costume which should have been Harry’s and which he was now due to wear. Unaware that anyone was watching, the young curate lifted the black silk cowl to his lips and held it there. It was a moment of absolute tenderness, and it told Archie more about Nathaniel’s feelings for Harry than words could ever have done. He realised that he was intruding, but knew also that to turn and leave without being noticed would be difficult. Before he could resolve his dilemma, Nathaniel glanced up and saw him.

‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ Archie said, noticing how tired the curate looked. ‘I’ll go back down and leave you on your own.’ Nathaniel’s face was pale against the dark material and, although he appeared startled at first, he seemed to relax a little when he saw that it was Archie who had discovered his hiding place.

‘No, don’t,’ he said, with a nervous half-smile. ‘I mean, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I was just trying to keep out of the way for as long as possible.’ He held up the costume. ‘Quite frankly, I’m dreading this and I don’t know why I ever agreed to go through with it after everything that’s happened. For two pins, I’d make a run for it.’

‘You and me both,’ Archie said. ‘The trouble is, compared with the wrath of Morveth, going through with it is the lesser of two evils.’ Nathaniel smiled again, and this time the nervousness was gone. He had a very attractive face, Archie noticed – open and sensitive, with intelligent sea-blue eyes and a small furrow in his brow which made him look thoughtful rather than sullen. It was the face of a born cleric, he thought, although judging by what he had just witnessed, Nathaniel’s choice of career could hardly have been without conflict.

‘I can barely bring myself to put his costume on,’ the young man admitted as Archie sat down beside him. ‘Not because I’m superstitious – it just doesn’t seem possible that he’s dead. We grew up together on the estate, and he’s the first person I’ve lost who’s always been there. Does that make sense?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Archie said. He offered Nathaniel a cigarette, and lit one for himself. ‘For me, it was my father. My closest friend was killed in the war, and that’s something I don’t think I’ll ever get over, but we’d only known each other since the first year of university. My father – well, that was something else altogether, and you’re right – it’s a very different sort of grief; not necessarily harder or easier, but definitely different.’ He thought for a moment, allowing himself a rare glimpse into the dark days that had followed his father’s death. ‘When someone you love dies, you’re always changed; when you’ve never known life without them, everything you’ve ever been sure of is suddenly snatched away.’

‘Perhaps it’s because it’s the first thing that makes you aware of your own mortality,’ Nathaniel said.

Archie was silent. No one who’d spent time in the trenches had to wait for a parent or a lifelong friend to die to know that his own time would come sooner or later. Nathaniel had missed that realisation by a few years, but, if Archie’s doubts that any lessons had been learned proved justified, the curate would come to understand the paranoia of war all too soon. ‘Harry’s death must have been difficult for you for lots of reasons,’ he said gently.

Nathaniel looked at him sharply, but seemed to realise immediately that there was no point in lying to Archie and, more importantly, no need to try. ‘Yes, not least because in some ways it made things easier,’ he said. ‘Believe me, no one was more shocked than I was when I realised how much I loved Harry – and not just as a friend or a brother. Nothing was the same after that. ‘

It occurred to Archie that, despite his reputation as a bit of a ladies’ man, Harry had never – to his knowledge, at least – had any serious relationship with a woman, and it was rare in this sort of community for a man not to have settled down by his mid-twenties. ‘Did he feel the same way about you?’ he asked.

‘I doubt it, but I don’t know,’ Nathaniel said. ‘I could never have said anything to him. It probably would have disgusted him – and if not, if he did have those feelings, that would have been worse in a way: it would have made life impossible.’

‘Because of your job?’

‘My job, yes, and my family – it took a long time to persuade them that this was right for me.’ He stubbed his cigarette out on the rock, and refused another. ‘In a way, I asked them for a bigger act of faith than anything I’ve ever been tested with – until now, that is. And once they were sure it made me happy, they did everything they could to support me. Can you imagine what sort of sacrifices that involved? They’re not wealthy people – they work hard, and they get by; they didn’t bargain for a son to put through college, but they haven’t wavered once. That’s real love – how could I ever throw it back at them?’

‘Isn’t that the point, though? They do love you, they’re proud of you, and your happiness comes first. They might understand.’

Nathaniel shook his head. ‘Of course they wouldn’t. I don’t, so how can I expect them to? Oh, I don’t mean they’d turn me away like a criminal – but they’d think it was their fault, that if they’d done something differently, I’d have turned out all right. And they have never, ever done anything wrong – this is my guilt, not theirs. That’s another reason why I couldn’t tell Harry – I could never have trusted him to keep quiet about it. Can you imagine the shame of it if anyone found out? If I went to prison, for goodness’ sake?’ He changed his mind about the cigarette, and reached for the packet. ‘And I have got a job to do here,’ he said earnestly. ‘A job that I believe in. I belong here – and everyone on the estate seems to know that. It’s not just my parents – the whole community’s welcomed me into that church. They want a change after all the greed and hypocrisy that Motley’s got away with for so long. They want – they deserve – something real.’ Nathaniel realised instantly what he had said, and looked mortified. ‘I’m so sorry – I forgot he was family.’

‘I wish I could,’ said Archie, who was not in the least bothered by the lack of regard in which his uncle was held. ‘There’s no need to apologise. You know what they say – you can choose your friends…’

‘Anyway, I can’t let them down,’ Nathaniel continued, still embarrassed by his faux pas. ‘The people here trust me, I think, and religion should be about the specific, not the abstract. You have to look after those close to you – your family, your community – and that means having some integrity, not behaving differently when they’re not looking.’

The curate’s passion and sincerity impressed Archie, who had expected his questions to be deflected with the standard scriptural rationalisations, but he was keen to get back to the subject of Harry, and Nathaniel seemed to sense his impatience. ‘Sorry,’ he said again, ‘you didn’t ask for a lesson in pastoral care – but that’s why I didn’t say anything to Harry about how I felt. That, and the fear of losing him as a friend.’

‘You lost him anyway.’ It sounded harsh, but, if he were ever to get to the bottom of Harry’s death, Archie needed to understand his rift with Nathaniel. ‘You were estranged when he died, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, but that was my fault, not his. I couldn’t be around him – it just wasn’t right. And he… well, he started behaving differently towards me.’

‘So he did know how you felt?’ asked Archie again, surprised.

Nathaniel hesitated for a moment. ‘Neither of us ever mentioned it,’ he reiterated, ‘but I think he must have suspected. He kept… well, goading me in a way.’

‘As if he wanted you to say something?’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps it just amused him.’

If it was the latter, Archie thought, Harry must have had an exceptionally cruel streak. No wonder the curate had made such a mess of the eulogy: it was never easy to face up to flaws in people you wanted to idolise, and he already felt ashamed of his love for Harry; if Harry had proved himself unworthy of it, Nathaniel’s pain – his sense of