Scandalous Risks by Susan Howatch Page A

merely startled because you seemed to materialise out of nowhere!’
    ‘Just thought I’d seize the chance for a quick word before we all go in to dinner –’
    ‘Of course – I was thinking only a moment ago that I’d talked to everyone in the room except you –’
    ‘Seems ages since we last met –’
    ‘Yes, it’s certainly a long time –’
    ‘Oxford ‘fifty-two, wasn’t it?’ said Aysgarth, having regained his equilibrium with the aid of a large swig of champagne. ‘That weekend when we were both guests of the Master of Balliol.’,
    ‘No, you’ve seen Charles since then,’ said Mrs Ashworth. ‘We met in London when we all helped the Dean of Westminster recover from the Coronation.’
    ‘So we did! I’d quite forgotten ... I ’ m sorry, I can’t quite remember – dear me, I’m beginning to sound like an amnesiac but did I ever call you Lyle?’
    ‘I really have no idea,’ said Mrs Ashworth, as if such a feat of memory was well beyond her capabilities, ‘but please do in future. Did I ever call you Neville?’
    ‘Neville!’ I exclaimed. ‘But no one calls him Neville nowadays he’s always Stephen!’
    ‘Ah,’ said Mrs Ashworth, ‘but you see, I met him before the war when Bishop Jardine appointed him Archdeacon of Starbridge. I was Mrs Jardine’s companion at the time.’
    Much intrigued I said: ‘But how romantic that you should now be returning in such style to the house where you were once a mere companion!’
    ‘It would indeed be romantic if it were true, but the Jardines lived in the old episcopal palace which is now the Choir School, whereas Charles and I will be living – thank goodness! – in the South Canonry. I wouldn’t have wanted to return to the palace,’ said Mrs Ashworth serenely. ‘Too many –’ She hesitated but for no more than a second ‘– poignant memories.’
    Aysgarth said: ‘Do you regret the loss of the palace, Ashworth?’ but the Professor replied promptly: ‘Not in the least and my dear fellow, if you’re going to call my wife Lyle, I really don’t see why you should now fight shy of calling me Charles! I only hope I have your permission to call you Stephen in the interesting times which I’m sure lie ahead for us all.’
    Aysgarth at once became almost inarticulate with a shyness which I suspected was triggered not only by his social inferiority complex, but by his gratitude that Ashworth should be making such a marked effort to be friendly. He could only manage to say: ‘Yes. Stephen. Fine. Please do,’ and toss off the remains of his champagne.
    Appearing in contrast wholly relaxed Ashworth observed: ‘It really is most remarkable that our careers should have coincided like this – in fact, if you knew how often Lyle and I have been telling ourselves recently that God moves in mysterious ways –’
    ‘Darling,’ said Mrs Ashworth, ‘if you quote that ghastly cliché once more I shall be tempted to strangle you with your brand-new pectoral cross.’
    ‘More champagne anyone?’ enquired jolly James, still playing the butler.
    His father at once held out his glass. ‘“Well, I don’t mind if I do, sir!" as Colonel Chinstrap used to say on ITMA – ’
    ‘ Oh, how I adored ITMA! ’ said my mother, drifting over to us and eyeing her constipated flower arrangement as if she had suddenly realised it needed a laxative. ‘Venetia, can you pass around the cigarettes? Pond seems to have disappeared in a huff for some reason ...’
    ‘That bishop-to-be is going to look simply too heavenly in gaiters,’ Harold’s clothes-horse was drawling as she demolished her third dry martini.
    ‘Can someone stop young James playing the butler?’ muttered my father. ‘Pond’s taken violent umbrage.’
    ‘... and what I absolutely can’t understand,’ idiotic Harold was burbling in a corner, ‘is how Pater, who can’t bear going to church and has always said "Boo!" to God, has got himself mixed up with these high-powered clerical