something of him that was repellent to her. She never spoke of it to me. She simply left England and ran off to Spain. Or more accurately, first to France, then later to Spain, ending up in Toledo. There she met and married a Spanish man – Nazario Delacruz.’
‘Is that unforgivable?’ Pitt tried not to sound condescending about it, but it seemed such a trivial thing over which to carry a hatred for nearly two decades. Then he thought of his own sixteen-year-old daughter, and how he would feel if she ran away to a foreign country and married someone neither he nor Charlotte had ever met. ‘Is she happy?’ He asked the one question that would have mattered to him, had it been Jemima in that situation.
‘I believe so,’ Smith replied. ‘But that is not the issue.’ He looked away and smiled uncomfortably. ‘Nazario Delacruz was already married, with two young children. I know little of what actually happened, but it was both tragic and scandalous. That is what her family could not forgive.’
Pitt was grieved and confused. It seemed completely out of character of the woman he had met. Even Smith, sitting tensely a few feet away from him, was without the sort of emotion Pitt would have expected: distaste, even condemnation.
Smith was waiting for him to say something.
‘Then what is it that she feels she can accomplish in coming here now?’ he asked. It did not seem to make sense. Had he missed some element that changed the whole situation?
Smith took a deep breath. ‘She is not coming with regard to the past,’ he said quietly. ‘It is something current. She would not discuss it, even with me.’ There seemed to be much more that he wished to say and could not find the words, or did not trust himself to control his feelings.
Did he harbour feelings for her that he did not acknowledge? She was beautiful, in her own way, and, frightening in the depth of her conviction, her courage, whether well- or ill-judged.
‘Do you know Barton Hall?’ Pitt changed the direction of the enquiries a little.
‘Only from what Sofia has said.’ Smith made a small, rueful gesture. ‘He is a leading lay member of the Church of England. It is of great importance to him socially and, to do the man justice, perhaps spirituality as well.’ A shadow passed over his face. His voice was softer when he spoke. ‘There is a sense of continuity to it, the safety of what has been tested and sacrificed for over the centuries. Men have died for the right to have the Bible in the vernacular, freedom from the Church of Rome to preach and teach as they believed.’
Pitt was struck by his own indifference to it all in his life so far. Faith was not a passion, only a comforting presence in the background. Every village had its church tower or spire. It was the symbol of certainty over the ages, unchanging, infinitely reliable. Church bells rang on a Sunday morning, in city streets or village lanes; people in their best clothes walked along the paths, all in the one direction.
Memories came back to him from childhood. He had walked beside his mother, holding her hand. He could almost feel her grip again. Had she ever doubted? Or was that one of the many things, like her illness, that she had chosen to shield him from?
‘It takes a lot of courage to abandon the familiar and step outside the group,’ Smith said. ‘Barton Hall would have a great deal to lose. Being part of the establishment is necessary to his career. You have to be very certain it is better than what you already have.’
‘And true?’ Pitt asked.
Smith smiled slightly. ‘You can only know that by following it. Stronger and more beautiful, yes. True? I don’t think even Sofia was without her doubts, at times.’
‘You said he’s a lay person,’ Pitt prompted.
‘Oh, yes! She said Mr Hall is a banker of some considerable distinction. He is an officer of high standing in one of the investment banks. Perhaps even governor. He deals with the investments of the
‘Is that unforgivable?’ Pitt tried not to sound condescending about it, but it seemed such a trivial thing over which to carry a hatred for nearly two decades. Then he thought of his own sixteen-year-old daughter, and how he would feel if she ran away to a foreign country and married someone neither he nor Charlotte had ever met. ‘Is she happy?’ He asked the one question that would have mattered to him, had it been Jemima in that situation.
‘I believe so,’ Smith replied. ‘But that is not the issue.’ He looked away and smiled uncomfortably. ‘Nazario Delacruz was already married, with two young children. I know little of what actually happened, but it was both tragic and scandalous. That is what her family could not forgive.’
Pitt was grieved and confused. It seemed completely out of character of the woman he had met. Even Smith, sitting tensely a few feet away from him, was without the sort of emotion Pitt would have expected: distaste, even condemnation.
Smith was waiting for him to say something.
‘Then what is it that she feels she can accomplish in coming here now?’ he asked. It did not seem to make sense. Had he missed some element that changed the whole situation?
Smith took a deep breath. ‘She is not coming with regard to the past,’ he said quietly. ‘It is something current. She would not discuss it, even with me.’ There seemed to be much more that he wished to say and could not find the words, or did not trust himself to control his feelings.
Did he harbour feelings for her that he did not acknowledge? She was beautiful, in her own way, and, frightening in the depth of her conviction, her courage, whether well- or ill-judged.
‘Do you know Barton Hall?’ Pitt changed the direction of the enquiries a little.
‘Only from what Sofia has said.’ Smith made a small, rueful gesture. ‘He is a leading lay member of the Church of England. It is of great importance to him socially and, to do the man justice, perhaps spirituality as well.’ A shadow passed over his face. His voice was softer when he spoke. ‘There is a sense of continuity to it, the safety of what has been tested and sacrificed for over the centuries. Men have died for the right to have the Bible in the vernacular, freedom from the Church of Rome to preach and teach as they believed.’
Pitt was struck by his own indifference to it all in his life so far. Faith was not a passion, only a comforting presence in the background. Every village had its church tower or spire. It was the symbol of certainty over the ages, unchanging, infinitely reliable. Church bells rang on a Sunday morning, in city streets or village lanes; people in their best clothes walked along the paths, all in the one direction.
Memories came back to him from childhood. He had walked beside his mother, holding her hand. He could almost feel her grip again. Had she ever doubted? Or was that one of the many things, like her illness, that she had chosen to shield him from?
‘It takes a lot of courage to abandon the familiar and step outside the group,’ Smith said. ‘Barton Hall would have a great deal to lose. Being part of the establishment is necessary to his career. You have to be very certain it is better than what you already have.’
‘And true?’ Pitt asked.
Smith smiled slightly. ‘You can only know that by following it. Stronger and more beautiful, yes. True? I don’t think even Sofia was without her doubts, at times.’
‘You said he’s a lay person,’ Pitt prompted.
‘Oh, yes! She said Mr Hall is a banker of some considerable distinction. He is an officer of high standing in one of the investment banks. Perhaps even governor. He deals with the investments of the
Similar Books
