Widows & Orphans by Michael Arditti Page B

music. Duncan blamed himself for the ensuing disaster, but he had been as blinded by his mother’s enthusiasm as she had by the director’s blandishments. Far from offering a reappraisal – let alone, rehabilitation – of his grandfather’s work, the programme was a rehash of the anti-Semitic controversy, fuelled by a newly discovered cache of wartime letters. Moreover, by imputing his politics to misplaced patriotism and his downfall to scheming rivals, Adele sounded less like a loving daughter than a fascist apologist. Convinced that she had disgraced both herself and her father’s memory, she became a virtual recluse, rarely leaving the house and seeing only those friends who bolstered her belief that she was the victim of a media plot rather than her own ill-founded loyalty.
    With Henry ready to administer Communion, Duncan slipped out of the room as discreetly as possible. He wanderedinto the kitchen, taking the opportunity for a few words with Chris, who he realised with a pang had a more accurate picture of his mother’s state of mind than he did himself. Both gentler and more proficient than her long string of female carers, Chris was an effeminate man whose voice and manner suggested that he deplored the disappearance of old stereotypes. At his interview he had allayed Duncan’s doubts about his fitness for the job, explaining that he had been brought up by his grandmother and had always preferred the company of older people, whom he found ‘restful’. He had worked as a catering manager, most recently at the Princess Royal, but gave it up when his grandmother suffered a stroke, caring for her until her behaviour grew so bizarre that she was admitted to Castlemaine, where she had already crossed swords with Sheila’s mother.
    ‘All quiet on the home front?’ Duncan asked.
    ‘The food’s in the oven. Just waiting for them to finish their hocus-pocus. You’re having baked halibut.’
    ‘Sounds delicious.’
    ‘I’d planned on monkfish, but then I thought his reverence might take offence,’ Chris said harshly, his customary warmth deserting him when it came to Henry.
    ‘You must admit it’s kind of him to come here in the middle of a busy day when my mother is perfectly capable of going to tomorrow’s service,’ Duncan said, never sure whether Chris’s antagonism were directed at Henry personally or at his Church.
    ‘Why? He gets a free lunch.’
    Duncan gazed around the room, eager to change the subject. ‘I approve of your choice of reading matter,’ he said, spotting the
Mercury
spread out on the table.
    ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve been polishing the silver before your sister arrives.’
    ‘Ah, well,’ Duncan replied, smiling thinly. ‘At least it has its uses.’ With nothing more to say but reluctant to leave on anegative note, he drifted into the pantry, casually inspecting the shelves until Henry appeared at the door.
    ‘You’re safe to come back and join us,’ he said. ‘Now that she’s taken communion, your mother’s treating herself to a small sherry. She says whenever you’re ready, Chris.’
    ‘Oh, I’m ready. Ever-ready, that’s me. Like the battery, on and off in a flash.’
    Although he had twice caught Adele sharing a television supper with Chris, thereby breaking two of her strictest rules (always eat at the table and never with the staff), Duncan thought it wiser not to press him to join them with Henry present. Besides, Chris seemed to relish the mixture of deference and control that came from serving. Having tempted Adele to three spoonfuls of lemon cream sauce, he left the room with a fluting ‘Bon appétit!’
    ‘My spies tell me that you’re making big changes to the church hall,’ Adele said to Henry, with a teasing allusion to the gossipy friends who were her eyes and ears in the outside world.
    ‘We’re having a mural painted, if that’s what they mean.’
    ‘What for?’ Adele asked bluntly.
    ‘Mother!’
    ‘No, it’s a fair