The Bishop stared out of his study window brow creased in irritation; another one was wending its way up the road. Man or woman he wondered? From this distance it was hard to tell, not that it mattered either would be equally unwelcome. This was his retreat, his hideaway, a place where he came specifically to get away from such people. It really was too bad the way they kept coming, seemingly out of nowhere, as if intent on disturbing this one time of the year he chose for seclusion meditation and peace.
And what a year it had been. Well, he assumed it was a year though to be honest things had been in such a jumble recently he couldn’t be sure. He supposed he must have suffered an accident or breakdown of some kind, for though his staff had never actually told him, they must have whisked him away from the trials and burdens of office to this favourite haven of quiet serenity. How else could he have come for he had no memory of arriving. Shaking his head in irritation the Bishop dismissed the matter and turned his attention back to the lone figure coming up the path plague him. There was always a chance whoever it was might walk past to another house to ask for shelter there. But he doubted it. All the others had stopped at his door and despite the inconvenience he couldn’t really blame them. Once there had been several houses forming a small hamlet at the foot of what he liked to call his hill. But now all trace of them was gone. Due to that maniac Hitler people were constantly pulling things down to make room for the new priorities of increased food production or extra space needed for new aerodromes and anti-aircraft gun emplacements. Though where they had re-housed all the people he didn’t know. He would make a note to ask the Diocesan Archivist if he could throw some light on the matter when he returned to the Palace
He would never forget the last traveller. The poor man had been crazed as a loon though quite harmless as it turned out. He could see him now rounding the final bend to the house, brandishing a gold-topped cane in the air while muttering angrily to himself. Dressed in a black frock coat with a silk top hat set at a jaunty angle on his head, presumably on his way to some fancy dress party for he could think of no other reason to wander around the countryside dressed like an old fashioned funeral director.
‘Yes?’ The Bishop had sighed, opening the front door in response to the sharp rapping of a cane. ‘Can I assist you in anyway?’
‘Good day, my dear sir,’ with a beaming smile the man had pushed his way inside, thrusting his cane into the umbrella stand and crowning it with his hat while looking round the hall as though he owned the place.
‘What joy to see another human face, what joy indeed.’ Then ignoring the Bishop he stalked into the study inspecting the room with a critical eye.
‘One moment, please, just one moment.’ The outraged bishop could scacely contain his anger. ‘May I ask what you mean by marching into my house and strutting about the place as though you own it, and without so much as a by your leave. I’m afraid I must ask you to go and go this instant. Go on; be off with you, before I call the authorities.’
‘Yes, yes, quite so, quite so, I dare say I would react in much the same way if our positions were reversed.’ The stranger’s head bobbed in vigorous agreement, ‘but times have proved excessively trying since I lost my horse, you see, quite excessively trying. Though just how the wretched animal managed to unbuckle its harness and desert my buggy remains a mystery to me, my dear sir, a total mystery.’ He spread his arms in exasperation. ‘It left me with no alternative but to hoof it, you might say.’ He chuckled delightedly at his pun, ‘and as you have doubtless discovered while taking the air the hill to your house is uncommon steep.’ He paused, head cocked, eyes fixed like a child confronted with a lollipop on a decanter of sherry by the bishop’s desk. ‘So I wondered if perhaps I might help myself to a small restorative.’ The voice faded away and he smiled mechanically at the Bishop, though his eyes remained riveted on the sideboard. ‘Oh very well, help yourself, you will find a glass in the cupboard below. No doubt you will be staying for lunch as well?’ The Bishop remarked caustically, and was horrified to see his sarcasm mistaken for Christian charity.
‘My dear sir, most kind, most kind. Nothing fancy required, nothing fancy. Perhaps a chump chop, yes indeed a chump chop washed down with a mug of good honest English ale?’ He smacked his lips in anticipation causing his whiskers to quiver in an irritating manner. The Bishop viewed his unwelcome guest with ill-concealed distaste. Great Heavens, must the fellow repeat every word like a damned parrot. He decided to order an early lunch, make certain he saw the back of the halfwit before he had time to think of asking for a bed.
‘Oh very well, very well, but I can’t promise a chump chop. I fear we rough it here in the sticks and accept whatever the good Lord provides.’ Dammit, the wretched fellow had got him repeating himself now. He must watch his words; remember to speak with greater care and deliberation.
‘Have you come far?’ The bishop automatically lapsed into the role of host. It was one of his routine questions when attending church functions throughout the diocese, one for reasons he could never fathom proved invariably popular. Not that he listened to the replies, had he paid attention to them he would have become a walking compendium for an Automobile Association long since and his work was too important to be distracted by such trifles. Why people couldn’t find more useful things to do than waste his time with their travel details was a source of constant irritation. The thought stirred something uncomfortable deep in his subconscious making him temporally uneasy.
‘Shall we go into lunch?’ He said, trying to dismiss them, his voice too loud and laced with exasperation. ‘There’s a panoramic view from the dining room which I’m sure will appeal, you can retrace your walk up the hill, count your steps to Calvary.’
Appalled, he barked laughter to cover his embarrassment. Why had he said that? He had never intended to say anything like that. Levity with the scriptures was a tendency he abhorred. As they settled in their chairs he watched with increasing irritation as his guest cast critically glances about the room like a prospective buyer, before finally granting it an apparent seal of approval with a jerky bob of his head. The Bishop strove to overcome a growing unchristian urge to rap the offending bald pate with one of his heavy silver serving spoons.
‘Strike me dead if it ain’t a chump chop! Yes indeed Bigod, sure as eggs is eggs, a chump chop. My compliments to the cook, sir, and my thanks to you, a more generous host one could never hope to meet. Beaming happily the man picked up his tankard and rising to his feet cried, ‘A health unto Her Majesty and damnation to the Boer.’
‘Lord preserve us the man’s barking mad,’ the Bishop muttered under his breath, checking nervously to ensure the dining room door remained open in case he needed to make a quick escape. ‘I trust the weather holds for your continued journey,’ he added aloud in an attempt to distract the madman from possible violence.
‘No fear of that Bigod. In comparison to the weather down the hill it’s as fine and sunny as Brighton beach in July.’ The man shook his head, ‘you’ve no idea what it’s like down there, a permanent drizzling damp that soaks to the very bone. Cold too and foggy, with air so sooty it’s hard to breathe. My dear sir you can have no conception how fortunate you are to live in such elegant surroundings bathed in all this glorious sunshine.’ He smiled bravely with an air that smacked of martyrdom, while the Bishop’s desire to see the back of him increased tenfold.
‘Why did you stay if you found the place so unpleasant, and what was it that finally induced you to move up the hill? An impulse, a whim of fancy, or did something happen to spur you on your way?’ Aware by now of the capricious nature of the man the Bishop was suspicious of his tales. All that pretence of yearning for a chump chop indeed when he had barely touched the food, merely pushing it about the plate like a lazy housemaid with a broom. Even the much desired glass of Madeira sat ignored, discarded with scarcely a sip. No, more than likely the man had been forced to move on after similar behaviour of some kind had made things too uncomfortable for him to remain.
‘A good question, my dear sir, a good question indeed. But a tricky one to answer Bigod and that’s the truth. The whole business has an almost nightmare quality you might say. You see, as far as I recall, one minute I was driving into town as usual and the next I had arrived, sitting atop my buggy outside the Law Courts but without a horse. Felt a damned fool and no mistake perched up there above an empty pair of shafts like some fairground Aunt Sally. That’s when I first noticed the weather! My dear sir I have known that city all my life man and boy but I swear to God I have never experienced a day, not one single day of weather like it in all the years I’ve lived in these parts.’
‘Yes, yes,’ the Bishop interrupted impatiently, ‘that’s all very well, you’ve already mentioned the weather. But what exactly happened to make you leave so abruptly?’ He could think of no reason for his sudden interest, but like a dream floating somewhere out of reach in the back of his mind, he had the strangest feeling the answer would be important if he could only grasp hold of it.
‘Ah, a rum do that, rum do indeed.’ The man nodded knowingly, ‘ I was walking down Exchange Street as usual, spent a lot of time walking that damned street, not that it seemed to go anywhere particular as far as I recall. Anyway, I had just turned the corner by the bank when I noticed this man leaning against the wall. At first glance there was nothing unusual about him, just an ordinary man leaning against the wall. But as I drew closer I became aware of a strange quality about him, almost a quiet radiance you might say. Not that he was bathed in light or anything like that; it was more an impression of tranquillity and warmth. Then for no apparent reason he smiled at me, and for the first time in a long long while I felt needed.’
‘Care for a ride, Judge?’ He asked, ‘and for a reason I still don’t understand every part of me ached to say yes. Yet something held me back, even now I’m not sure what it was, too scared of the unknown perhaps, better the devil you know and all that. Anyway I shook my head, turned on my heel and hurried away back up the street. But he bothered me and I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Then one day without thinking instead taking my usual route down Exchange Street I found myself walking out of town, up the hill, and here I am.’ He shrugged his shoulders and smiled apologetically at the Bishop.
‘You say you are a Judge?’ The Bishop viewed the man in disbelief.
‘Oh yes indeed, a rather senior one now with a well-deserved reputation for severity. They say most barristers go to some lengths to ensure their clients are never brought before me for sentencing in the hour proceeding luncheon. A time when my gastric juices begin to flow and I’m apt to be a trifle short tempered and perhaps harsher than usual.’ He chuckled dryly at what he obviously considered a compliment. ‘Still, there it is, a weak judge is a poor judge in my opinion.’ He rose to his feet, ‘and now, my good sir, I must be on my way, make the most of your glorious sunshine. Much appreciate your generous hospitality, yes indeed much appreciate it, excessively generous in the circumstances. We must meet again one day when I trust it will be my pleasure to play host.’ He grabbed the Bishop’s hand, nearly shaking the arm from its socket.
Dear God, will he never go! If he likes the sun so much why doesn’t he rush out and wallow in it. Personally the Bishop found the light harsh on the eye, not at all like the gentle sunlight back at the palace. Smiling and muttering nonsensical pleasantries, the Bishop firmly escorted the self-proclaimed judge to the front door, flinging it open with a farewell flourish only to freeze in disbelief. A young man was waiting outside, seated in a gleaming royal blue buggy with a magnificent white horse tossing a glossy brushed mane between the shafts.
‘Care for a ride Judge?’ The young man smiled and the trees sparkled.
‘Oh thank you, yes please. I was beginning to think I might never have another chance.’ With a blissful smile the judge climbed quickly on board.
‘Room for one more, Bishop?’ The young man called.
‘You’re very kind but I fear not, too many demands on my time at the moment.’ He smiled, waving in an attempt to mask the longing he felt to join them and the confusion it caused. Somehow aware the young man had read his thoughts with a compassion devoid of judgement. He watched the buggy clatter through the gates at a spanking pace and turn right up the mountain road. A clump of trees screened them from view and he waited for them to reappear further along the road, though they never did. But then somehow he hadn’t expected them to. With a sigh the Bishop had turned back to his favourite haven that was fast becoming a prison.
And now after he had finally managed to pull himself together, quell most of the fears and uncertainties, here was another stray dog about knock on his door and doubtless bring them all back again. It really was too bad. As though on cue the front door knocker rapped loudly. With a sigh of resignation the bishop went to answer it. That was another thing he thought irritably, the palace was always filled with staff and at least some of them always accompanied him when he went on retreat. Yet though they had to be around the place somewhere, none of them seemed to be about when needed. They were obviously here, someone cleaned the house, cooked the food, turned down the beds. The Bishop went suddenly cold as he realised he hadn’t been to bed since he arrived, there had never been the need, it was always day. Dear God, was he going mad? Close to despair he flung open the door in no mood to listen to anyone else’s problems, ready to tell them in to make themselves scarce no uncertain terms and take their blasted troubles with them.
‘Hi, I’m sorry to bother you, but could I use your phone? I think we had an accident and I’m none too sure where I am.’
Dear God that was all he needed. A girl! The Bishop closed his eyes and prayed for patience, a miracle or both.
‘Hello, is anybody there?’ An attractive voice with an American accent penetrated his defences. Curiosity overrode the desire for prayer and he opened his eyes to take a look. She was small, pretty, with enough paint on her face to smother a battleship. Then to his horror realised the rest of her was largely naked. She was wearing some kind of short-sleeved singlet that stopped abruptly some two inches above her belly button, followed by shorts so brief they left almost nothing to the imagination, and the rest was just endless bare flesh from thighs to a pair of beach shoes. The Bishop gaped, temporarily deprived of speech, even more dumbfounded to discover the girl was actually laughing at him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she fought to keep a straight face, ‘but where the heck did you find those trousers with all the buttons?’
‘I’ll have you know young lady, these are not trousers, they are gaiters.’ He glared at her pugnaciously.
‘Well pardon me for not recognising them, Your Majesty, but we keep most of our gators in Florida, so I’ve never seen two of them up close before.’ And with one hand covering her mouth she began to laugh.
The bishop was about to make an angry retort before slamming the door in her face when for no reason he looked into her eyes. There was no viciousness there, no nastiness, just genuine merriment and fun. Something inside him snapped like over stretched elastic and to his surprise he heard himself say, ‘I’m afraid the telephone doesn’t work very well but you’re more than welcome to come inside, have some tea or a cooling drink while we find a way to summon help. And by the way I’m not a majesty, just a bishop.’
‘Great, that’s real cool of you, Bish, do you have any lemonade? I’m trying to kick the hard stuff.’ She followed him inside, sprawling in one of his armchairs with the elegance of a young fawn.
Feeling faintly ridiculous the Bishop hurried to the sideboard, delighted to find a jug of lemonade resting on a silver salver. Making a mental note to give a salary increase to whoever was responsible, he poured a glass and bustled back to his charge. ‘Was anyone hurt in the accident, or were you alone? If you had a companion we really ought to go and find him in case he suffered an injury of some kind.’
‘Harry? That bastard? He was drunk as a skunk and twice as high on coke. Even then if he had kept his hands on the wheel instead of fumbling my thighs we might have made it back. As it was we crashed straight through the barrier and nosedived into a field. By the time I woke up he was long gone, so there’s no need to bother or search for him. If I know Harry he’ll be happy as a sand boy snorting lines by now and I’ll already be yesterday’s news. Pity though, it sure was a beautiful car.’
‘But how did you get here, my dear, and where will you go?’ The bishop was seriously concerned. He didn’t understand half of what the girl said but then she was American after all, which probably explained the extraordinary ring she had pierced through her tummy button. But whatever she said he was determined this pretty fragile young thing shouldn’t be allowed to wander about the countryside on her own.
‘The road ran right past the field, so when I woke up I just followed it here. Can’t have been that far because it didn’t take long to get here, and providing I can get a ride to the nearest town I’ll find my way home in no time. So you don’t have to worry, Bish.’ She smiled and patted him gently on the arm. ‘Though it’s nice of you to care.’
‘Well, I don’t like it, if you insist on walking to the nearest town, then I insist on accompanying you. At least until I see you safely onto a bus or something.’
‘Thank you, Bish darling,’ she kissed him gently on the cheek, ‘you’re a sweetie and I appreciate the offer, I really do, but first I’m going to try calling for help.’ She walked over to the telephone. ‘Hey, where the hell did you find this thing, in a museum?’ She picked up the receiver and began cranking the handle at the side. ‘Hello, hello, Oh Hi there, can you connect me to the nearest taxi service please? My car’s been in an accident and I need a ride into town. What’s that? You’ll come yourself, and you know the address. Say that’s just great! OK, I’ll sit tight right here and wait for you. Bye.’
‘There you go Bish, nothing to it. Your phone works fine.’
‘Delighted you’re all fixed up, my dear,’ the bishop smiled, hiding his desolation bravely. Although he had only known the girl briefly the thought of facing an empty house again after she had gone depressed him more than he could say. Pull yourself together, he told himself sternly. You are a bishop after all and if this is where the good Lord wants you to be then this is where you should be happy to remain. A car horn sounded outside and his heart sank.
‘Dear me that was fast the local taxi service should be commended. It seems your ride has arrived.’ Forcing a smile he led her to the door. ‘I hope you won’t mind if an old man tells you what a pleasure it has been to have known you.’
‘I don’t mind at all, Bish, it’s been a pleasure to know you too.’ She laughed out loud at his blushes and kissed his cheek again, then opened the door. ‘Wow! Is that an Aston Martin or an Aston Martin?’
The Bishop looked over her shoulder at the gleaming new sports car and suddenly the world seemed to stop. The same young man was sitting behind the wheel, smiling at the girl as she skipped down the steps towards the car.
‘Well done,’ he said quietly, ‘you see your detour really was necessary.’
‘The girl looked at him puzzled, ‘Necessary, I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Never mind,’ he winked, helping her into the car ‘it will come back before long.’ He turned his attention to the house. ‘Room for one more, Bishop?’ He called.
‘Yes, come on, Bish darling,’ the girl echoed, ‘there’s plenty of space; I’ll sit in the back. Come on now, you don’t really want to stay in that spooky old house all on your own now, do you?’
Suddenly he felt strangely happy and carefree, ‘No, come to think of it I don’t, not in the least. In fact I’ve never wanted anything less in my life,’ and laughing he ran down the steps like a ten year old child and scrambled into the car.
‘Are we going anywhere fun?’ The girl asked.
‘I don’t think you will be disappointed,’ the young man laughed ‘OK, everyone ready?’ Something inside each of them seemed to crack like an old eggshell as a beam of sunlight arced down from the sky to bathe the road in sparkling gold.
‘Right then,’ he smiled, ‘let’s be on our way,’ and gunned the engine.