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Authors: Judith Cutler
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evidence that Mr Tang is an illegal immigrant or that he has committed any crime whatsoever.’
‘But, Father Martin, it’s clear that your parishioners don’t approve of what you’re doing.’
Tim said, ‘For every parishioner who has doubts, there is another who supports me. You only have to look inside the church—’
‘Which you won’t let us do!’
‘— to see how much has been done to make our visitor feel comfortable,’ Andy cut in again suavely. ‘Father Martin has the absolute support of the senior clergy in the diocese in offering our hospitality to this unfortunate young man. Thank you.’ He smiled with finality, and withdrew into the churchyard, tucking his arm into Tim’s as if companionably, but in actual fact more or less dragging him, I suspected.
Unfortunately his handsome face was replaced by Geoffrey Malins’ grim facial contours. Presumably time ran out, for we were returned to the studio almost at once. Back in the studio, the newscaster promised updates in the early evening slot.
‘Just what we needed,’ Nick said.
I hadn’t realised he intended to be part of the support team, but wouldn’t deter him by pointing this out.
‘No doubt it’ll hit all the national networks tonight. And then the newspapers. Well, if he is here illegally, and the people smugglers who brought him here didn’t know where he was before, they’ll know now. Not good, Josie. Get him to give himself up now. Not that being in custody will guarantee his safety, as I’m sure you know.’
On impulse I asked, ‘Would you come with me to St Jude’s and discuss it with them?’
‘Glad to. We could always walk there?’
‘Bit of a step. And maybe this is urgent?’
He nodded, pulling himself to his feet and shrugging on his windproof. He jiggled his car keys. ‘Yours or mine?’
A voice came from below. ‘Josie – you’ve got a visitor!’
‘OK, Robin – I’m on my way!’ Business, presumably: my friends used the back door, which led to my apartment. So why couldn’t Robin deal with him? Mildly irritated, I ran down to investigate.
And found myself face to face with a large bunch of flowers. William Corbishley was on the far side.
‘Mrs Welford. Josie. You have every right to throw me out and these with me. What we – what
I
– said and did this morning was outrageous. Unforgivable. I can’t expect you to forgive or forget, but I hope you will. I’m very sorry.’
There was a long pause. I could hear Nick’s breathing behind me. The colour pumped in Corbishley’s face. He’d made an effort that was probably putting his heart at risk.
I ought to say or do something.
Make ’em laugh; make ’em cry; but make ’em wait!
Not a Tony original, I knew. But it might have been.
I didn’t take the flowers. ‘You might have angered and insulted me,’ I began, ‘but you did it in spades to Father Martin. He is your parish priest, Mr Corbishley – a man of the cloth, who deserves your love and respect.’
His colour deepened alarmingly.
Hoping he wouldn’t have an attack and die on my premises, I nonetheless continued. ‘He may not be the greatest preacher in the world, but that will come with time. He may be tactless, sometimes, but that’s because he’s young and has high ideals. People of our generation should support him, assist him. If we criticise, it must be kindly, face to face, in private – never, ever, viciously behind his back, and especially not in public.’ I paused for breath.‘Have you any idea how dangerous going to the media may be?’
‘It’s – it’s—’
‘Now,’ I said, smiling for the first time, but with nothing like friendship, ‘I’m quite prepared to accept your apology, but the place for those flowers is St Jude’s.’ For some reason he snorted, but I pressed on, overriding whatever he’d meant to say. ‘Why don’t you go along and make your peace with Father Martin and the dean? Mr Thomas and I will be along in a few minutes.’
I
‘But, Father Martin, it’s clear that your parishioners don’t approve of what you’re doing.’
Tim said, ‘For every parishioner who has doubts, there is another who supports me. You only have to look inside the church—’
‘Which you won’t let us do!’
‘— to see how much has been done to make our visitor feel comfortable,’ Andy cut in again suavely. ‘Father Martin has the absolute support of the senior clergy in the diocese in offering our hospitality to this unfortunate young man. Thank you.’ He smiled with finality, and withdrew into the churchyard, tucking his arm into Tim’s as if companionably, but in actual fact more or less dragging him, I suspected.
Unfortunately his handsome face was replaced by Geoffrey Malins’ grim facial contours. Presumably time ran out, for we were returned to the studio almost at once. Back in the studio, the newscaster promised updates in the early evening slot.
‘Just what we needed,’ Nick said.
I hadn’t realised he intended to be part of the support team, but wouldn’t deter him by pointing this out.
‘No doubt it’ll hit all the national networks tonight. And then the newspapers. Well, if he is here illegally, and the people smugglers who brought him here didn’t know where he was before, they’ll know now. Not good, Josie. Get him to give himself up now. Not that being in custody will guarantee his safety, as I’m sure you know.’
On impulse I asked, ‘Would you come with me to St Jude’s and discuss it with them?’
‘Glad to. We could always walk there?’
‘Bit of a step. And maybe this is urgent?’
He nodded, pulling himself to his feet and shrugging on his windproof. He jiggled his car keys. ‘Yours or mine?’
A voice came from below. ‘Josie – you’ve got a visitor!’
‘OK, Robin – I’m on my way!’ Business, presumably: my friends used the back door, which led to my apartment. So why couldn’t Robin deal with him? Mildly irritated, I ran down to investigate.
And found myself face to face with a large bunch of flowers. William Corbishley was on the far side.
‘Mrs Welford. Josie. You have every right to throw me out and these with me. What we – what
I
– said and did this morning was outrageous. Unforgivable. I can’t expect you to forgive or forget, but I hope you will. I’m very sorry.’
There was a long pause. I could hear Nick’s breathing behind me. The colour pumped in Corbishley’s face. He’d made an effort that was probably putting his heart at risk.
I ought to say or do something.
Make ’em laugh; make ’em cry; but make ’em wait!
Not a Tony original, I knew. But it might have been.
I didn’t take the flowers. ‘You might have angered and insulted me,’ I began, ‘but you did it in spades to Father Martin. He is your parish priest, Mr Corbishley – a man of the cloth, who deserves your love and respect.’
His colour deepened alarmingly.
Hoping he wouldn’t have an attack and die on my premises, I nonetheless continued. ‘He may not be the greatest preacher in the world, but that will come with time. He may be tactless, sometimes, but that’s because he’s young and has high ideals. People of our generation should support him, assist him. If we criticise, it must be kindly, face to face, in private – never, ever, viciously behind his back, and especially not in public.’ I paused for breath.‘Have you any idea how dangerous going to the media may be?’
‘It’s – it’s—’
‘Now,’ I said, smiling for the first time, but with nothing like friendship, ‘I’m quite prepared to accept your apology, but the place for those flowers is St Jude’s.’ For some reason he snorted, but I pressed on, overriding whatever he’d meant to say. ‘Why don’t you go along and make your peace with Father Martin and the dean? Mr Thomas and I will be along in a few minutes.’
I
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