Read Online Ultimate Prizes by Susan Howatch - Free Book Online

me?”
    “I didn’t think it was important.”
    “But she’s famous! She almost married that millionaire—and then there was the film star—and everyone knows she flirted with the Prince of Wales!”
    “I don’t find that sort of thing very interesting.”
    “Well, she obviously found you very interesting indeed! Why in heaven’s name did she call you Stephen?”
    “The name Neville reminded her of Mr. Chamberlain.”
    “But what was she doing calling you by your Christian name when you’d only just met her?”
    “Oh, society people have very peculiar manners these days. Like people in show business.”
    “Well, it all sounds very fast to me! Why, she even said she talked to you on your own for half an hour in the garden!”
    “Only about Victorian literature.”
    “But what did everyone think when you disappeared for half an hour with a society flirt?”
    I cleared my throat. “I think that designation’s a little uncharitable, Grace. Not even a society girl’s beyond redemption.”
    “Don’t tell me she wants you to redeem her!”
    I cleared my throat again. “Well, as a matter of fact she did show signs of wanting a complete change of direction. I’ve promised to write her a line or two in response to any queries she may have about spiritual matters.”
    “Honestly, Neville! I wouldn’t have thought you could be quite so naive!”
    “And I wouldn’t have thought you could be quite so catty and cynical!”
    Grace suddenly drooped as if all the strength had drained out of her. Immediately I hated myself. “My dearest love”—I took her in my arms—“I know it all seems highly irregular, but what’s a clergyman to do when he’s asked for spiritual advice? He can’t refuse to give it simply because the person in search of help is someone with whom he’d never normally associate!” I kissed her before adding: “Of course I’ll show you every letter.”
    “Don’t be silly. You know that’s not necessary.” She clung to me briefly before turning away with the abrupt comment: “The curates have arrived.”
    “Bother the curates.” I grabbed her back into my arms and said in my firmest voice: “I love you very much—as I trust I proved to you last night—and for me you’ll always be the only woman in the world. Why on earth should I even look twice at a saucy little piece of nonsense like Dido Tallent?”
    That indeed was the question.
    4
    Alex returned at noon after bearing his olive branch to the village of Starvale St. James, where Lyle had rented accommodation a year before. She normally lived in Cambridge, where before the war her husband had been a canon of the Cathedral and a theologian at the University, but after Ashworth had been sent overseas with his regiment Lyle had preferred to retreat temporarily to the country so that her young children would be in a safe place. Ashworth had an elderly friend in Starvale St. James—none other than the irate churchwarden who was now persecuting me about the font—and Lyle, already familiar with the diocese after her years with the Jardines, had decided she ran less risk of being lonely there than elsewhere in the English countryside.
    When Alex returned I had just finished speaking on the telephone to the Bishop, who was in a flap about the proposed prisoner-of-war camp on Starbury Plain. It was by no means certain that we would be allowed any contact with the prisoners but the Bishop felt we should at least plan as if some form of pastoral work, no matter how limited, would be permitted. Unfortunately the camp, if built, would stand in the other archdeaconry, and the other Archdeacon, Hubert Babbington-French, was now openly proclaiming that the only good German was a dead German. No wonder the Bishop was in a flap; it wasn’t every day he had to deal with an eminent cleric bent on bawling out un-Christian slogans. Obviously the idiotic Babbington-French would have to be steered away from the wretched Huns, but I had a nasty