Chapter 4

Monday morning; Peter looked at his wife over his mug of coffee as Rosie and Emma chattered about school as they ate cereal and sipped fruit-juice. The world outside was dark; the combination of the early hour and a heavy overcast suggested a gloomy day ahead.

"I asked Andy to take the service this morning," he said, "and Delia promised to either walk with Bert or to unlock the church herself. I can't imagine Bert parting with the keys easily, though he and Delia seem to have been good for each other."

"So... ?"

"So..." he smiled, "we need to talk."

She snorted, "You've just been waiting for an opportunity to use that line, haven't you? Go on, admit it!"

"Absolutely! But that doesn't make it untrue. We've got the whole morning if we need it."

There was a thundering of teenage feet on the stairs and the two girls rushed in, kissed Peter and Dulcie on the cheeks, and rushed out. The front door banged as they left; Peter looked at Dulcie. "I wonder what brought that on. They've never done that before, have they? I mean, I know they never kissed me goodbye before..."

"Me neither..." Dulcie mused, "I wonder, too."

"Well, I expect we'll find out if we need to. Shall we adjourn to the lounge?"

As they passed, Peter unplugged the phone. "Set your mobile to vibrate," he said, "if we're needed seriously in the next hour or so ... but I don't want to be disturbed for anything routine."

Sitting in the lounge, they drank their coffee in silence. Peter was looking thoughtful, occasionally looking speculatively at his wife, who sat suppressing a frown and wondering what was going on. She was quite determined, however, not to break the silence. He had, after all, initiated this whole thing.

After some minutes, she began to smile. It was like ... kids trying to stare one another down.

"Something funny?" Peter's voice broke the silence.

Dulcie giggled, "I was being a schoolgirl, determined not to be the first to speak. Then, I began to think I was being ... childish. So. Are you going to tell me what you think we need to talk about?"

Peter had smiled at her words, but then frowned again, and said, seriously, "I was sitting here ... praying ... and trying to decide how to say what I want to say..."

Dulcie cocked her head. "Why not just... 'spit it out'?"

"Because I need to challenge you, but I don't want to hurt you."

"Now you're worrying me, Peter."

"Dulcie ... sweetheart ... I think you're possibly the bravest person I've every known..."

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand and went on, "I don't think I've ever known you to back away from a difficulty, a challenge, a threat. No matter the potential for you to be hurt – physically or emotionally – you've stood straight and met the problem head on ... until now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Jack Cooper."

There was a very long pause then, before Dulcie let out a breath... "Oh." Followed by, in a very small voice, "do you really think so?"

"Darling ... I don't think you're afraid of the spiritual threat ... but I do think you're worried about what other people think." He stopped there to let her think about that.

Which she did for some time; she closed her eyes and Peter watched her lips moving soundlessly. Not for the first time he thought how blessed he'd been by both Sara, his first wife (despite her untimely end) and by Dulcie; both women beautiful in different ways, both sensitive and thoughtful, caring and perceptive. How he loved them both...

"Doesn't it matter what people think of us?" It was a quiet, almost plaintive question.

"Yes and no," he husband replied. "It matters if we were really hypocritical and didn't live as we say we should. But what would anyone say about us that matters? That we take in strays? Give sandwiches and tea to street people? That we pray in tongues, and get excited about worship? Anyone who knows us either likes and respects us or turns their noses up at us. Look what people said about Jesus! That he liked parties – he ate and drank and enjoyed it. That he mixed with not-respectable folk. That he undermined the religious establishment with prophetic words and actions."

"I suppose so..." she giggled, then, "I dread to think what people said about us taking in Rosie and Emma. And all those visits from the Police..."

"That's better! My love ... we don't have to do anything right now. But I'm willing to bet one of us takes a call in the next week or so, asking us – you, probably – to help out Mr. Stanton."

"Oh ... I half expected you'd want me to ring Bill Stanton right away and offer to go back..."

"Oh, no. It's got to come from them."

Dulcie stood, crossed the room and sat in Peter's lap. His arms closed round her and she snuggled, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

Somewhat muffled, she murmured, "I love you."

"And I love you, too. I was thinking just a short while ago, how lucky I was."

"We need to pray, but I ... wanted this cuddle first."

"I don't suppose God will mind too much."

The couple basked in the warmth of their affection for some time.

Delia Cooper was quiet and pensive; she had been since returning to Maldon. Bert hadn't pressed her about her visit; she would have been grateful had she thought about it at all. She had other things on her mind though as she cleaned, shopped and cooked. At the Rectory she had taken on housework as a sort of penance and a way, perhaps, of paying her way; but she had found she rather enjoyed it. With the help of recipe books she had extended her repertoire of meals. Bert's house ... well, the old soldier had kept it almost obsessionally neat, but as he'd got less able, he had not been able to keep it up to his old standards of cleanliness. Delia had begun with the kitchen (which wasn't really bad) and had every intention restoring the whole house to Bert's white-glove standard. Bert definitely appreciated what she was doing. He also appreciated that she was very easy on the eye. Beyond that, he'd become rather fond of her very quickly and, as a result decided, at about the time Dulcie was sitting on Peter's lap, that he needed to give her the opportunity to talk.

She served up a beef curry with Basmati rice and naan bread for lunch. It was excellent and he said so.

"Thank you..." Delia responded ... but absently.

"Delia!"

She started at his sharp tone and looked at him.

"Where are you, girl? I don't think you're here with me."

She blushed. "I'm sorry. I've a lot on my mind right now."

"I can tell! Would you like to talk about it? Or perhaps you need to go and talk to Dulcie..."

She cocked her head, obviously thinking hard, took a deep breath... "How do you feel about divorce?"

Bert was taken aback. He didn't respond immediately, but after a few moment's thought, said, "Vows are important to me. When you marry ... did you marry in church?"

Delia nodded, "Oh, yes. White dress, organ and choir ... the whole nine yards."

"Not that I think..." Bert stopped, thought, and began again, "I think ... if someone makes a promise and breaks it, then it's got to be hard to trust him ... or her ... again. When someone marries, in church or out, they make promises. To my mind, it shouldn't matter if the promises are made to God or a public officer, but I suppose a promise to God might be considered more serious ... But." He stopped again. "Jesus was pretty definite about divorce..." he said, pausing, "the only justification being if the other person broke their promises, in which case, the ... wronged partner ... might separate ... or forgive."

"Oh, my Lord ... I don't know what to do, Bert. I don't love him. I don't think I ever loved him."

"Maybe not. But ... you made promises, and you had intercourse with him. That makes a difference, doesn't it?"

"Oh, my..." Delia frowned, "this isn't making me feel better, Bert," looking down at her empty plate.

"My dear, I'm not trying to make you feel better."

She looked up, surprise in her face. "Why would you make me feel bad?"

"I'm not trying to do that, either. Just trying to help you think about your problem. If you can sort things out in your own mind, I think you will feel better. Actually, I think there's another matter you haven't taken into account."

Her expression, which had become thoughtful, showed surprise again. "Oh?"

"You need to resolve where you stand with God. I think if you do that, you'll find a lot of other things fall into place. Not that everything will be solved, or easy, but ... clearer."

After some time, Delia nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose I need to talk to Dulcie again."

"But not until you've given me a game of cribbage."

It took a moment for the comment to sink in, then Delia laughed. "Okay. It's not life or death, is it? I was going to make a start on the lounge this afternoon, but crib is obviously a higher priority. Mind you, the way you play, I might be better off challenging you to a chess match, though I suppose you're as good at that as cards."

"Not a bit of it. But why don't you ring Dulcie and arrange to see her while I start washing up?"

Delia opened her mouth to protest that she would do that, but closed it when she realised his pride needed to make a contribution to the housekeeping.

She caught Dulcie just as she was about to leave the Rectory and arranged to see her after the morning service the next day, then got out the cards and the cribbage board.

They played cards for a couple of hours – Delia was soundly beaten – had an afternoon snack, and walked together to the church. They were there very early for the service, but Bert happily began a guided tour of the building, explaining the history and significance of each item. Delia was fascinated and asked a lot of questions, with the result they weren't half through before Bert took up his accustomed position near the door to hand out service sheets.