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said you could explain it all better than he could.’ He hesitated but added: ‘He also said I should read the letter because letters from the dead should be treated with respect.’
    I handed over the letter. Charley pocketed it and embarked upon his breakfast. He ate two fried eggs, a sausage, three rashers of bacon and a fried tomato while I toyed with half a piece of toast. Eventually I withdrew to the cloakroom where I at last achieved my ambition to vomit. On my departure from the dining-room I had heard the faint noise of tearing paper as Charley at once opened the envelope.
    When I rejoined him I found that the envelope had disappeared. Charley’s careful comment was: ‘That was an interesting letter. I might let you read it one day.’
    Not surprisingly, I found myself unable to reply.
    ‘ I was thinking,’ said Charley, ‘what a useful thing it was that Mum took me to see him — I mean him — back in 1945 when I was old enough to remember him properly. If I hadn’t seen him, I might always have wondered what he was like.’
    I managed to agree that this was quite possible.
    ‘ He seemed to like you a lot,’ said Charley at last. ‘Of course he took the blame for everything, and that was right, wasn’t it? You were the hero of the story and he was ... well, what was he exactly? I can’t quite make him out. Was he a villain? Or a fool? Or a tragic figure felled by hubris like Charles Stewart Parnell? Or ...’ His voice trailed away.
    The pause lengthened.
    Eventually Charley said in a rush: ‘Of course if you’d rather I didn’t ask any questions —’
    ‘ But of course you must ask questions!’ I said, finally summoning the strength to behave as I should. ‘And of course I must answer them as truthfully as possible!’
    But I think I knew, even as I expressed this admirable intention, that the absolute truth about my wife’s lover was still quite beyond my power to articulate.
     

 

     
     

    TWO
    ‘ Bad pride is negative; it blinds us to truths of fact or even of reason ...’
    AUSTIN FARRER
    Warden of Keble College, Oxford, 1960-1968
    A Celebration of Faith
     

 

     
     

    I
     
    I should much prefer to say no more about this dreadful scene with Charley, but unfortunately I have to go on to record what a hash I made of it; the consequences were so far-reaching.
    ‘It would be uncharitable to call him a villain,’ I said to Charley as I embarked on this doomed attempt to depict Samson in the light of truth, ‘and it would certainly be inaccurate to describe him as a fool. One could, perhaps, acknowledge a resemblance to Parnell, but only a superficial one. After all, Parnell was not a clergyman of the Church of England who broke the vows he made at his ordination.’ As I spoke I insisted to myself that I should speak the truth. I also insisted that I would not let the truth be distorted by my anger. I told myself fiercely: I shall not lie.
    ‘He was a gifted man who had weaknesses which made him vulnerable,’ I found myself saying. ‘I felt sorry for him. At the end of his life he could be considered a pathetic figure, a man ruined by the flaws in his character — but I mustn’t judge him too harshly. That wouldn’t be right.’
    I drank some tea. Eventually I said: ‘It was a tragedy that those inherent weaknesses wrecked his life and wasted his talents.’
    ‘When you say "weaknesses", do you mean —’
    ‘ I mean primarily his weakness for women. It clouded his judge ment. His disastrous marriage was quite obviously an example of a sexual attraction which had soon faded ... but I don’t want to be too harsh on him.’
    There was a pause. As I waited for the next question I saw with dismay that Charley had lost his brave air of nonchalance. His face had a pinched look.
    ‘ I don’t want to be too harsh on him,’ I repeated hurriedly, trying to put things right. ‘Anyone can make a mistake.’ But before I could stop myself I was saying: ‘It was just a pity his