All these organisations were doing the same thing, playing on the guilt of those people who had grown up through the values of the Sixties and now felt embarrassed by their middle-class materialism. And all of them demonstrated the eternal history of business – that the urge to make money is a permanent force, which will adapt itself to whatever happens to be current at any given moment.
When Brother Michael reached the end of – or at least a paragraph-break in – his peroration, Mrs Pargeter asked innocently, “And how is it all funded?”
He was not embarrassed by the question. Clearly it was one he had been faced with and dealt with on numerous occasions. However, the vehemence with which he answered suggested that he might be anticipating disagreement.
“Well, of course, we do sell some produce from the estate, but the majority of our income comes from voluntary contributions.”
“Oh? And how are those voluntary contributions made?”
“Novices who join the Church make over much of their wealth to us.”
He responded immediately to her raised eyebrow. This, too, was an objection he had encountered before. “When I say ‘make over to us’, of course I do not mean that it’s made over to any individual. The money goes into the charitable trust set up to run the Church.”
“Oh, I see.”
“It would hardly be appropriate,” he joked heavily, “for the novices to give up all their worldly goods simply so that the leaders of the Church could live the life of Reilly.”
“No. No, it wouldn’t.” Mrs Pargeter paused. She wondered whether it was the moment to change tack. After all, the last thing she wanted was to become a novice of the Church of Utter Simplicity. She was only there in an investigative capacity. “As it happens,” she continued casually, “I heard about the Church through a friend.”
“Oh?” The priest – or whatever he called himself…probably just ‘Brother’, Mrs Pargeter reflected – was instantly alert, anticipating trouble.
“Yes, a friend called Theresa Cotton.”
At the name the black eyebrows drew together into one bristling line, like a particularly noxious caterpillar.
Mrs Pargeter wondered for a moment whether she had overstepped the mark, but it soon became clear that Brother Michael’s anger was directed not at her but at her supposed friend.
“Theresa Cotton is not, I am afraid, a name that is heard with great enthusiasm within these walls. She misled us into believing that she would be joining us as a novice.”
“Sister Camilla.”
“That is correct. She was – ” The eyebrows grew even bushier as a new thought struck him. “Was it you? Were you the one who rang up asking for her?”
No point in denial. “Yes, it was me.”
But this did not divert his anger from Theresa either. “She left us in the lurch. We had made plans for her joining the Church. We had set up her Becoming Ceremony…”
“Yes, she mentioned that. I didn’t quite understand what she meant.”
“Before you can be a part of the Church,” he explained with limited patience, “you have to become a member of the Church.”
“And once you are a member of the Church, what do you do then?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, having become, what do you do after that? Do you just be?”
“Yes. From then on you are.”
“Oh.” Mrs Pargeter nodded wisely, as if that explained everything. “Erm, one thing that did interest me,” she continued, “was something Theresa said about how one prepared oneself for entry to the Church.”
“Yes?” The question was guarded. He became very self-protective each time Theresa Cotton’s name was mentioned.
“She said something about having to clear one’s mind of resentments and grudges…”
“That is certainly what we recommend. It is ideal that one should come to one’s Becoming Ceremony with a mind receptive to God, a mind uncluttered by worldly thoughts and aggravations.”
“Yes, of course. And what,” she asked cautiously, “would be the best way of getting oneself into that state of mind?”
“We always recommend direct confrontation.”
“With whom? I mean who do you confront?”
“Anyone towards whom you feel guilt or resentment.”
“Oh, I see. You sort of talk to them and get it off your chest…”
“That is correct. Since you are leaving that part of the world behind, it is important to clear any bad feeling that there may be between you and any of your fellow creatures.”
“Oh, yes, right. I’m all in favour of that. And when would you recommend doing this…you know, the clearing the air business…?”
“It is best that it should be done as near to the time of joining the Church as possible. Otherwise old wounds could be reopened and the resentments could grow rather than diminish.”
“Yes, yes, I suppose they could,” Mrs Pargeter agreed thoughtfully.
What Brother Michael had said confirmed the information in Theresa Cotton’s letter. Immediately before her disappearance she had engineered a series of ‘confrontations’ with people against whom she harboured resentments.
Or who harboured resentments against her, perhaps…?
Mrs Pargeter suddenly recalled Fiona Burchfield-Brown saying that Theresa had come to see her at about six o’clock on the Monday evening before she vanished. How many other people in Smithy’s Loam had received similar visits? And what had been the subjects of the conversations during those visits?
Mrs Pargeter would make it her business to get answers to those questions.
It was clear that Brother Michael himself had not been thoroughly successful in ridding his own mind of resentments and grudges. “I’m afraid your friend Theresa Cotton,” he snapped suddenly, “let us down pretty badly. Particularly financially. There was some maintenance work on the roof here which we’ve recently had started on the promise of certain moneys from her.”
“I’m so sorry. Well, I wouldn’t like to think that my being a friend of hers might inhibit my chances of –”
“My dear Mrs Pargeter, of course not.” Brother Michael was suddenly as near as he ever got to charm. The effect of the limousine and the jewellery had not diminished. “No, no. We would be delighted if you wish to consider giving up your life for God.”
“Yes.” And not just my life, thought Mrs Pargeter – that’d be the smallest part of it. “Well, look, obviously I’ll want to think about all this…”
“Naturally. Would you like me to show you round the premises, give you an idea of the sort of works we do here?”
Why was it people of that sort always talked about ‘works’ rather than ‘work’, she reflected, before replying, “That’s very kind, but I really must say no. Keep that pleasure for another visit. You’ve already given me so much food for thought this morning.”
“Good. I am glad to hear it. And may I express the hope that God will make your thoughts grow and come nearer to His Almighty Simplicity.”
Mrs Pargeter was not quite sure of the proper response to a remark like that. She made do with, “Oh, thank you.”
“Let me give you some literature about our beliefs and the works that we do here.” He thrust a couple of colour-printed booklets into her hands. On the front of each were the words ‘Church of Utter Simplicity’ and a logo which featured a cross, a fish, a tree and a couple of rabbits.
Then Brother Michael led her to the door and opened it. “God bless you,” he said, as if he were the only person on earth with franchising rights in divine benison. “You will be in my prayers.”