Free A Glass of Blessings by Barbara Pym

had a rather fluty enthusiastic voice, and I felt that had he been older he might have called me ‘dear lady’.
    ‘Well it did seem the obvious thing, when my husband told me about you and I knew Father Thames’s need.’
    ‘It’s just the kind of thing I wanted,’ said Mr Bason, ‘and such jobs aren’t at all easy to get. But those poor things—I really feel like a deus ex machina!’
    Mr Coleman looked a little puzzled.
    ‘I don’t think we have ever met socially,’ I said, not wishing to leave him out of the conversation, ‘but of course I have often admired you from afar.’
    He smiled and flushed slightly, and I felt that I liked him better. I made some remark about how difficult it must be to carry out the complicated ceremonial as well as he did.
    ‘There’s nothing to it once you know how, Mrs Forsyth,’ he said. ‘It’s just a job like any other. Father Thames is a bit exacting at times, but that keeps me on my mettle.’
    ‘Of course they do say, don’t they, that he’s a disappointed man,’ said Mr Bason rather eagerly.
    ‘Really?’ I tried to keep the note of interest out of my voice, though I did not really wish to discourage Mr Bason from going further.
    ‘Well, it is common knowledge in the diocese, surely?’
    Mr Coleman looked away and said something to one of his fellow servers. I had the impression that he disapproved of the turn the conversation had taken.
    ‘He had hoped to be made archdeacon,’ declared Mr Bason in a loud clear tone.
    ‘Archdeacon?’ I echoed, but did not ask of what, for I was unwilling to reveal my ignorance of what was apparently common knowledge in the diocese.
    ‘Certainly! And of course he is getting on now—must be over seventy.’
    ‘Yes, I suppose he is older than Sir Denbigh Grote,’ I said.
    ‘Well, Sir Denbigh is no chicken, and he too has made rather a mess of things judging by all accounts.’
    ‘Really? What did he do?’ I tried to remember what I had heard about him. He had been at some Middle European embassy at the beginning of the war but had been obliged to leave hurriedly when the country had been overrun by Hitler’s armies. ‘Surely he had to leave his post because of the war?’ I said. I had often pictured the scene at the embassy on that day—the hasty packing, the burning of secret documents, and even the used blotting paper in foreign-looking tiled stoves …
    ‘Yes, he did, but I gather that he was a little over-enthusiastic in his destruction of secret papers,’ said Mr Bason gloatingly. ‘He went and destroyed the whole lot when he should have brought some of them away.’
    ‘It must be very difficult to make up one’s mind on such an occasion,’ I said, wanting to defend Sir Denbigh.
    ‘Yes—fortunately we are not likely to find ourselves in that sort of position,’ said Mr Bason with some complacency.
    ‘Do you like living in the clergy house?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes, it’s really quite cosy. I have a bed-sitter— not the room Mrs Greenhill had. That was a poky little room on the ground floor—very damp, I should think.’
    ‘No wonder she got fibrositis and found the work too much for her.’
    ‘Was that why she left, then? Well, a change had to be made. The state of that kitchen, you wouldn’t believe it! I should think baked beans and chips was about all she knew how to cook!’
    It occurred to me that Mr Bason was not being very charitable, but I seemed unable to stop his flow of talk.
    ‘She and that verger woman are doing the refreshments tonight. I suppose that will be within her capabilities—she will make a good cup, as they say, and of course Father Bode does enjoy that; but Father Thames likes his Lapsang, which he takes correctly without milk or sugar. I prefer Earl Grey myself—find the Lapsang too smoky.’
    ‘Do you?’ I said in a rather cool tone, feeling that Mr Bason needed to be put in his place. ‘I suppose Lapsang is really an acquired taste. I am very fond of it