Free A Lesson in Secrets by Jacqueline Winspear

argued.
    “You’re a fool, Roth, if you think that—”
    “Dr. Liddicote, far be it from me to say this, but it is you who are the fool.”
    As the voices were raised, Miss Linden emerged from her office and walked briskly to Liddicote’s door, knocked, and stepped just inside the room. Maisie kept her eyes on her work.
    “Miss Dobbs is waiting for you, Dr. Liddicote.”
    “Yes, of course. Roth, do not do anything until I have considered this further.”
    Maisie heard a sound that she thought was Roth snapping his heels as he emerged from the room, ignoring Maisie as he walked along the corridor and out into the grounds. It took no special observation skills to see that Roth held within him both anger and disappointment, for there were tears in his eyes.
    “Come in, Miss Dobbs.” Linden waved Maisie into the room, with a brief suggestion of a smile as she closed the door behind her.
    “Thank you for your time, Miss Dobbs. Please sit down.” Liddicote nodded towards the visitor’s seat.
    When they were both seated, Liddicote leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment as if to banish the previous conversation. His face seemed flushed, and he placed a hand against his chest as if to settle his heart. Maisie was about to ask if he felt unwell, when he opened his eyes and gave a forced smile.
    “How are you faring?”
    “I think the first week has gone well so far.” Maisie offered no more, waiting for Liddicote’s lead.
    “I’ve heard on the college grapevine that the response to your lessons is good, and other lecturers have noted your professionalism in your role. We are happy to have you here at St. Francis.”
    “Thank you, Dr. Liddicote.”
    “And in case you’re wondering, it’s customary for me to have a meeting such as this with new members of staff towards the end of their first and second weeks in particular.”
    “Yes, of course. I understand.” She was relieved to see that that the conversation was calming Liddicote.
    He paused, allowing silence to enter the space between them before speaking again.
    “Tell me about the existence of God, Miss Dobbs.”
    Maisie was taken aback by the abrupt instruction, but countered her surprise with a question.
    “In what context, Dr. Liddicote?”
    He smiled. “Ah, not one to assume anything.” He paused again before continuing. “As a college where the concept of peace underpins so much of our curriculum, the nature of God is crucial to our dialogue. We have students of several faiths here; we have those who have seen much in their young lives, and who are inclined to question the existence of God—and of course it is a fundamental question in terms of philosophical discourse. Therefore, Miss Dobbs, speak to me of God. Does he exist?”
    Maisie cleared her throat. “It was Saint Anselm of Canterbury who laid down the question, ‘Does God exist?’ He then gave the example of the artist who has a picture of the not-yet-executed masterpiece in his mind’s eye. Can the painting be said to be real because the painter can see it? Or is it only real when the masterpiece is finished for all to see? Anselm gave the argument for supporting the existence of God; however, the essence of his deliberation is in the question itself.”
    “Another question, then, and one of particular resonance to your generation. If there is a God, then why does he allow war to continue?”
    Maisie inspected her hands as she considered the question, then looked up as she framed a response. Liddicote was waiting for her to speak, his chin resting on his steepled hands.
    “With this question,” said Maisie, “I sense that you have asked for an answer that reflects my personal experience of the world. I confess that during the war—and many times since—I have asked this same question, and to be frank, at times with many tears and a deep pain in my heart. But I have allowed the question to exist, to remain, because there is no answer to satisfy when one has lived