Free In The Name of The Father by A. J. Quinnell Page B

white habit. Van Burgh was a perfect mimic and could have made his fortune on the stage. He walked exactly like a modest, demure nun.
    ‘So how should I walk?’
    ‘Like this.’
    His entire posture changed. Even before he took one step he was a young woman, aware of her looks and sensuality. His hands and arms moved differently. He patted an imaginary lock of hair into place and walked again. Now there was a swing to his stride. He glanced to left and right. His left elbow was cocked against his side as though carrying a handbag.
    Again the two women laughed, but then Ania was thoughtful. She had seen the complete difference.
    ‘But Father, I don’t have your talent. How can I learn to walk like that?’
    ‘I will teach you, Ania. Also you will spend time in the streets of Rome. Watch how other women walk, and talk to each other . . . and to men. Watch how they shop and use the telephone and carry bags. You must watch with a different eye than you have been used to. You will do that in the mornings. Every morning for the next week. You will go into coffee shops and ride on buses. You will walk the lobbies of big hotels and visit tourist attractions. Do you have any lay friends in Rome?’
    Her hair swung as she shook her head. ‘No, Father.’
    He frowned. For all her common sense and intellect she must get used to the close proximity and the conversation of people outside the clergy.
    ‘I will arrange some acquaintances for you: men and women. You will take coffee with them and lunches and, yes, sometimes drinks and dinner in the evening.’
    ‘I don’t drink, Father.’
    ‘Of course not, Ania. Just soft drinks - and you will tell these people that you were a nun who has just renounced her vows.’
    Her lips tightened. ‘I certainly will not.’
    He sighed. ‘Ania, listen to me. In the coming days we will build up a convincing cover for you. But it will take time. You will have much to learn and remember. You will be doing that in the afternoons and evenings along with other things that will be necessary and useful. In the meantime you must get used to the world outside of a convent. So it is important that your temporary cover is that you renounced your vows.’
    She said stubbornly, ‘To say such a thing will make me physically sick!’
    A glitter came into Van Burgh’s eyes. He looked at the nun in the corner. ‘Please wait outside, Sister.’
    With a sympathetic glance at Ania she rustled away.
    The priest moved behind the desk and sat down heavily. He pointed to a chair opposite him. She sat and arranged her skirt self-consciously over her knees.
    He spoke rapidly. Short, blunt words. ‘You have Papal dispensation to suspend your vows temporarily. But the Pope did not intend that you suspend obedience to your superiors.’
    A silence. Then she lowered her eyes and said, ‘I’m sorry, Father.’
    His voice cracked at her. ‘Don’t be so demure! You are not a nun, Ania.’
    Her head snapped up and he saw the steel in her. She looked him in the eye and said firmly, ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘All right. So until you’re rehearsed in your permanent cover you will tell anyone who asks that you were a nun who renounced her vows. Very recently.’
    ‘Yes, Father.’
    His tone softened just a little. ‘The people I will have you introduced to will not ask. They will have been told that you are sensitive to the matter.’
    ‘Thank you, Father.’
    Again he studied her face for several minutes, assessing. Then he made up his mind. ‘Ania, I know you have strength of character and a fine mind. But naturally your years of seclusion and piety have made you sensitive in certain areas. That sensitivity, unless concealed and controlled, could be dangerous to you and the man who is travelling with you and his entire mission. Now, if I feel that you cannot conceal or control that aspect then I will not send you. I will have to find someone else.’
    She considered that and then nodded. Again he could see her inner