Free The Philosopher's Pupil by Iris Murdoch

said by way of greeting, ‘Christ is risen.’ It was the week after Easter.
    Brian said, ‘I know, he rose last Sunday, I suppose he is still risen.’
    â€˜Good news is never stale,’ said Father Bernard.
    Brian thought, he’s come to talk to Gabriel about George. This thought, together with the postponement of his supper, caused him extreme irritation. He could not decide whether to stay and spoil the tête-à-tête which no doubt they both wanted, or go and leave them to it. He decided to go. Gabriel would feel guilty and he would get his supper sooner. He marched into the sitting-room and turned on the television. He despised television but still craved to see the misfortunes of others.
    Gabriel and the priest sat down at the kitchen table. Gabriel took some sherry and a cigarette. She touched his sleeve (Gabriel was a ‘toucher’). Of course, being a Quaker, she did not officially belong to his flock, but he took a liberal view of his responsibilities.
    Father Bernard Jacoby, a convert of Jewish origin, was the parish priest. He was an Anglican, but so ‘high’ that it did not occur to anyone to call him ‘the Rector’ or address him as ‘Rector’. He was addressed as ‘Father’ by those who approved of him. Many viewed him with suspicion, not least his bishop, who had been heard to remark that Jacoby was ‘not a priest, but a shaman’. Some opined darkly that the time would come when he would celebrate one Latin Mass too many. His Church reeked of incense. He was a comparative newcomer of whose past not much was known, except that he had been a chemistry student at Birmingham and a champion wrestler (or perhaps boxer). He was thought to be homosexual, and lived permanently under various small clouds.
    â€˜Well, Father — ’ Gabriel knew that he had come to talk about George and some excitement stirred within her.
    â€˜Well and well and well indeed. I was refreshed to see Alpha and Omega so happy. We should welcome such glimpses of pure joy and feed upon them like manna.’
    â€˜Not everyone is glad to see others happy,’ said Gabriel. In talking to Father Bernard she adopted a solemn mode of speech which was not her usual manner.
    â€˜True.’ The priest did not pursue this evident but pregnant idea. He gazed amiably at Gabriel with an air of cunning attention.
    Father Bernard was fairly tall, a handsome man though odd-looking. He wore his dark straight sleek hair parted in the middle and falling in fine order to the level of his chin. He had a large nose with prominent nostrils, and rather shiny or luminous brown eyes whose penetrating directness expressed (perhaps) loving care or (perhaps) bland impertinence. He was thin, with thin mobile hands. He always wore a black cassock, clean, and of material suited to the season, and somehow managed to make his dog-collar look like old lace.
    â€˜How is Stella?’
    â€˜Wonderful,’ said Gabriel.
    â€˜Of course, but how is she?’
    Gabriel, who had seen her that morning, reflected. ‘She only says accurate things. I don’t know what she feels, but whatever it is she’s making some enormous effort to get it right. She cares about her dignity; in her it’s a kind of virtue.’ She added, ‘Why don’t you go and see her?’
    â€˜I have. I wondered what you thought.’
    Stella was not to be numbered among Father Bernard’s fans. It was somehow typical of the man to have fans. She did not dislike him, as Brian did, but she was suspicious. She did not believe in God. But then neither did many of the fans.
    â€˜What did she say?’ said Gabriel. This question was prompted by senseless jealousy. She was full of senseless jealousies.
    â€˜We spoke. She said little. I said little. I sat. I went.’
    â€˜I’m sure she was glad.’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    Gabriel wondered if Father Bernard had been