Free Angels and Men by Catherine Fox Page A

religion.’ She looked into his face, expecting to catch his eyes roaming around for someone more interesting to talk to. They were fixed on hers. She felt a shock, as though she had peered through a dark window only to see someone staring out at her. Her hand began to twist her hair.
    â€˜Why women?’
    â€˜Because there are so many of them in that kind of sect.’
    â€˜But there are more women than men in ordinary churches,’ he said. ‘Are women just more religious than men?’
    She shrugged and waited for him to answer his own question. Most men did, telling her what she meant, what she was trying to say. But he was looking at her steadily. What’s the matter with you? she asked herself. There is such a thing as simple friendliness, even if you never practise it yourself.
    â€˜It’s a question of power,’ she said eventually. ‘In a sect like that you can be a prophet, a leader. The mother of God even. The dispossessed are bound to be attracted. Women, the poor, social outcasts – suddenly they can be significant.’ And hesitantly she began to explain what she was studying, checking his face at every sentence for signs of mockery and boredom. She saw none, and gradually she began to unbend, until his promptings were hardly needed to keep her speaking. At length she had nothing more to add.
    â€˜Another drink, flower? Sorry – Mara.’
    She nodded, and he crossed to the bar. She watched him as he stood waiting to be served, and he caught her eye in the mirror and winked. This time she smiled back, not asking herself why terms of endearment were so much more acceptable in his beautiful north-eastern accent than in received pronunciation.
    He returned to the table and sat down. They both drank and then sat for a moment in silence. Mara was beginning to wonder what they might talk about next – perhaps she could ask him what he had done before starting at Coverdale Hall? – when Rupert arrived. He bought himself a drink and joined them, looking at Johnny inquiringly for an introduction.
    â€˜This is Mara.’ There was something in his smile as he spoke which brought her suspicion bounding back. ‘And this is my good friend Rupert Anderson.’
    Rupert stretched out his hand to shake hers, but she merely made a slight gesture with the glass she was holding. He withdrew his hand. The caption read: She was the rudest young woman Rupert had ever met . There was a taut silence, while Rupert’s good manners adjusted themselves.
    â€˜Is Mara a Welsh name?’ he asked.
    She glanced at him contemptuously.
    â€˜ “Call me Mara, for the Almighty has dealt bitterly with me,” ’ said Johnny. Mara jumped, surprised he knew the words. ‘It’s in the Bible, man.’ Rupert gave him a long hard look.
    â€˜Is he making that up?’ he asked Mara. She said nothing.
    â€˜Mara’s doing some research on women and religious fanaticism,’ said Johnny. She caught a look going between them which she had not been intended to see. The bastards are both laughing at me.
    â€˜Not women,’ protested Rupert. ‘Why is everyone studying women at the moment? What about men? You’re not a feminist, are you?’ This was asked with mock alarm, mitigated, Mara was supposed to think, by his smile.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜You are?’
    She stared at him offensively, knowing he was trying to charm her into being as pleasant as a young woman talking to two good-looking men ought to be. ‘But why? I have never been able to understand it. What makes an intelligent, and, if I may say so, attractive young woman like yourself become a feminist?’
    â€˜Pricks like you, mostly,’ she replied.
    For a moment it seemed as though he had not heard her properly. He turned to Johnny in disbelief, then back to her again. Rupert had never been so insulted in his life .
    â€˜But – look, I’m sorry, you’re going