Free The Ely Testament by Philip Gooden Page A

For example, Tomlinson’s mouth being a little too close to Bella’s curled hair as he whispered some aside in her ear or the sight of her hand momentarily resting on his arm as she responded.
    The food was the only part that, to Cyrus, was a definite success. Artichoke soup and salmon fillets, then boiled turkey and leg of lamb, followed by cabinet pudding and a cheese fondue, served with all the trimmings and washed down with plenty of sweet white wine. Cyrus reminded himself to compliment the cook.
    The conversation never really took flight or, if it did, went winging off in alarming directions. Mr Hardwick spent some time outlining his ambition to become the biggest brewer in Ely, to knock Legge’s and Eagle’s and the others off their perch and into the River Ouse. From time to time he looked at his wife who nodded in frantic agreement. Cyrus, as a good host, tried to shift the discussion to a topic which he considered both in-offensive and interesting: the recent decision of the General Post Office to paint their boxes and pillars red rather than bronze-green. But no one seemed very concerned and some reference to taste and orthodoxy caused the Reverend Coffer to go down a totally different path and launch an attack on an individual called Sir Henry Thompson and his dangerous views.
    Extending a bony forefinger and with his brow furrowed, Mr Coffer said, ‘To think that they saw fit to give him a knighthood, whatever he may have done for the King of Belgium and his kidney stones.’
    â€˜I am not sure everyone round this table is familiar with Sir Henry,’ said Charles Tomlinson.
    â€˜He is a surgeon,’ said Coffer, ‘and I wish he had restricted himself to meddling with people while they are still alive, whether they are kings or commoners. But Thompson is the moving spirit behind this new Cremation Society. I cannot believe that such a heretical idea will catch on with us but it never does to underestimate people’s gullibility and their willingness to try the latest fad.’
    Cyrus had heard of Sir Henry Thompson, of course, since he was attentive to any news concerning death and disposal. But he did not care for the way Tomlinson now looked in his direction with a cocked eyebrow as if to say, It would not do much for your security-coffin business if cremation came into fashion, would it?
    Tomlinson did not say any of this out loud. Instead, after a glance at Bella, who was seated on his right, he inclined his head towards Coffer and said, ‘With all due respect to you, sir, both as a man of the cloth and as someone who is kin to me, I wonder whether this conversation is really a suitable one when the ladies are present. Cremation isn’t quite the thing over the dinner table. After all, we are not on the banks of the Ganges gazing at the burning ghats . . . which are quite a sight, I can assure you . . .’
    The remark, as it was probably intended to, made all the ladies sit up. Bella put her hand on Tomlinson’s sleeve – again! – and said, ‘You have been to India, Mr Tomlinson? You have seen the way they burn bodies in public?’
    â€˜That, and many other strange things, dear lady.’
    â€˜Is there not a terrible rite in India which they call suttee ?’ said Mrs Coffer.
    â€˜There is, indeed,’ said Tomlinson with enthusiasm, and appearing to forget the remark he’d just made about unsuitable topics. ‘The wife throws herself on the funeral pyre of her husband out of sheer grief and the desire to join him.’
    â€˜Barbaric,’ said Reverend Coffer.
    â€˜Dreadful,’ said Mr Hardwick.
    â€˜Other lands, other customs. If we put our very natural prejudices to one side for a moment, one can only imagine the fidelity and the – the passion – which would cause a widow to do that.’
    The idea, and perhaps the word ‘passion’, caused a temporary silence round the table. Cousin Dora now